On "Mary" by Vladimir Nabokov

Once again I am taken by Nabokov's stimulating and profound understanding of the human condition.
In Mary, his debut novel, we can clearly see the genius of Nabokov's style. Characters carefully chosen, to play a certain part in the story. To reminisce about pre-revolutionary Russia (Podtyagin) , which is Ganin's hope and home, where Mary had been captured by his mind. Where Mary had waited for him when he was late. Where Mary had held his hands through the woods that Nabokov describes in such a rousing way. Mary is not as melodramatic as Lolita, though still poignant at times.
An interesting point suggested by a review I read, that in this book we get a stark sense of Nabokov's Russian origin, Compared to his quite American Lolita.
The train, shaking the Pansion by each passing, is Mary's recollection. As Nabokov said:" Memories and shadows. Images of the past that roll through the mind like smoke escaping the bellies of locomotives. A photo. A certain scent. Mary. Mary is coming."
I have to admit, in spite of foreseeing that Mary will never enter the story as her present self, her telegrams aside, I did not expect Nabokov to end this novel with a translucent moment of despair. A defining synchrony.