Ivan Turgenev, Fathers and Sons
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March 18th, 2010 by admin
There is enormous satisfaction to be found in reading in this wonderful novel.
A surprise selection by one of our book groups, Ivan Turgenev’s classic novel, Fathers and Sons, still stands head and shoulders over a great many works of contemporary fiction. The selection of this novel was a surprise as we don’t often – if ever – associate classic 19th century Russian literature with books we would read for pleasure.
First published in 1862, Fathers and Sons is more than a novel about the differences between generations, those things regretted by parents and arrogantly assumed as a natural right by their children. Turgenev’s novel is much more even than a response by a middle-aged writer to find himself classed as one of the ‘Old Guard’ by a younger, more politically assertive generation of authors. At its best, this novel is a sublime social comedy.
In a society constrained by strict moral, ethical and religious codes, there is going to be upset when two young men assume the fashionable form of non-philosophy of nihilism. As with the later works of authors such as EM Forster, there is abundant humour to be found in placing a young man with no respect for aristocrats exactly in their midst. Bazarov is no comedian but is determined that not one thing is of more value – or of greater sentimental value – than anything else. It is this classic anti-hero’s determined stance, even in the face of his recognition of the love blossoming within himself that will, inevitably, lead to the drama and the astonishing conclusion that has made this novel famous.
Another book group recently read EM Forster’s, A Room with a View, and concluded – perhaps controversially – that Forster failed at the end from concluding his book on the more negative note that naturally followed from the story itself. They also felt that the characters with but one or two notable exceptions were poorly drawn (and even, that this was one occasion when the film was better than the book).
Turgenev’s writing is rich, warm, vibrant and – certainly in this translation by Richard Freeman who was the first translator to have access to Turgenev’s original notes – as engrossing as the multiple plot-line dramas of much larger epic contemporary novels. There is in the telling of Bazarov’s story, rarely a wrong note to be heard but even this mis-steps appear deliberate as they add understanding and insisght to each character’s motivations.
The awesome wonder of this novel is that in its portrayal of a humanity liberated by rational thought from age-old conformities, as just one man ultimately seeks to challenge all political and religious establishments, we can enjoy reading a novel every bit as controversial in the present time as when it was first published.
Hmm – this is certainly one approach to the book, but I think there’s a bit more to it than the ‘portrayal of a humanity liberated by rational thought from age-old conformities’.
The title of the novel can be understood in a number of ways – as being about the inevitable ‘generation gap’ between parents and children, certainly, but also as pointing to the implacable ties of inheritance and upbringing that bind them together, and determine their outlook and perhaps their fate in life. Even though Bazarov’s bid for ‘liberation’ is admirable in many ways, it also has an element of delusion in it too, in the face of the power of the natural and instinctual forces that he represses and denies.
In the end, we are faced with two alternative fates: Arkady’s comic reconciliation with his father and his willing occupation of the ‘nest’ that his life with Katya creates; or Bazarov’s tragic determination not to compromise with his ideals, reinforced by his ill-fated encounter with Anne Sergeevna. Which would we rather have if it were us, I wonder? Or is there a ‘middle way’ …?