Lolita, the book, is not about kidnapping of a girl or any kind of perversity. It is about futility and pains of worshipping a fleeting beauty, which is a temporary state of approaching perfection (beauty is youth + health. Proximity of a local optimum). If there is something to worship at all, it is beauty, not idols.

The book is about ugliness and mediocrity of so called modern society with its rigid set of dogmas and set in stone prejudices. It is about suffering. About inability in principle to catch that fleeting beauty, a spark of perfection. The moment you approach it you have already ruined it. Observer ruins the observation, or rather realizes the painful dissonance between his assumptions and actuality, but continued his futile attempts to catch it, because everything else is not worth of even a second look.

Dear gentlewomen of the jury. Do not attempt to judge things you probably never even understood.