Fathers and Children (Barnes & Noble Digital Library)

By Ivan Turgenev

Fathers and Children is Turgenev’s best known work and possibly the first truly modern Russian novel. Yevgeny Bazarov, a young medical student and nihilist, challenges the old order of his father’s generation, rejecting any authority or faith not based on science and experience. When Yevegeny falls victim to the emotional pains of his unrequited love for the alluring yet capricious Anna Odintsova—and then to an accidental exposure to typhus—he comes face to face with forces beyond philosophical control.   

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barnes & Noble
• Release date: Jan 3, 2012
• ISBN: 9781411464483

Ivan Turgenev

Ivan Turgenev was born on 9th November 1818 to noble and wealthy parents in Oryol, Russia. His father a Colonel in the Russian Cavalry and his mother came from the nobel Lutovinov house of the Oryol Governorate. Turgenev spent the majority of his younger life in Moscow with his two younger brothers, where he was brought up having a proper education. Turgenev started out university life at the university of Moscow in 1833, before moving to the University of St Petersburg to study Classic Russian Literature and philology between 1834 to 1837, it was during this time Turgenev started to write poetry. Whilst he was studying there he would lose his father to kidney stoney disease and his youngest brother to epilepsy.From 1838 to 1841, Turgenev studied philosophy and history at the university of Berlin before finishing his master in St Petersburg. Unable to get a professorship at St Petersburg University, Turgenev ventured into the world of politics and government where he spent two years between 1843 and 1845 at the Russian Ministry of Interior. Here he would continue to write poetry before venturing into play writing with 'The Rash Thing To Do', in 1843. Though he never married, Turgenev did have a love with the well renowned Spanish singer Pauline Viardot. Though this relationship would only be a platonic one, the two would become close friends exchanging letters with Viardot helping Turgenev later on in life. Turgenev was known to have many love affairs with his family servants, with one of these love affairs in 1842 leading to the birth of his illegitimate daughter Paulinette. Turgenev would later entrust his dear friend Viardot to bring-up his daughter Paulinette. Turgenev's writing career began in the 1840's, writing long poems before transitioning into plays, novels and short stories. Unlike a lot of writers of the time Turgenev's works shied away from the religious influences of the time and preferred to revolve his work around the political and social issues of Russia during the 1800's. This would come and haunt him when he wrote his greatest novel 'Father and Sons' in 1862, where it was given a hostile reaction by the Russian audience leading him to go into self-exile. This self-exile first sent Turgenev to Germany but at the outbreak of the Franco-German war in 1870, he moved to London and then Paris, where he would settle. Turgenev's final piece of word was a short story called 'The Mysterious tales' in 1883, later that year he would die at the age of 64 on the 3rd September 1883 in Bougival, France. His body was then transported back to St Petersburg where he was buried in Volkovo Cemetery.

Book preview

FATHERS AND CHILDREN

IVAN TURGENEV

TRANSLATED BY ISABEL F. HAPGOOD

This 2012 edition published by Barnes & Noble, Inc.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher.

Barnes & Noble, Inc.

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ISBN: 978-1-4114-6448-3

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER X

CHAPTER XI

CHAPTER XII

CHAPTER XIII

CHAPTER XIV

CHAPTER XV

CHAPTER XVI

CHAPTER XVII

CHAPTER XVIII

CHAPTER XIX

CHAPTER XX

CHAPTER XXI

CHAPTER XXII

CHAPTER XXIII

CHAPTER XXIV

CHAPTER XXV

CHAPTER XVI

CHAPTER XVII

CHAPTER XVIII

I

WELL, Piótr? Is anything to be seen yet? inquired a gentleman a little over forty years of age, in a dusty coat and checked trousers, on May 20th, 1859, as he emerged hatless upon the low porch of a posting-station on the * * * highway, of his servant, a chubby-faced young fellow, with whitish down on his chin, and small, dull eyes.

The servant, whose every characteristic—the turquoise ear-ring in his ear, and his pomaded, party-coloured hair, and the urbane movements of his body,—everything, in a word,—betrayed a man of the newest, perfected generation, gazed condescendingly along the road, and replied: Nothing at all, sir, is to be seen.

Is nothing to be seen? repeated the gentleman.

Nothing is to be seen, replied the servant, for the second time.

His master sighed, and seated himself on the bench. Let us make the reader acquainted with him, while he sits there, with his feet tucked up under him, and gazing thoughtfully around him.

His name is Nikolái Petróvitch Kirsánoff. At a distance of fifteen versts¹ from the posting-station, he has a fine estate of two hundred souls, or—as he is in the habit of expressing it since he portioned off to the peasants their land and set up a farm—of two thousand desyatínas² of land. His father, a fighting general of 1812, able to read and write only indifferently, coarse, but not vicious, a Russian man, had toiled hard for a livelihood all his life, had commanded first a brigade, then a division, and had lived uninterruptedly in the rural districts, where, by virtue of his rank, he had played a fairly prominent part. Nikolái Petróvitch had been born in the south of Russia, like his elder brother Pável, of whom we shall speak hereafter, and had been reared, up to his fourteenth year, at home, surrounded by cheap tutors, free-and-easy but obsequious adjutants, and other regimental and staff officers. His mother, from the family of the Kolyázins, called Agathe as a young girl, and as Madame the wife of the General, Agafokléa Kuzmínishna Kirsánoff, belonged to the category of masterful-commanderesses,—wore sumptuous caps and rustling silken gowns, went up first to kiss the cross in church, talked loudly and much, admitted her children to kiss her hand every morning, made the sign of the cross in blessing over them at night,—in a word, led an enjoyable life. In his quality of son of a general, Nikolái Petróvitch, although he not only was not distinguished for courage, but had even earned the nickname of a little coward, was forced, like his brother Pável, to enter the military service; but he broke his leg the very day that the news of his appointment arrived, and, after lying in bed for two months, remained a limpy for the rest of his life. His father gave up all hope of him, and allowed him to enter the civil service. He took him to Petersburg, as soon as he was eighteen, and placed him in the university. His brother, by the way, graduated into the Guards as an officer, just about that time. The young men began to live together, in one set of lodgings, under the remote supervision of a grand-uncle on their mother's side, Ilyá Kolyázin, an important official. Their father went back to his division and to his spouse, and only occasionally sent to his sons big quarto sheets of grey paper, scrawled over in a bold, clerkly script. At the end of these quarto sheets, carefully encircled by curly cues, flaunted the words: Piótr Kirsánoff, Major-General. In 1885 Nikolái Petróvitch graduated from the university with the degree of candidate, and, in that same year, General Kirsánoff, having been put on the retired list for an unsuccessful review, arrived in Petersburg with his wife, with the intention of living there. He was on the point of hiring a house near the Tauris Garden,³ and joining the English Club, when he suddenly died of apoplexy. Agafokléa Kuzmínishna speedily followed him: she could not get accustomed to the dull life of the capital; the grief of her position on the retired list worried her to death. In the meantime, Nikolái Petróvitch had succeeded, already during the lifetime of his parents, and to their no small chagrin, in falling in love with the daughter of an official named Prepolóvensky, the former landlord of his lodgings, a pretty and, it was said, a well-educated young girl: she read the serious articles, under the department labelled Science, in the newspapers. He married her, as soon as the period of mourning was over, and quitting the Ministry of the Imperial Appanages, where he had been entered through the influence of his father, he enjoyed felicity with his Másha, first in a villa near the Forestry Institute, then in town, in a tiny and pretty apartment with a clean staircase and a rather cold drawing-room, and, at last, in the country, where he definitively settled down, and where a son, Arkády, was shortly born to him. The husband and wife lived very well and quietly: they were hardly ever separated—they read together, played four-handed pieces together on the piano, sang duets; she planted flowers, and supervised the poultry-yard; he went hunting on rare occasions, and occupied himself with the farming; and Arkády grew, and grew—also well and quietly. In the year '47, Kirsánoff's wife died. He hardly survived this blow, and his hair turned grey in the course of a few weeks: he contemplated going abroad, for the purpose of diverting his mind . . . but the year '48 arrived at this juncture . . . . . . willy-nilly, he returned to the country, and after a rather prolonged season of inactivity he undertook agricultural reforms. In the year 1855, he took his son to the university: he spent three winters with him in Petersburg, going out hardly at all, and endeavouring to strike up acquaintance with Arkády's youthful comrades. He was unable to come for the last winter,—and here we behold him, in May of the year 1859, already completely grey, plump, and rather stooping: he is awaiting his son, who, like himself in years gone by, has graduated with the degree of candidate.

The servant, out of a sense of decorum, and possibly also because he did not wish to remain under his master's eye, stepped under the gate-arch and lighted his pipe. Nikolái Petróvitch hung his head, and began to stare at the decrepit steps of the porch; a large, piebald chicken stalked pompously past him, with a sturdy thud of its big, yellow feet; a bespattered cat stared at him in hostile wise, as she crouched primly on the railing. The sun was burning hot: from the half-dark anteroom of the posting-station an odour of warm rye bread was wafted. Our Nikolái Petróvitch fell into a reverie: Son . . . candidate. . . . Arkásha. . . . kept incessantly circling through his brain; he made an effort to think of something else, and again reverted to the same thoughts. He called to mind his dead wife. . . . She did not live to see this day! he whispered mournfully. . . . . A fat, dark-blue pigeon flew down into the road, and hastily betook itself to the puddle beside the well, to drink. Nikolái Petróvitch began to stare at it, but his ear already caught the rumble of approaching wheels.

I think they are coming, sir, announced the servant, popping out from under the gate.

Nikolái Petróvitch sprang to his feet, and strained his eyes along the road. A tarantás made its appearance, drawn by a tróïka of posting-horses: in the tarantás there was a gleam of the band of a student's cap, the familiar outline of a beloved face.

Arkásha! Arkásha! shouted Kirsánoff, and started on a run, flourishing his arms. . . . . . A few moments later, his lips were glued to the beardless, dusty, and sunburnt cheek of the young candidate.

II

LET me shake myself, papa,—said Arkády, in a voice that was rather hoarse from the journey, but ringing and youthful, cheerily responding to his father's caresses,—I am daubing thee all over.

Never mind, never mind, Nikolái Petróvitch repeated again and again, with a smile of emotion, and he administered a couple of blows with his hand on the collar of his son's cloak and on his own overcoat.—Let me look at thee, let me look at thee, he added, stepping off, but immediately strode toward the posting-station with hasty steps, reiterating: Here, come along, come along, and let us have horses as speedily as possible.

Nikolái Petróvitch appeared to be far more agitated than his son: it was as though he were somewhat bewildered, as though he were intimidated. Arkády stopped him.

Papa, he said, allow me to introduce to thee my good friend Bazároff, of whom I have so often written to thee. He has been so amiable as to consent to pay us a visit.

Nikolái Petróvitch wheeled swiftly round, and stepping up to a man of lofty stature, in a long peasant's overcoat with tassels, who had only just alighted from the tarantás, he warmly shook the bare, red hand which the man did not immediately offer him.

I am heartily glad, he began,—and grateful to you for your kind intention to visit us: I hope . . . Permit me to inquire your name and patronymic?

Evgény Vasílitch,—replied Bazároff, in a languid but manly voice, and turning down the collar of the peasant coat, he displayed his entire face to Nikolái Petróvitch. Long and thin, with a broad forehead, a nose which was flat at the top and pointed at the tip, with large, greenish eyes, and pendent sidewhiskers of a sandy hue, it was rendered animated by a calm smile, and expressed self-confidence and cleverness,

I trust, my dearest Evgény Vasílitch, that you will not be bored with us,—went on Nikolái Petróvitch.

Bazároff's thin lips moved slightly; but he made no reply, and merely lifted his cap. His dark-blond hair, long and thick, did not conceal the huge protuberances of his ample skull.

Well, what are we to do, Arkády?—began Nikolái Petróvitch, again turning to his son.—Shall we have the horses put to at once? Or do you wish to rest?

We will rest at home, papa; give orders to have the horses put to.

''Immediately, immediately,'' assented his father.—Hey, there, Piótr, dost thou hear? Look lively there, my good brother; see to things.

Piótr, who, in his quality of improved domestic, had not kissed his young master's hand, but had merely bowed to him from a distance, again vanished inside the gate.

I am here with a calash, but there are three horses for thy tarantás, said Nikolái Petróvitch hastily, while Arkády was drinking water out of an iron dipper brought by the keeper of the posting-station, and Bazároff lighted his pipe and stepped up to the postilion, who was unharnessing his horses.—The calash has only two seats, and I do not know how thy friend. . . .

He will drive in the tarantás,—interrupted Arkády, in an undertone.—Please do not stand on ceremony with him. He's a splendid young fellow, so simple,—thou wilt see.

Nikolái Petróvitch's coachman brought out the horses.

Come, turn round, Thickbeard!—said Bazároff to the postilion.

Dost hear, Mitiúkha, put in another postilion, who was standing near, with his hands thrust into the rear slits of his sheepskin coat,—what the gentleman called thee? Thickbeard it was.

Mitiúkha merely shook his cap, and drew the reins from the sweating shaft-horse.

Be quick, be quick, my lads, lend a hand,—exclaimed Nikolái Petróvitch,—and you'll get something for liquor!

In a few minutes the horses were harnessed; father and son seated themselves in the calash, and Piótr climbed on the box; Bazároff jumped into the tarantás and buried his head in the leather pillow,—and both equipages rolled off.

III

SO here thou art a candidate at last, and hast come home,—said Nikolái Petróvitch, touching Arkády now on the shoulder, now on the knee:—at last!

And how is uncle? Well? asked Arkády, who, despite the genuine, almost childish joy which filled his heart, wished to change the conversation as speedily as possible from an agitated into a commonplace current.

Yes. He had intended to drive over with me to meet thee, but changed his mind for some reason or other.

And hast thou been waiting long for me?—asked Arkády.

Why, about five hours.

Good papa!

Arkády turned briskly toward his father, and gave him a resounding smack on the cheek. Nikolái Petróvitch laughed softly.

What a magnificent horse I have prepared for thee!—he began:—thou wilt see. And thy room has been papered.

And is there a chamber for Bazároff?

We'll find one for him also.

Please, papa, do pet him a bit. I cannot express to thee to what a degree I prize his friendship.

Thou hast not known him very long?

Not very long.

That is why I did not see him last winter. In what does he interest himself?

His principal subject is the natural sciences. But he knows everything. He wants to take his examination for the doctor's degree next year.

Ah! so he's in the medical faculty,—remarked Nikolái Petróvitch, and relapsed into silence.—Piótr, he added, and stretched out his hand,—aren't those our peasants coming yonder?

Piótr gazed on one side, in the direction whither his master was pointing. Several peasant carts, drawn by horses with slackened bridles, were rolling briskly along the narrow country road. In each cart sat one, or at the most two, peasants in sheepskin coats which were open on the breast.—Exactly so, sir, said Piótr.

Whither are they going—to town?

I suppose it must be to the town. To the dram-shop,—he added scornfully, and leaned a little toward the coachman, as though referring to him. But the latter did not even stir: he was a man of the old school, who did not share the latest views.

I am having a great deal of trouble with the peasants this year,—pursued Nikolái Petróvitch, addressing his son.—"They will not pay their quit-rent.⁴ What wouldst thou do?"

And art thou satisfied with thy hired labourers?

Yes,—said Nikolái Petróvitch between his teeth.—They are stirring them up to mischief, that's the trouble; however, no regular attempt has been made, as yet. They ruin the harnesses. But they have done the ploughing all right. When difficulties are surmounted, all goes well again. But art thou already interested in the farming?

You have no shade, and that's a great pity,—remarked Arkády, without answering the last question.

I have added a large awning on the north side, over the balcony, said Nikolái Petróvitch:—and now we can dine in the open air.

It will look awfully like a suburban villa . . . however, all that is of no consequence. What air there is here! How splendidly fragrant it is! Really, it seems to me that nowhere in the world is it so fragrant as in these parts! And then the sky here . . .

Arkády suddenly paused, cast a sidelong glance behind him, and became silent.

Of course,—remarked Nikolái Petróvitch,—thou wert born here, and everything here ought to seem to thee peculiarly. . . .

Well, papa, it makes no difference where a man was born.

But. . . .

No, it makes absolutely no difference.

Nikolái Petróvitch gazed askance at his son, and the calash had traversed half a verst before the conversation was resumed between them.

I do not remember whether I wrote to thee,—began Nikolái Petróvitch,—that thy former nurse, Egórovna, was dead.

Really? Poor old woman! And is Prokófitch alive?

Yes, and has not changed in the least. He still grumbles as of old. On the whole, thou wilt not find many changes at Márino.

Hast thou still the same overseer?

Why, the change in the overseer is about the only one I have made. I have decided not to keep any more emancipated, former house-servants, or, at least, not to entrust them with any duties which involve responsibility. (Arkády indicated Piótr with his eyes.) Il est libre, en effet,—remarked Nikolái Petróvitch, in a low tone,—but, you see, he is my valet. Now I have a petty burgher as overseer: he seems a practical young fellow. I have appointed him a salary of two hundred and fifty rubles a year. However,—added Nikolái Petróvitch, rubbing his forehead and eyebrows with his hand, which with him was always a sign of inward perturbation,—I have just told thee that thou wouldst not find any changes at Márino. . . That is not quite correct. I consider it my duty to warn thee, although . . .

He faltered for a moment, and then continued, in French.

A strict moralist would regard my frankness as misplaced, but, in the first place, it is impossible to conceal the fact, and, in the second, thou art well aware that I have always entertained peculiar principles with regard to the relations between father and son. But, of course, thou wilt have a right to condemn me. At my age. . . . In a word . . . that . . . that young girl, of whom thou hast, in all probability, already heard . . .

Fénitchka? asked Arkády easily.

Nikolái Petróvitch flushed.—Please do not mention her name aloud. . . . Well, yes . . . she is now living with me. I have lodged her in my house. . . . there were two small rooms there. However, that can be changed.

And why, pray, papa?

Thy friend is to visit thee . . it is awkward . . .

Please do not worry thyself, so far as Bazároff is concerned. He is above all that sort of thing.

Well, thou . . . in short,—said Nikolái Petróvitch,—the small wing is in a sorry state—that's the difficulty.

Upon my word, papa,—interpolated Arkády,—thou wouldst seem to be making apologies; art thou not ashamed of thyself?

Of course, I ought to be ashamed of myself,—replied Nikolái Petróvitch, growing more and more crimson in the face.

Enough, papa,—enough, please,—Arkády smiled affectionately. What is there to apologise for! he thought to himself, and a sensation of condescending tenderness toward his kind, gentle father, mingled with a feeling of a certain superiority over him, filled his soul.—Stop, please,—he repeated once more, involuntarily enjoying the consciousness of his own progressiveness and freedom.

Nikolái Petróvitch cast a look at him from beneath the fingers of the hand with which he continued to rub his forehead, and something stung him at the heart. . . . But he immediately took himself to task.

Here is where our fields begin,—he said, after a long silence.

And that is our forest, yonder ahead, I think?—inquired Arkády.

Yes, it is ours. Only, I have sold it. It will be felled this year.

Why didst thou sell it?

I needed the money: and, besides, this land goes to the peasants.

Who do not pay thee their quit-rent?

That's their affair; however, they will pay up some time or other,

It is a pity about the forest,—remarked Arkády, and began to gaze about him.

The localities through which they were passing could not be called picturesque. Fields, nothing but fields, stretched away to the very horizon, now rising gently, again sinking; here and there small patches of forest were visible, and here and there ravines, overgrown with sparse, low bushes, wound in and out, recalling to the eye the representations of them on ancient plans of the time of Katherine II. Here and there, also, small streams were to be encountered, with washed-out banks, and tiny ponds with wretched dams, and little hamlets with low cottages under dark roofs, which often had been half swept away, and lop-sided threshing-sheds with wattled walls of brushwood, and churches, now of brick with the stucco peeled off in places, now of wood, with slanting crosses and ruined graveyards. Arkády's heart gradually contracted. As though expressly, they kept meeting peasants in clothing which was too tight with long wear, on wretched nags; like beggars in rags stood the roadside willows, with tattered bark and broken branches; thin, scabby, apparently famished cows were greedily nibbling at the grass along the ditches. They seemed to have just succeeded in tearing themselves from some menacing, death-dealing talons,—and, evoked by the pitiful aspect of the debilitated beasts, amid the fine spring day, there arose the white wraith of the cheerless, endless winter, with its blizzards, frosts, and snows. . . . No,—thought Arkády, this is not a rich land; it does not strike the beholder with its abundance or its industry; it is impossible, impossible for it to remain like this; reforms are indispensable . . . but how are they to be brought about, how is one to set to work? . . .

Thus did Arkády meditate . . . and while he was meditating, the spring asserted its rights. Everything round about was ringing with a golden sound, everything was stirring with broad, soft agitation and shining beneath the tranquil breath of the warm breeze,—everything,—trees, bushes, and grass; everywhere the larks were carolling in unending, sonorous floods; the lapwings were alternately shrilling, as they soared in circles above the low-lying meadows, and silently hopping over the hillocks; the daws stalked about, handsomely black against

Reviews for Fathers and Children (Barnes & Noble Digital Library)

[electrascaife · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A son, fresh from school, comes home to visit his parents and brings along a revolutionary-minded friend. The friend's views instigate keen arguments, and the son's preference for his friend's views over his father's brings about a sad revelation for the latter, namely that the generational gap is creating a personal one between him and his beloved son. We also see the strained dynamic between another father and son when the friend travels on to his own parents' home, brusquely rejecting their excitement at seeing him and breaking their hearts when he leaves again after only three days. Oh, and there are a couple of love stories entwined in here, too.I don't know much about 19th century Russian history, so I can only assume that the views of the younger generation as depicted here reflects the upheaval of the revolutionary times, but I can say that the relationships between the freshly-grown kids and their parents are beautifully drawn. It's in a lot of ways a heartbreaking read, but worth it.

[yarb_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Pretty basic stuff. Two college pals spend a summer visiting each other’s parents in the country, and also drop in on a pair of marriageable ladies. One of the young men is a nihilist and iconoclast, and as annoying as you’d expect. The younger one looks up to him but finds his own character as the story unfolds. It’s a very gentle massaging of generational differences. There’s a duel, but even that isn’t very exciting. Pretty short though, and other than the irritating Bazarov the characters are quite likable by Russian novel standards.

[stillatim · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I've read Nabokov saying this is the most perfect novel of the nineteenth century. I've also read Nabokov saying that Turgenev just moves his characters around so they can have conversations that he, Turgenev, finds interesting. I find the latter characterisation more accurate; reading it this time round I thought the plot was creaky and stagey. That said, well worth reading for those interesting conversations, and for the Russianness of it all.

[pilgrimjess · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

"We sit in the mud, my friend, and reach for the stars."First published in 1862 this novel is a piece of classic literature written by an author who at the time was considered as one of Russia's most ‘liberal’ authors and it addresses some of the differences of the period between the generations. Central to the story are two sons, Bazarov and Arkady, and their respective fathers focusing mainly on the relationship between Arkady and his father Nikolai.The novel was written at a time when the class system was undergoing major changes within Russian society. Bazarov believes that changes to the old tradition are good and essential, Nikolai’s brother Pavel fears and loathes it whereas Nikolai is simply trying to make the best of it. Bazarov is the central character of this novel. He is a nihilist who utterly rejects all the values on which society is based and spends a lot of time emphasizing on the importance of equality. He doesn't put much of store in art and romanticism but when he falls in love he is forced in to a re-evaluation. At times I found myself loving him whilst at others hating him but in truth due to censorship it is unlikely that the author would have been allowed to make him as radical as he probably would have liked.Most of the servant class characters show respectable levels of deference and commitment to their old masters but whilst many of them crave greater freedom they are also fearful of it. Fenechka is the outstanding example of this. She is the daughter of Nikolai former housekeeper, twenty years his junior, who on the death of her mother has a relationship with Nikolai bearing him a child. Fenechka is conscious of her own class status so when Arkady returns home from university she is not entirely certain that the love he shows her and her son is real or rather due to the influence of his friend and mentor Bazarov. Thus we have not only different generations but also differing classes struggling with these societal changes.Nowhere is this more apparent than in own Nikolai's home. Pavel, Nikolai's brother who lives with them, is committed to the old system and wants to retain the old class system whereas Nikolai shows openness to the changes but still cherishes the comforts that he has become used to. All this means is that we see someone trying to hold onto the old but unjust system (Pavel), someone accepting change without aggression (Nikolai), and someone who is suffering from the system but doesn't want to grab the opportunity of freedom (Fenechka) all living together under the same roof.There is very little action within this novel rather it's focus is on ideas which cover a number of spheres ranging from politics to nature to spirituality. But whilst there are conflicts the author also puts as emphasis on the importance of love in peoples' lives. Now whilst there are some compelling characters and it gives an interesting insight into a particular period of Russian history both societal and in literature meaning that I don't doubt it is of historical significance yet I still found this novel an OK read rather than a compelling one. I would have preferred a little more action and for that reason it failed to really grab my imagination. It is at least a reasonably quick read littered with short chapters meaning that you didn't get too bogged down in it hence the relatively low rating.

[deeehmm · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Was surprised by my love for this book. It was gripping, funny, touching. Who knew. I picked it up because of a memoir I was reading in which the narrator was enamored of "The Russians," and because I'd always been curious. So glad I did.

[danielstj · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

The novel was a little less than I expected, but the point of interest is the letters and literary criticism that comes at the end of the book. Top-notch!

[borrows0n0wants · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

An incredible read. The story holds your interest, the characters are very realistic and believable, and the content/theme is still relevant and always will be.

[kristelh_15 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

19th century Russian literature set in 1859. (Follows the Paris Revolution, Crimean War, Nicholas I) A book about fathers and their sons. The sons have been to university and been educated. They have embraced nihilism. The Nihilist movement was a Russian movement in the 1860s which rejected all authorities.It is derived from the Latin nihil, meaning "nothing". The decision has been made to emancipate the serfs which happened in 1861. The fathers are doing their best to cooperate with the mandate. The opposite of nihilism is romanticism and the author has set the book up through the fathers and sons to contrast the different philosophy. "All moral disease derives from poor education, from all the rubbish with which people's heads are filled from birth onwards--in short, from the shocking state of society. Reform society, and there'll be no more disease". This is a statement by Bazarov. I think this statement has proven to be untrue many times. Poor education does not equal moral disease, nor does good education preclude moral disease. The origin is something else. The women characters are interesting. We have Fenichka who is "living with Nikolai and has a son but no marriage", we have Anna who is a widow and has been alluded to as empty headed who is quite intelligent and a bit of a nihilist herself, and Katerina the young lady who is quiet but probably the strongest of all. And not to omit, Bazarov's mother who is the one with the property and money but also a lot of superstitions. Bazarov's attitude is quite antifeminist but over all the book is filled with storng women. I enjoyed the book. As a Russian novel it wasn't hard to read. I am not a fan of nihilism but I learned a lot and find it interesting that it was a Russian movement. The novel contributes to the Russian literature and Russian history, it is not only relevant to its 19 century setting but also offers some relevance to the present and a good reminder that generations do change. The characters were well crafted. This is more a character study than a plot driven book.

[abycats_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Cannot be fair to this novel as I obviously was not in the mood, within the designated reading time, to read this very Russian-paced novel with its discussions of topics that simply didn't appeal for now. Will try to read it again at a later time perhaps.

[leslie398 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Fairly short and easy to read (at least in this translation). More thoughts to come later...

[madepercy-1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

For once I read the book before reading the introduction; an approach which has its merits. The analysis in the introduction seemed to be a little over the top at first but then after learning of the letters Turgenev exchanged with Dostoevsky, particularly concerning the former's construction of the character Bazarov, really drives home how truly great novels are so much more than the product of a vivid imagination. The beauty of reading such works is to open my eyes to a place and period that was simply neglected in my early education due to the Cold War. Yet Turgenev highlights many issues which remain relevant in modern society: nationalism East or West, revolutionary or evolutionary development, the perpetual quest for newness in youth, to the pointlessness of life when humanity's frailty is illuminated. It also reunited me with the importance of the simple things in life which are often overlooked in our individual quests for glory which probably never arrives: the scene involving Bazarov's grieving parents still haunts me, as does the thought that Arkady is now under-the-thumb in an ever-so-happy way. The great writers were great because of their ability to intellectualise so many issues without a hint of discontinuity - a trait Turgenev displays with relative ease despite his own personal agonising over his critics (both revolutionaries and aristocrats). Indeed, had we never known about Turgenev's agonising from his letters, the work does not belie any such lack of confidence. Yet had I read the introduction first I may well have formed an entirely different view.

[thothj · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A great example of Russian literature at its finest. The only great writers coming out of this country weren't only Tolstoy and Doesevski. After reading this novel for a history class, I downloaded a bunch more of his work to my Kindle, for later reading. Enjoy!

[trilliams · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

That took awhile.

[davemac_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I loved this book - thanks to my son who introduced it to me. It is a book I hope to reread a few times.

[russellbittner · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

“‘It can’t be helped, Vasya. A son is like a lopped-off branch. As a falcon he comes when he wills and goes where he lists; but you and I are like mushrooms growing in a hollow tree. Here we sit side by side without budging. But I shall stay with you for ever and unalterably, just as you will stay with me.’


Vassily Ivanich removed his hands from his face and embraced his wife, his constant companion, with a warmth greater than he had ever shown her in his youth; she had consoled him in his grief.” (p. 141).


And so it was that Eugene Bazarov’s parents reconciled themselves to an only child grown cold, detached – apparently even aloof. By p. 202, that same only son is dead of pyaemia. As a parent, myself, of two children now entering early adulthood and consequently moving out and away into the world, I must confess that Turgenev’s portrayal of this unhappy – albeit necessary – fact of life was quite moving.


Like most (if not all) of the Russian classics, however, there’s a kind of “preciousness” in both the dialogue and comportment of the characters – at least to this American eye and ear. Can one fault Turgenev (or Tolstoy, Chekhov, Goncharov, Dostoevsky and Gogol) for portraying an aristocracy that is, well, aristocratic in its entire modus operandi? Probably not. It’s just that all of it grows wearisome with wear.


Where I would give Turgenev exceptional credit, however, in his ability to distinguish the ages and stations of his several characters through their dialogue alone, slight though their differences in age or station might be. This is no mean accomplishment for a writer (and, I might add, for the translator – George Reavy in this case).


Can I, in good conscience, recommend Fathers and Sons as a “must-read?” Only if you’re intent on covering the gamut of what the world considers to be great Russian literature – or want to discover how the other half (or one-hundredth?) once lived, spoke and thought.


RRB
08/04/14
Brooklyn, NY

[bayardus-1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I'm surprised this book was so controversial when it was published, as it's largely a standard Russian novel- the focus on the lower nobility, attending balls, falling in love, fighting duels, unreturned affection, marriages, and a glimpse of the stunted lives and intellect of the peasants. Lermontov satirizes this type of novel long before Turgenev put pen to paper. The only notable divergence from the paint-by-numbers plot is the addition of Bazarov, a medical student who is a self-proclaimed nihilist, who denies all rules and traditions. According to his notes for the novel Turgenev wanted Bazarov to be "like a comet" (as Freeborn translates it), knocking everyone out of there rut. At this Turgenev fails; Bazarov comes off as less a comet than a contrarian, disagreeing with his elders and society more for the sake of disagreement itself than because of any true belief in the pointlessness of life.

The writing is largely functional, but there are a few places where the writing is noticeably bad. The arguments Turgenev writes out between Bazarov and Pavel are confusing, with characters giving responses that make little sense given the previous comment, and in general the segments where this occurs have no flow and feel stilted. Perhaps at the time this novel was written the characters conformed to easily defined types, allowing readers to fill in the leaps in dialogue in a satisfactory way, but that is no longer the case. There is also a line in the book that leads readers to believe a character has died when in fact that is not the case. I checked both the Garnett and the Freeborn translation and this is clearly a flaw in the original text, not in the translation.

There's a reason Turgenev exists today in the shadow of Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky. Read Fathers and Sons if you want to experience more Russian literature, but don't expect it to reach the heights of the masterpieces in the genre.

[varwenea · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

There are so many ways to start the review of “Fathers and Sons”. Do I address the obvious “generation gap” concept that is FAR ahead of its time? How’s about the role it played in the transitional Russia during the rumbling years against the old money and serfdom? What about the criticisms that Turgenev received from BOTH the Left and the Right accusing Turgenev of being both “Father” and “Son”? Should I examine Turgenev’s personal view which he claimed to align most with Bazarov, the steely, indifferent nihilist (except on art)? The many facets of this book are made the more interesting in this edition, which was enriched with a sizable lecture by Isaiah Berlin and an informative introduction by the translator, Rosemary Edmonds. Regardless of one’s view, Turgenev’s burial was attended by the Imperial Government, the intelligentsia, and the workers’ organizations – noted by Berlin in 1970 as perhaps the first and last time where these groups met peacefully in Russia. That’s got to be worth something to note a career! Turgenev’s writing charm is not in the heavy subjects or weighty writing style akin to Dostoyevsky and Tolstoy, his great contemporaries. He allows the reader to connect empathically to his characters. We have in Nikolai, the kindly widowed father, in Arkady, the son finding his new path (or not), in Bazarov, the brazen mentor and vocal “nihilist” who frees himself from allegiance to anything and anyone, in Anna, the strength of a woman in her daily estate dealings - both beautiful and clever, in Pavel, the ‘lost’ uncle who gave his life away for love, and many more. Each character is richly crafted that you have an empathy and comprehension of their motivations. Despite an insistence that women opt to be silent and even beaten, Turgenev created many strong women, both in the home and in their business. I won’t attempt to elaborate further on this classic except to say it is certainly charming with some heart string tucking, but not overtly. (I loved Bazarov’s sweet, sweet parents.) 4.0 stars for the book plus 0.5 stars for the bonuses in this edition.Favorite Character: Anna Sergeyevna Odintsov – for her many strengths but also her melancholyLeast Favorite Character: Yevgeny Vassilyich Bazarov – for hating art (blasphemy!) and being self-centeredSome Quotes:On the generation divide:"Once I quarrelled with our late mamma: she stormed and would not listen to me… At last I said to her, ‘Of course, you cannot understand me: we belong to two different generations,’ I said. She was dreadfully offended but I thought to myself, ‘It can’t be helped. It is a bitter pill but she must swallow it.’ You see, now our turn has come, and our successors say to us, ‘You are not of our generation: swallow your pill’.”On nihilism:“Aristocratism, liberalism, progress, principles – think of it, what a lot of foreign.. and useless words! To a Russian they’re not worth a straw…… In these days the most useful thing we can do is to repudiate – and so we repudiate. Everything.”“…But one must construct too, you know.”“That is not our affair… The ground must be cleaned first.”“…In the old days young people had to study. If they did not want to be ignorant they had to work hard whether they liked it or not. But now they need only say, ‘Everything in the world is rubbish!’ – and the trick’s done. The young men are simply delighted. Whereas they were only sheep’s heads before, now they have suddenly blossomed out as nihilists!” On individuality (or the lack thereof!):“… I assure you the study of separate individuals is not worth the trouble it involves. All men are similar, in soul as well as body. Each of us has a brain, spleen, heart, and lungs of similar construction; and the so-called moral qualities are the same in all of us – the slight variations are of no importance. It is enough to have one human specimen in order to judge all the others. People are like trees in a forest; no botanist would dream of studying each individual birch tree.”On women, men, and love:“Anna Sergeyevna was a rather strange person. Having no prejudices of any kind, and no strong convictions even, she was not put off by obstacles and she had no goal in life. She had clear ideas about many things and a variety of interests, but nothing ever completely satisfied her; indeed she did not really seek satisfaction. Her mind was at once probing and indifferent; any doubts she entertained were never soothed into oblivion, nor ever swelled into unrest…… Like all women who have not succeeded in falling in love she hankered after something without knowing what it was. In reality there was nothing she wanted, though it seemed to her that she wanted everything…… She had conceived a secret repugnance for all men, whom she could only think of as slovenly, clumsy, dull, feebly irritating creatures.” On melancholy:“I have no desire, no longing for life. You look at me incredulously; you think those are the words of an aristocrat covered in lace and sitting in a velvet armchair. I don’t deny for a moment that I like what you call comfort, but at the same time I have very little desire to live. Reconcile that contradiction as best you can.”On family:“It can’t be helped, Vasya. A son is an independent person. He’s like a falcon that comes when he wills and flies off when he lists; but you and I are like the funguses growing in a hollow tree: here we sit side by side, not budging an inch. It is only I who will stay with you always, faithful for ever, just as you will stay with me.”On love and connection:“They were both silent; but the way in which they were silent, the way in which they were sitting together, spoke eloquently of the trustful intimacy between them, each seemed unmindful of the other and yet full of an inward joy at being together.”

[ursula_2 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Literature is full of proof that generational conflicts are eternal. Kids are always convinced their parents don't understand them, and in some ways, that's true. But in other ways, the parents understand more than the kids can even believe. If everyone lives long enough, one day that will become clear.Arkady is coming home after graduating from university to stay with his parents for a while, and his friend Bazarov comes with him. Bazarov is the classic "bad influence" that worries parents. He's cynical and not respectful of his elders' experience, and worst of all, he's a nihilist. (This was probably less comical before The Big Lebowski was made, or if you've never seen it. If you have, you may have the same reaction as I did every time someone brings it up, which was: hearing "We belieff in NUFFINK!" in a German accent.) Anyhow, there are tensions between the generations as well as tensions between contemporaries. After all, the older generation will always have a variety of ideas about the younger, from "get off my lawn!" to "oh, to be young and carefree." And the younger generation will be busy trying to find out where they fit in the world, how to define themselves and who to use as a model. On a larger scale, these conflicts are played out in the same way in countries, and Russia was in transition at the time when the book is set.Although I approached this novel with some trepidation because 19th-century Russian literature has always been difficult for me (I've tried Dostoevsky and Tolstoy and come to the conclusion that I need to read up on Russian history before trying again), it was an involving read. I didn't feel lost in the political situations (that references were amply footnoted helped).Recommended for: Generation X, people looking to ease into Russian literature.Quote: "The tiny space I occupy is so minute in comparison with the rest of space, in which I am not, and which has nothing to do wtih me; and the period of time in which it is my lot to live is so insignificant beside the eternity in which I have not been, and shall not be.... But in this atom, this mathematical point, the blood is circulating, the brain is working and wanting something.... Isn't it loathsome? Isn't it petty?"

[clara53_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Unquestioningly, a classic. Different in its substance from the gripping and heart-rending prose of Dostoyevsky, but a classic nevertheless. Apart from the main plot and the ever-existing question of a generation gap, Turgenev brings to light such relevant to that day and age issues as the peasant question (with all its tormenting difficulties just prior to abolition of serfdom in Russia), the highly controversial idea of nihilism, and description (even though in a slightly caricature form) of a burgeoning feminism trend. Some minor characters are stereotypically comical, but the main ones are given a thoroughly thoughtful and serious portrayal. Bazarov's father impressed me the most. I read this book in the original years ago (it was a part of high school curriculum and was required reading, thus making it less appealing at the time) and now refreshed my memory, with deeper understanding of the book, in translation, which is quite adequate, though, naturally, cannot quite be a substitute for the original - but it fell into my hands at a used books shop and grabbed my nostalgic attention.

[pieterpad_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A fine, tender, evocative short novel portraying "liberal" Russian landowners and their nihilist sons mid-19th century, on the eve of the (troubled) emancipation of the serfs. Marvelous writing as translated here by Richard Hare. A book to re-read.

[theinvernessie · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Snoozed. And I'm a Russian history major. Go figure.

[smiler69 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Finished Fathers and Sons yesterday, another quickly devoured novel. Don't think I'll take the time to properly review it, but I will say that while I worried I wouldn't be thrilled by a novel in which one of the main characters is an unpleasant Nihilist with an attitude to match, I was on the contrary pleasantly surprised to find this novel touch on a variety of other subjects I ended up finding quite engrossing indeed, so that even Bazarov, the unpleasant proponent of Nihilism in question became, if not appealing exactly, essential to a masterful whole. Some of the topics broached are the major shift going on in Russia during the mid-19th century, with landowners 'freeing' their serfs and allowing them to become paid tenants and the attendant class conflicts; the concept or what makes up a true Russian identity; the generation gap and how the old guard is always relegated to obsolescence by the young. In other words, social conflicts seem to be at the heart of this novel, but these subjects became all the more interesting to me thanks to the deft hand of Turgeniev, who presents these from the unique standpoints of young student Arkady Nikolaevich Kirsanov, who brings his friend and Nihilistic hero Yevgeny Vasilyevich Bazarov on a visit to his family farm to meet his father and uncle. Arkady Nikolaevich's father Nikolai Petrovich is excited to get together with his grown son again, looking forward to a forging a close friendship with him based on intellectual equality, and thinks himself to be 'with the times' by embracing modern socioeconomic concerns (having among other things recently emancipated his serfs and removed himself to a smaller house with few paid servants) and keeping up with all the latest authors (but at heart a great lover of the Romantic Old Guard Pushkin). However, his hopes are fairly dashed when Bazarov is introduced into the household with his uncouth, brusque manners and disdain for art, tradition, and sentimentality. Arkady has become Bazarov's disciple and parrots his older friend's ideas, though all the while he is made uneasy by Bazarov's repeated critical sallies and generally disrespectful attitude toward his beloved father and his uncle Pavel Petrovich, a gallant aristocrat very much attached to tradition and keeping up appearances, which Arkady nevertheless sees as a tragic hero. Through this prism we see a whole nation shifting toward what laid the ground for the inevitable Russian Revolution and the Communist USSR, though again, Turgeniev, far from making his protagonists all black or all white, lets them evolve throughout the novel and experience conflicting emotions and motivations. Here, together with a large dose of philosophical doctrine, there is also love and romance and it's deceptions, there is even an unlikely duel which ends rather unexpectedly. In other words, it is a mix of intellectual ideas and romantic concerns and for this reason, still feels incredibly modern and shows us once again that human nature never really changes much. So much for NOT writing a review. :-)

[worldincolour · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Rather striking, though sometimes comes across a little bit forced and solemn. Which is, in the end, quite okay with characters like Bazarov that bring forward lots of interesting issues and ideas.

[dtn620 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Some thoughts:

1. Every time I pick up a Russian novel I'm always surprised by how leisurely the term prince and princess are thrown around, and I can never remember why. I am done looking for the answer so I am just going to assume it’s because there is a shit-ton of royalty in that vast country.

2. It feels weird when the narrator addresses the reader. It happens a few times. It's strange but charming.

3. Why the hell are Russian's always obscuring place and street names? I can't think of (m)any non-Russian novels that do this, though I am sure they exist.

This book was interesting and would have appealed greatly to the younger me back when I was reading the likes of Schopenhauer and Nietzsche, being argumentative, and most likely annoying to those around me. Sadly (perhaps), I've grown older and likely appreciated this book a little less than I would have ten years ago. Today I rate this book three stars. If time travel soon becomes possible and I am permitted to both meet my younger self and influence him by giving him a copy of this book I am willing to bet the rating would be closer to five stars.

God this is a dumb review. Sorry Turgenev you deserve better.

[glennbell_1 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

This work of fiction is set in Russia before the revolution. Serfdom was similar to slavery and the story contrasts the life of aristocracy with that of serfs. The main characters are two students: Bazarov being the leader and Arkady being his follower. The story is somewhat interesting in its description of the characters and was likely more of interest in the day of its writing. The eventual demise of Bazarov seems of limited importance since his existence was largely an annoyance to most. I do not recommend the book unless you are interested in Russian history.

[rajivc_18 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This book throws me back to my teens, a time when I read all the great Russian authors. I really like this book, because it captured the atmosphere of the times. It does so in a style that is more gentle than Dostoevsky; and reaches down into the character of the protagonists. I wish, however, that it went deeper into the relationship between the generations. But then, that is my wish only!

[shadowofthewind · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Paperback (edit)review This is the kind of book to read while still in college or in high school. Youth, realizing how bad and corrupt things are in the world become disillusioned and want to change it. In Fathers and Sons, Bazarov wants to destroy it, for he is a nihilist. This book is good on many different levels. It's a great historical piece, reflecting what was going on in Russia in the mid-19th century. Students were coming back from colleges in Western Europe, in some cases they were forcibly recalled by Russian law. These students, filled with ideas about how things can be, or taken aback at the backward customs and rituals in Russia. In the book, Barazrov and Arkady are two such students. Bazarov is the one with the fire in the belly. He wants to destroy the whole Russian system which resemble feudalism. The book documents his views and his fights with the landowners and the Fathers of Russia. It's also a great reflection of generational conflict. The young, wanting to change the world, the old who feel their ideas are fads to pass with time. There is even condescension about these ideas. I thought this was an excellent passage that reflected this:"Of course gentlemen, you know best; how could we keep pace with you? You are here to take our places. In my day, too, there was some sort of Humouralist school, Hoffman, and brown too with his vitalism--they seemed ridiculous to us, but, of course, they too had been great men at one time or another. Some one new has taken the place of Rademacher with you; you bow down to him, but in another twenty years it will be his turn to be laughed at." P 135When I read about generationally conflict today, this book reminds me how long that conflict has been going on. It gives me a better understanding of it. I felt the ending was a bit bleak. The man wanting change and railing against the system becomes a victim of it and dies, representing that death of progress in Russia at the time (the students were roundly rejected by the system and even by the peasants they were trying to help). Overall an excellent and short book. More passages: Then we suspected that talk, perpetual talk, and nothing but talk, about our social diseases, was not worth while, that it all led to nothing but superficiality and pedantry; we saw that our leading men, so-called advanced people and reformers, are no good; that we busy ourselves over foolery, talk rubbish about art, unconscious creativeness, parliamentarism, trial by jury, and the deuce knows what all; while, all the while, it's a question of getting bread to eat, while we're stifling under the grossest superstition, while all our enterprises come to grief, simply because there aren't honest men enough to carry them on, while the very emancipation our Government's busy upon will hardly come to any good, because peasants are glad to rob even themselves to get drunk at the gin-shop.' chap 5...es, yes. First a pride almost Satanic, then ridicule—that, that's what it is attracts the young, that's what gains an ascendancy over the inexperienced hearts of boys! Here's one of them sitting beside you, ready to worship the ground under your feet. Look at him! (Arkady turned away and frowned.) And this plague has spread far already. I have been told that in Rome our artists never set foot in the Vatican. Raphael they regard as almost a fool, because, if you please, he's an authority; while they're all the while most disgustingly sterile and unsuccessful, men whose imagination does not soar beyond 'Girls at a Fountain,' however they try! And the girls even out of drawing. They are fine fellows to your mind, are they not?''To my mind,' retorted Bazarov, 'Raphael's not worth a brass farthing; and they're no better than he.'the tiny space I occupy is so infinitely small in comparison with the rest of space, in which I am not, and which has nothing to do with me; and the period of time in which it is my lot to live is so petty beside the eternity in which I have not been, and shall not be... P 144'Bravo! bravo! Listen, Arkady ... that's how young men of to-day ought to express themselves! And if you come to think of it, how could they fail to follow you! In old days, young men had to study; they didn't want to be called dunces, so they had to work hard whether they liked it or not. But now, they need only say, "Everything in the world is foolery!" and the trick's done. Young men are delighted. And, to be sure, they were simply geese before, and now they have suddenly turned nihilists.'Chap. 10'And now, I say again, good-bye, for it's useless to deceive ourselves—we are parting for good, and you know that yourself ... you have acted sensibly; you're not made for our bitter, rough, lonely existence. There's no dash, no hate in you, but you've the daring of youth and the fire of youth. Your sort, you gentry, can never get beyond refined submission or refined indignation, and that's no good. You won't fight—and yet you fancy yourselves gallant chaps—but we mean to fight. Oh well! Our dust would get into your eyes, our mud would bespatter you, but yet you're not up to our level, you're admiring yourselves unconsciously, you like to abuse yourselves; but we're sick of that—we want something else! we want to smash other people! You're a capital fellow; but you're a sugary, liberal snob for all that—ay volla-too, as my parent is fond of saying.'chap XXVI(less)

[dandelionroots · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Even though the conflict between generations is centered around the historical event of the emancipation of the russian serfs, it is relevant to every generational conflict. The extremists at either end will never understand each other, yet there is a delightful middle ground to be struck and exist happily in. The characters were more life like than anything I've read in a long while, which turned what could have been a relatively dull classic into a page turner. I cared about his portraits.

[lucybrown_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

One of my all time favorites.

[eyejaybee · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Possibly the first modern Russian novel. The central figures Barazov and Arkady show a marked contrast in their eventual approaches to life. Bazarov is a self-professed nihilist, believing that the established order should always be challenged.Arkady is initially in thrall to Bazarov's tenets, to the extent that he risks alienating his old-fashioned father and even more traditional uncle. The novel is one of self discovery, though, and Arkady eventually marries Katya Lokteva, having previously been infatuated with her elder sister Anna. However, it is Bazarov who falls irredeemably in love with Anna, thus compromising the beliefs that have been the pillar of his entire being.