Fathers and Sons

By Ivan Turgenev

First published in 1862, Ivan Turgenev’s “Fathers and Sons” is widely considered to be the author’s greatest literary achievement. It is a novel about the clash of ideologies of two generations. The older generation, the fathers, represents an upper class whose power and influence is fading and giving way to the younger generation, the sons, who represent an increasing objection to the status quo. This conflict is embodied in the characters of Arkady Nikolaevich Kirsanov and Yevgeny Vasilevich Bazarov, two friends who have meet as students at St. Petersburg University. Arkady has recently graduated and has returned home to his father’s small estate in an outlying province of Russia bringing his friend Yevgeny with him. What follows is uneasiness amongst the family when Arkady and Yevgeny’s nihilistic views begin to emerge and are shown in conflict with the older generations more traditional views. “Fathers and Sons” is a brilliant work that captures the tension that existed among generations and class in the years leading up to the revolution in Russia. This edition follows the translation of Constance Garnett and a biographical afterword.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Digireads.com Publishing
• Release date: Sep 21, 2020
• ISBN: 9781420977790

Ivan Turgenev

Ivan Turgenev was a Russian writer whose work is exemplary of Russian Realism. A student of Hegel, Turgenev’s political views and writing were heavily influenced by the Age of Enlightenment. Among his most recognized works are the classic Fathers and Sons, A Sportsman’s Sketches, and A Month in the Country. Turgenev is today recognized for his artistic purity, which influenced writers such as Henry James and Joseph Conrad. Turgenev died in 1883, and is credited with returning Leo Tolstoy to writing as the result of his death-bed plea.

Book preview

Chapter I

‘Well, Piotr, not in sight yet?’ was the question asked on May the 20th, 1859, by a gentleman of a little over forty, in a dusty coat and checked trousers, who came out without his hat on to the low steps of the posting station at S——. He was addressing his servant, a chubby young fellow, with whitish down on his chin, and little, lack-lustre eyes.

The servant, in whom everything—the turquoise ring in his ear, the streaky hair plastered with grease, and the civility of his movements—indicated a man of the new, improved generation, glanced with an air of indulgence along the road, and made answer:

‘No, sir; not in sight.’

‘Not in sight?’ repeated his master.

‘No, sir,’ responded the man a second time.

His master sighed, and sat down on a little bench. We will introduce him to the reader while he sits, his feet tucked under him, gazing thoughtfully round.

His name was Nikolai Petrovitch Kirsanov. He had, twelve miles from the posting station, a fine property of two hundred souls, or, as he expressed it—since he had arranged the division of his land with the peasants, and started ‘a farm’—of nearly five thousand acres. His father, a general in the army, who served in 1812, a coarse, half-educated, but not ill-natured man, a typical Russian, had been in harness all his life, first in command of a brigade, and then of a division, and lived constantly in the provinces, where, by virtue of his rank, he played a fairly important part. Nikolai Petrovitch was born in the south of Russia like his elder brother, Pavel, of whom more hereafter. He was educated at home till he was fourteen, surrounded by cheap tutors, free-and-easy but toadying adjutants, and all the usual regimental and staff set. His mother, one of the Kolyazin family, as a girl called Agathe, but as a general’s wife Agathokleya Kuzminishna Kirsanov, was one of those military ladies who take their full share of the duties and dignities of office. She wore gorgeous caps and rustling silk dresses; in church she was the first to advance to the cross; she talked a great deal in a loud voice, let her children kiss her hand in the morning, and gave them her blessing at night—in fact, she got everything out of life she could.

Nikolai Petrovitch, as a general’s son—though so far from being distinguished by courage that he even deserved to be called ‘a funk’—was intended, like his brother Pavel, to enter the army; but he broke his leg on the very day when the news of his commission came, and, after being two months in bed, retained a slight limp to the end of his days. His father gave him up as a bad job, and let him go into the civil service. He took him to Petersburg directly he was eighteen, and placed him in the university. His brother happened about the same time to be made an officer in the Guards. The young men started living together in one set of rooms, under the remote supervision of a cousin on their mother’s side, Ilya Kolyazin, an official of high rank. Their father returned to his division and his wife, and only rarely sent his sons large sheets of grey paper, scrawled over in a bold clerkly hand. At the bottom of these sheets stood in letters, enclosed carefully in scroll-work, the words, ‘Piotr Kirsanov, General-Major.’ In 1835 Nikolai Petrovitch left the university, a graduate, and in the same year General Kirsanov was put on to the retired list after an unsuccessful review, and came to Petersburg with his wife to live. He was about to take a house in the Tavrichesky Gardens, and had joined the English club, but he died suddenly of an apoplectic fit. Agathokleya Kuzminishna soon followed him; she could not accustom herself to a dull life in the capital; she was consumed by the ennui of existence away from the regiment.

Meanwhile Nikolai Petrovitch had already, in his parents’ lifetime and to their no slight chagrin, had time to fall in love with the daughter of his landlord, a petty official, Prepolovensky. She was a pretty and, as it is called, ‘advanced’ girl; she used to read the serious articles in the ‘Science’ column of the journals. He married her directly the term of mourning was over; and leaving the civil service in which his father had by favour procured him a post, was perfectly blissful with his Masha, first in a country villa near the Lyesny Institute, afterwards in town in a pretty little flat with a clean staircase and a draughty drawing-room, and then in the country, where he settled finally, and where in a short time a son, Arkady, was born to him. The young couple lived very happily and peacefully; they were scarcely ever apart; they read together, sang and played duets together on the piano; she tended her flowers and looked after the poultry-yard; he sometimes went hunting, and busied himself with the estate, while Arkady grew and grew in the same happy and peaceful way.

Ten years passed like a dream. In 1847 Kirsanov’s wife died. He almost succumbed to this blow; in a few weeks his hair was grey; he was getting ready to go abroad, if possible to distract his mind… but then came the year 1848. He returned unwillingly to the country, and, after a rather prolonged period of inactivity, began to take an interest in improvements in the management of his land. In 1855 he brought his son to the university; he spent three winters with him in Petersburg, hardly going out anywhere, and trying to make acquaintance with Arkady’s young companions. The last winter he had not been able to go, and here we have seen him in the May of 1859, already quite grey, stoutish, and rather bent, waiting for his son, who had just taken his degree, as once he had taken it himself.

The servant, from a feeling of propriety, and perhaps, too, not anxious to remain under the master’s eyes, had gone to the gate, and was smoking a pipe. Nikolai Petrovitch bent his head, and began staring at the crumbling steps; a big mottled fowl walked sedately towards him, treading firmly with its great yellow legs; a muddy cat gave him an unfriendly look, twisting herself coyly round the railing. The sun was scorching; from the half-dark passage of the posting station came an odour of hot rye-bread. Nikolai Petrovitch fell to dreaming. ‘My son… a graduate… Arkasha…’ were the ideas that continually came round again and again in his head; he tried to think of something else, and again the same thoughts returned. He remembered his dead wife.… ‘She did not live to see it!’ he murmured sadly. A plump, dark-blue pigeon flew into the road, and hurriedly went to drink in a puddle near the well. Nikolai Petrovitch began looking at it, but his ear had already caught the sound of approaching wheels.

‘It sounds as if they’re coming, sir,’ announced the servant, popping in from the gateway.

Nikolai Petrovitch jumped up, and bent his eyes on the road. A carriage appeared with three posting-horses harnessed abreast; in the carriage he caught a glimpse of the blue band of a student’s cap, the familiar outline of a dear face.

‘Arkasha! Arkasha!’ cried Kirsanov, and he ran waving his hands.… A few instants later, his lips were pressed to the beardless, dusty, sunburnt-cheek of the youthful graduate.

Chapter II

‘Let me shake myself first, daddy,’ said Arkady, in a voice tired from travelling, but boyish and clear as a bell, as he gaily responded to his father’s caresses; ‘I am covering you with dust.’

‘Never mind, never mind,’ repeated Nikolai Petrovitch, smiling tenderly, and twice he struck the collar of his son’s cloak and his own greatcoat with his hand. ‘Let me have a look at you; let me have a look at you,’ he added, moving back from him, but immediately he went with hurried steps towards the yard of the station, calling, ‘This way, this way; and horses at once.’

Nikolai Petrovitch seemed far more excited than his son; he seemed a little confused, a little timid. Arkady stopped him.

‘Daddy,’ he said, ‘let me introduce you to my great friend, Bazarov, about whom I have so often written to you. He has been so good as to promise to stay with us.’

Nikolai Petrovitch went back quickly, and going up to a tall man in a long, loose, rough coat with tassels, who had only just got out of the carriage, he warmly pressed the ungloved red hand, which the latter did not at once hold out to him.

‘I am heartily glad,’ he began, ‘and very grateful for your kind intention of visiting us.… Let me know your name, and your father’s.’

‘Yevgeny Vassilyitch,’ answered Bazarov, in a lazy but manly voice; and turning back the collar of his rough coat, he showed Nikolai Petrovitch his whole face. It was long and lean, with a broad forehead, a nose flat at the base and sharper at the end, large greenish eyes, and drooping whiskers of a sandy colour; it was lighted up by a tranquil smile, and showed self-confidence and intelligence.

‘I hope, dear Yevgeny Vassilyitch, you won’t be dull with us,’ continued Nikolai Petrovitch.

Bazarov’s thin lips moved just perceptibly, though he made no reply, but merely took off his cap. His long, thick hair did not hide the prominent bumps on his head.

‘Then, Arkady,’ Nikolai Petrovitch began again, turning to his son, ‘shall the horses be put to at once? or would you like to rest?’

‘We will rest at home, daddy; tell them to harness the horses.’

‘At once, at once,’ his father assented. ‘Hey, Piotr, do you hear? Get things ready, my good boy; look sharp.’

Piotr, who as a modernised servant had not kissed the young master’s hand, but only bowed to him from a distance, again vanished through the gateway.

‘I came here with the carriage, but there are three horses for your coach too,’ said Nikolai Petrovitch fussily, while Arkady drank some water from an iron dipper brought him by the woman in charge of the station, and Bazarov began smoking a pipe and went up to the driver, who was taking out the horses; ‘there are only two seats in the carriage, and I don’t know how your friend’…

‘He will go in the coach,’ interposed Arkady in an undertone. ‘You must not stand on ceremony with him, please. He’s a splendid fellow, so simple—you will see.’

Nikolai Petrovitch’s coachman brought the horses round.

‘Come, hurry up, bushy beard!’ said Bazarov, addressing the driver.

‘Do you hear, Mityuha,’ put in another driver, standing by with his hands thrust behind him into the opening of his sheepskin coat, ‘what the gentleman called you? It’s a bushy beard you are too.’

Mityuha only gave a jog to his hat and pulled the reins off the heated shaft-horse.

‘Look sharp, look sharp, lads, lend a hand,’ cried Nikolai Petrovitch; ‘there’ll be something to drink our health with!’

In a few minutes the horses were harnessed; the father and son were installed in the carriage; Piotr climbed up on to the box; Bazarov jumped into the coach, and nestled his head down into the leather cushion; and both the vehicles rolled away.

Chapter III

‘So here you are, a graduate at last, and come home again,’ said Nikolai Petrovitch, touching Arkady now on the shoulder, now on the knee. ‘At last!’

‘And how is uncle? quite well?’ asked Arkady, who, in spite of the genuine, almost childish delight filling his heart, wanted as soon as possible to turn the conversation from the emotional into a commonplace channel.

‘Quite well. He was thinking of coming with me to meet you, but for some reason or other he gave up the idea.’

‘And how long have you been waiting for me?’ inquired Arkady.

‘Oh, about five hours.’

‘Dear old dad!’

Arkady turned round quickly to his father, and gave him a sounding kiss on the cheek. Nikolai Petrovitch gave vent to a low chuckle.

‘I have got such a capital horse for you!’ he began. ‘You will see. And your room has been fresh papered.’

‘And is there a room for Bazarov?’

‘We will find one for him too.’

‘Please, dad, make much of him. I can’t tell you how I prize his friendship.’

‘Have you made friends with him lately?’

‘Yes, quite lately.’

‘Ah, that’s how it is I did not see him last winter. What does he study?’

‘His chief subject is natural science. But he knows everything. Next year he wants to take his doctor’s degree.’

‘Ah! he’s in the medical faculty,’ observed Nikolai Petrovitch, and he was silent for a little. ‘Piotr,’ he went on, stretching out his hand, ‘aren’t those our peasants driving along?’

Piotr looked where his master was pointing. Some carts harnessed with unbridled horses were moving rapidly along a narrow by-road. In each cart there were one or two peasants in sheepskin coats, unbuttoned.

‘Yes, sir,’ replied Piotr.

‘Where are they going,—to the town?’

‘To the town, I suppose. To the gin-shop,’ he added contemptuously, turning slightly towards the coachman, as though he would appeal to him. But the latter did not stir a muscle; he was a man of the old stamp, and did not share the modern views of the younger generation.

‘I have had a lot of bother with the peasants this year,’ pursued Nikolai Petrovitch, turning to his son. ‘They won’t pay their rent. What is one to do?’

‘But do you like your hired labourers?’

‘Yes,’ said Nikolai Petrovitch between his teeth. ‘They’re being set against me, that’s the mischief; and they don’t do their best. They spoil the tools. But they have tilled the land pretty fairly. When things have settled down a bit, it will be all right. Do you take an interest in farming now?’

‘You’ve no shade; that’s a pity,’ remarked Arkady, without answering the last question.

‘I have had a great awning put up on the north side over the balcony,’ observed Nikolai Petrovitch; ‘now we can have dinner even in the open air.’

‘It’ll be rather too like a summer villa.… Still, that’s all nonsense. What air though here! How delicious it smells! Really I fancy there’s nowhere such fragrance in the world as in the meadows here! And the sky too.’

Arkady suddenly stopped short, cast a stealthy look behind him, and said no more.

‘Of course,’ observed Nikolai Petrovitch, ‘you were born here, and so everything is bound to strike you in a special——’

‘Come, dad, that makes no difference where a man is born.’

‘Still——’

‘No; it makes absolutely no difference.’

Nikolai Petrovitch gave a sidelong glance at his son, and the carriage went on a half-a-mile further before the conversation was renewed between them.

‘I don’t recollect whether I wrote to you,’ began Nikolai Petrovitch, ‘your old nurse, Yegorovna, is dead.’

‘Really? Poor thing! Is Prokofitch still living?’

‘Yes, and not a bit changed. As grumbling as ever.’ In fact, you won’t find many changes at Maryino.’

‘Have you still the same bailiff?’

‘Well, to be sure there is a change there. I decided not to keep about me any freed serfs, who have been house servants, or, at least, not to intrust them with duties of any responsibility.’ (Arkady glanced towards Piotr.) ‘Il est libre, en effect,’ observed Nikolai Petrovitch in an undertone: ‘but, you see, he’s only a valet. Now I have a bailiff, a townsman; he seems a practical fellow. I pay him two hundred and fifty rubles a year. But,’ added Nikolai Petrovitch, rubbing his forehead and eyebrows with his hand, which was always an indication with him of inward embarrassment, ‘I told you just now that you would not find changes at Maryino.… That’s not quite correct. I think it my duty to prepare you, though.…’

He hesitated for an instant, and then went on in French.

‘A severe moralist would regard my openness as improper; but, in the first place, it can’t be concealed, and secondly, you are aware I have always had peculiar ideas as regards the relation of father and son. Though, of course, you would be right in blaming me. At my age.… In short… that… that girl, about whom you have probably heard already…’

‘Fenitchka?’ asked Arkady easily.

Nikolai Petrovitch blushed. ‘Don’t mention her name aloud, please.… Well… she is living with me now. I have installed her in the house… there were two little rooms there. But that can all be changed.’

‘Goodness, daddy, what for?’

‘Your friend is going to stay with us… it would be awkward…’

‘Please don’t be uneasy on Bazarov’s account. He’s above all that.’

‘Well, but you too,’ added Nikolai Petrovitch. ‘The little lodge is so horrid—that’s the worst of it.’

‘Goodness, dad,’ interposed Arkady, ‘it’s as if you were apologising; I wonder you’re not ashamed.’

‘Of course, I ought to be ashamed,’ answered Nikolai Petrovitch, flushing more and more.

‘Nonsense, dad, nonsense; please don’t!’ Arkady smiled affectionately. ‘What a thing to apologise for!’ he thought to himself, and his heart was filled with a feeling of condescending tenderness for his kind, soft-hearted father, mixed with a sense of secret superiority. ‘Please, stop,’ he repeated once more, instinctively revelling in a consciousness of his own advanced and emancipated condition.

Nikolai Petrovitch glanced at him from under the fingers of the hand with which he was still rubbing his forehead, and there was a pang in his heart.… But at once he blamed himself for it.

‘Here are our meadows at last,’ he said after a long silence.

‘And that in front is our forest, isn’t it?’ asked Arkady.

‘Yes. Only I have sold the timber. This year they will cut it down.’

‘Why did you sell it?’

‘The money was needed; besides, that land is to go to the peasants.’

‘Who don’t pay you their rent?’

‘That’s their affair; besides, they will pay it some day.’

‘I am sorry about the forest,’ observed Arkady, and he began to look about him.

The country through which they were driving could not be called picturesque. Fields upon fields stretched all along to the very horizon, now sloping gently upwards, then dropping down again; in some places woods were to be seen, and winding ravines, planted with low, scanty bushes, recalling vividly the representation of them on the old-fashioned maps of the times of Catherine. They came upon little streams too with hollow banks; and tiny lakes with narrow dykes; and little villages, with low hovels under dark and often tumble-down roofs, and slanting barns with walls woven of brushwood and gaping doorways beside neglected threshing-floors; and churches, some brick-built, with stucco peeling off in patches, others wooden, with crosses fallen askew, and overgrown grave-yards. Slowly Arkady’s heart sunk.

To complete the picture, the peasants they met were all in tatters and on the sorriest little nags; the willows, with their trunks stripped of bark, and broken branches, stood like ragged beggars along the roadside; cows lean and shaggy and looking pinched up by hunger, were greedily tearing at the grass along the ditches. They looked as though they had just been snatched out of the murderous clutches of some threatening monster; and the piteous state of the weak, starved beasts in the midst of the lovely spring day, called up, like a white phantom, the endless, comfortless winter with its storms, and frosts, and snows.… ‘No,’ thought Arkady, ‘this is not a rich country; it does not impress one by plenty or industry; it can’t, it can’t go on like this, reforms are absolutely necessary… but how is one to carry them out, how is one to begin?’

Such were Arkady’s reflections;… but even as he reflected, the spring regained its sway. All around was golden green, all—trees, bushes, grass—shone and stirred gently in wide waves under the soft breath of the warm wind; from all sides flooded the endless trilling music of the larks; the peewits were calling as they hovered over the low-lying meadows, or noiselessly ran over the tussocks of grass; the rooks strutted among the half-grown short spring corn, standing out black against its tender green; they disappeared in the already whitening rye, only from time to time their heads peeped out amid its grey waves. Arkady gazed and gazed, and his reflections grew slowly fainter and passed away.… He flung off his cloak and turned to his father, with a face so bright and boyish, that the latter gave him another hug.

‘We’re not far off now,’ remarked Nikolai Petrovitch; ‘we have only to get up this hill, and the house will be in sight. We shall get on together splendidly, Arkasha; you shall help me in farming the estate, if only it isn’t a bore to you. We must draw close to one another now, and learn to know each other thoroughly, mustn’t we!’

‘Of course,’ said Arkady; ‘but what an exquisite day it is to-day!’

‘To welcome you, my dear boy. Yes, it’s spring in its full loveliness. Though I agree with Pushkin—do you remember in Yevgeny Onyegin—

‘To me how sad thy coming is,

Spring, spring, sweet time of love!

What…’

‘Arkady!’ called Bazarov’s voice from the coach, ‘send me a match; I’ve nothing to light my pipe with.’

Nikolai Petrovitch stopped, while Arkady, who had begun listening to him with some surprise, though with sympathy too, made haste to pull a silver matchbox out of his pocket, and sent it to Bazarov by Piotr.

‘Will you have a cigar?’ shouted Bazarov again.

‘Thanks,’ answered Arkady.

Piotr returned to the carriage, and handed him with the match-box a thick black cigar, which Arkady began to smoke promptly, diffusing about him such a strong and pungent odour of cheap tobacco, that Nikolai Petrovitch, who had never been a smoker from his youth up, was forced to turn away his head, as imperceptibly as he could for fear of wounding his son.

A quarter of an hour

Reviews for Fathers and Sons

[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.