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Childhood, Boyhood, Youth #2
Отрочество
Повесть (1853—1854). Вторая часть трилогии «Детство. Отрочество. Юность». Впервые опубликована в журнале «Современник» в 1854 году. Входит в список обязательной литературы для средних школ.
80 pages, Kindle Edition
First published June 1, 1854
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About the author
Leo Tolstoy
8,107 books28.8k followersLev Nikolayevich Tolstoy (Russian: Лев Николаевич Толстой; most appropriately used Liev Tolstoy; commonly Leo Tolstoy in Anglophone countries) was a Russian writer who primarily wrote novels and short stories. Later in life, he also wrote plays and essays. His two most famous works, the novels War and Peace and Anna Karenina, are acknowledged as two of the greatest novels of all time and a pinnacle of realist fiction. Many consider Tolstoy to have been one of the world's greatest novelists. Tolstoy is equally known for his complicated and paradoxical persona and for his extreme moralistic and ascetic views, which he adopted after a moral crisis and spiritual awakening in the 1870s, after which he also became noted as a moral thinker and social reformer.
His literal interpretation of the ethical teachings of Jesus, centering on the Sermon on the Mount, caused him in later life to become a fervent Christian anarchist and anarcho-pacifist. His ideas on nonviolent resistance, expressed in such works as The Kingdom of God Is Within You, were to have a profound impact on such pivotal twentieth-century figures as Mohandas Gandhi and Martin Luther King, Jr.
His literal interpretation of the ethical teachings of Jesus, centering on the Sermon on the Mount, caused him in later life to become a fervent Christian anarchist and anarcho-pacifist. His ideas on nonviolent resistance, expressed in such works as The Kingdom of God Is Within You, were to have a profound impact on such pivotal twentieth-century figures as Mohandas Gandhi and Martin Luther King, Jr.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 70 reviews
January 30, 2019
"Kerr has said that every attachment has two sides: one loves, and the other allows himself to be loved; one kisses, and the other surrenders his cheek."
- Leo Tolstoy, Boyhood
Boyhood, is Tolstoy's second novel(la) and the second of his three autobiographical novels (Childhood, Boyhood, Youth). Like with Childhood, I get big Knausgårdian vibes from reading these early Tolstoy novels. They are "technically" ficiton, but draw heavily on the childhood, boyhood and youth (see what I did?) of Tolstoy. Details may change, relationships might not be exact, but in many ways, these novels capture if not the letter of Tolstoy's early years, at least the spirit of those years. But I also get a bit of a Nabokovian vibe too (yes, I agree, Nabokov's and Knausgård's novles TECHNICALLY have a Tolstoyan vibe...but bear with me.). Some scenes in Boyhood sing with a flavor I haven't felt since certain chapters of Ada, or Ardor: A Family Chronicle or Speak, Memory.
Probably the most poignant part of this novella, for me, was the section where he was talking about the almost Nihilist hatred Tolstoy had for St. Jerome (his French tutor). He captured in a couple short paragraphs that melancholy loneliness of boys from 12 to 14. That awkward incediarism driven by isolation, curiosity, and inevitable growth, that all must pass through and MOST pass through safely, with just a few scars. Tolstoy NAILED it, at least from my perspective. He captures the insecurities, the fears, the myopic stupidities of boyhood. Some things NEVER change.
- Leo Tolstoy, Boyhood
Boyhood, is Tolstoy's second novel(la) and the second of his three autobiographical novels (Childhood, Boyhood, Youth). Like with Childhood, I get big Knausgårdian vibes from reading these early Tolstoy novels. They are "technically" ficiton, but draw heavily on the childhood, boyhood and youth (see what I did?) of Tolstoy. Details may change, relationships might not be exact, but in many ways, these novels capture if not the letter of Tolstoy's early years, at least the spirit of those years. But I also get a bit of a Nabokovian vibe too (yes, I agree, Nabokov's and Knausgård's novles TECHNICALLY have a Tolstoyan vibe...but bear with me.). Some scenes in Boyhood sing with a flavor I haven't felt since certain chapters of Ada, or Ardor: A Family Chronicle or Speak, Memory.
Probably the most poignant part of this novella, for me, was the section where he was talking about the almost Nihilist hatred Tolstoy had for St. Jerome (his French tutor). He captured in a couple short paragraphs that melancholy loneliness of boys from 12 to 14. That awkward incediarism driven by isolation, curiosity, and inevitable growth, that all must pass through and MOST pass through safely, with just a few scars. Tolstoy NAILED it, at least from my perspective. He captures the insecurities, the fears, the myopic stupidities of boyhood. Some things NEVER change.
February 15, 2026
"Düşünce inanç haline ancak bilinen tek yolla, genellikle diğer akılların aynı inanca varmak için geçtikleri yollardan çok farklı, hiç beklenmedik bir yolla geçer."
Üçlemenin ikinci kitabı, bu kitabı ilkinden daha çok beğendim. Bu kitapta olaydan çok genç bir bilincin içindeyiz. Nikolenka Aleksandroviç, bu sefer annesinin ölümünden sonra ailece Moskova’ya taşınmalarını, babaannenin evinde geçilen yeni düzeni, kardeşleriyle ilişkilerini ve giderek karmaşıklaşan iç dünyasını anlatıyor. O yaştaki bir çocuğun ahlaki uyanışı, abisine duyduğu kıskançlık, kendi içine çekilmesi -"gurullu yanlızığıma çekildim" olarak ifade ediyor-, içindeki inanç kriziyle ilgili sorgulamaları ve aklıyla duyguları arasındaki çatışmada yapmaya çalıştığı felsefi yorumlar oldukça güzeldi. O yaştaki bir çocuğun kırılma anlarına dair zihninden geçebilecek her noktaya ustaca değinilmiş. Tolstoy, insan ruhunu çözümlemedeki ustalığını daha ilk yazınında ortaya koymuş.
Herkese keyifli okumalar.
Evet ama insan hep aynı kalamaz ki; bir gün gelir değişmek gerekir...syf17
Ağlamıyordum, ama yüreğimin üstünde taş gibi ağır bir şey vardı. Altüst olmuş zihnimden artan bir hızla düşünceler, varsayımlar geçiyordu; ama başıma gelen felaketi anımsatan her anı bu düşünce ve varsayımların dolaşık zincirini kopar-tuyordu ve beni bekleyen yazgı konusunda çıkışı olmayan bir bilinmezlik, umutsuzluk ve korku labirentine giriyordum tekrar.syf67
Bir kez daha yineliyorum, duygu meselesindeki gerçekdışılık, gerçeğin en inandırıcı göstergesidir.syf105
Ömrüm boyunca bana daha pek çok zarar verecek olan en önemli kusurum dışında, yani gereksiz yere her şeye kafa yorma hevesim dışında ilkgençlik kusurlarımdan yavaş yavaş kurtulmaya başlıyordum.syf108
gençlikte henüz akla değer verir, ona inanırsın. Gençlikte ruhunun bütün güçleri geleceğe yöneliktir, gelecek de geçmişin deneyimlerine değil, hayali bir mutluluk olasılığına dayanan umudun etkisi altında öyle çeşitli, canlı ve büyüleyici şekiller alır ki, gelecekteki mutluluk üzerine ku-rulan, sadece anlaşılabilir ve paylaşılabilir hayaller bu yaşın gerçek mutluluğunu oluşturur.syf119
Durumuma alışamayacak kadar onurluydum, üzümün henüz koruk olduğuna kendisini inandıran tilki misali kendimi avuturdum; yani benim gözümde Volodya'nın yarar-landığı, benimse için için kıskandığım hoş bir dış görünüşün sağladığı tüm zevkleri küçümsemeye çalışır, gururlu bir yal-nızlıktan haz almak için aklımın ve hayalimin bütün gücünü zorlardım.syf29
Kendi ilkgençliğimi, özellikle de o talihsiz günde içinde bulunduğum ruh halini anımsayınca insanın herhangi bir amacı ve zarar verme isteği olmadığı halde sırf öylesine bir meraktan, bilinçsizce bir şeyler yapma gereksinimiyle çok korkunç bir suç işleyebileceğini çok iyi anlıyorum. Öyle an-lar olur, gelecek insana o kadar karanlık görünür ki, insan akıl gözlerini bu karanlığın üstünde durdurmaya korkar, aklının faaliyetini tamamen keser ve kendini bir geleceğin olmayacağına, geçmişin de olmadığına inandırmaya çalışır.syf64
İlkgençlik yıllarımda din konusunda kafamı karıştıran kuşkulara doğru ilk adımı tam bu anda attığımı, bu adımı atma nedenimin mutsuzluğumun beni hoşnutsuz-luğa ve inançsızlığa itmesi değil, ruhsal durumumun son derece bozuk olduğu ve gün boyunca tek başıma kaldığım bir sırada aklıma gelen Tanrı'nın adaletsizliği düşüncesinin yağmurdan sonra yumuşamış toprağa düşen kötü bir to-hum gibi hızla büyümesi ve köklerini salması olduğunu söyleyebilirim.syf70
Babamı seviyordum, ama insan aklı yüreğinden bağımsız bir yaşam sürüyor, sık sık da duygularını aşağılayan, duygu ları açısından anlaşılmaz ve acımasız düşünceler barındırı yor içinde. Uzaklaştırmak istediğim halde böyle düşünceler benim de aklıma geliyordu...syf102
...ruhum göğe uçuyor; orada şaşırtıcı güzellikte, beyaz, saydam, uzun bir şey görüyor ve bunun annem olduğunu hissediyorum. Bu beyaz şey çevremi sarıyor, beni okşuyor, ama ben içimde bir huzursuzluk duyuyorum, sanki onu tanımıyorum. "Eğer sahiden sensen," di-yorum, "o zaman sana sarılabilmem için kendini bana daha iyi göster." Sesi bana yanıt veriyor: Burada hepimiz böyleyiz, sana daha iyi sarılamam. Yoksa bu hoşuna gitmiyor mu?" "Hayır, çok hoşuma gidiyor, ama sen beni gıdıklayamıyor-sun, ben de senin ellerini öpemiyorum..." "Buna gerek yok, bu da çok güzel," diyor annem ve ben sahiden çok güzel olduğunu hissediyorum, birlikte daha yukarılara uçuyoruz. Burada sanki uykudan uyanıyorum ve kendimi tekrar san-dığın üstünde, karanlık kilerde, yanaklarım gözyaşlarından aslanmış, birlikte daha yukarılara uçuyoruz sözlerini doğru-layan düşüncelerden uzak buluyorum. Durumumu anlamak için uzun süre her türlü çabayı harcıyorum, ama şu anda zihnimde sadece ve sadece korkunç karanlık, aşılmaz bir boşluk canlanıyor. Gerçeğin aklıma gelmesiyle kopan o fe-rahlatıcı, mutlu hayallere geri dönmeye çalışıyorum; önceki hayallerin izini çabucak buluyorum, ama bu hayallerin de-vam etmesinin olanaksız olduğunu görmek beni şaşırtıyor ve daha da şaşırtıcı olan, bunların hiçbirinin artık bana keyif vermediğini görmek.syf71
Yaşamınızın belli bir döneminde olaylarla ilgili bakış açınızın tümden değiştiği, o ana dek gördüğünüz her şeyin henüz bilmediğiniz öbür yüzünü size döndürdüğünü ansızın fark ettiğiniz oldu mu hiç sevgili okurum? Benim ilkgençliğimin başlangıcı saydığım böyle bir manevi değişiklik ilk kez bu yolculuğumuz esnasında başıma geldi işte.
Yalnız olmadığımızı, yani ailemizin bir toplum içinde yaşadığını, bütün olayların yalnızca bizim çevremizde dönüp durmadığını, bizimle hiçbir ortak yönleri olmayan, bizim için kaygı duymayan ve hatta bizim varlığımızdan haberleri bile olmayan insanların da başka bir yaşamı olduğunu ilk kez açıkça düşünüyordum. Kuşkusuz bunların hepsini eskiden de biliyordum; ama şimdiki kadar bilmiyor, bilincine varmıyor, hissetmiyordum.
Düşünce inanç haline ancak bilinen tek yolla, genellik-le diğer akılların aynı inanca varmak için geçtikleri yollardan çok farklı, hiç beklenmedik bir yolla geçer.syf19
Üçlemenin ikinci kitabı, bu kitabı ilkinden daha çok beğendim. Bu kitapta olaydan çok genç bir bilincin içindeyiz. Nikolenka Aleksandroviç, bu sefer annesinin ölümünden sonra ailece Moskova’ya taşınmalarını, babaannenin evinde geçilen yeni düzeni, kardeşleriyle ilişkilerini ve giderek karmaşıklaşan iç dünyasını anlatıyor. O yaştaki bir çocuğun ahlaki uyanışı, abisine duyduğu kıskançlık, kendi içine çekilmesi -"gurullu yanlızığıma çekildim" olarak ifade ediyor-, içindeki inanç kriziyle ilgili sorgulamaları ve aklıyla duyguları arasındaki çatışmada yapmaya çalıştığı felsefi yorumlar oldukça güzeldi. O yaştaki bir çocuğun kırılma anlarına dair zihninden geçebilecek her noktaya ustaca değinilmiş. Tolstoy, insan ruhunu çözümlemedeki ustalığını daha ilk yazınında ortaya koymuş.
Herkese keyifli okumalar.
Evet ama insan hep aynı kalamaz ki; bir gün gelir değişmek gerekir...syf17
Ağlamıyordum, ama yüreğimin üstünde taş gibi ağır bir şey vardı. Altüst olmuş zihnimden artan bir hızla düşünceler, varsayımlar geçiyordu; ama başıma gelen felaketi anımsatan her anı bu düşünce ve varsayımların dolaşık zincirini kopar-tuyordu ve beni bekleyen yazgı konusunda çıkışı olmayan bir bilinmezlik, umutsuzluk ve korku labirentine giriyordum tekrar.syf67
Bir kez daha yineliyorum, duygu meselesindeki gerçekdışılık, gerçeğin en inandırıcı göstergesidir.syf105
Ömrüm boyunca bana daha pek çok zarar verecek olan en önemli kusurum dışında, yani gereksiz yere her şeye kafa yorma hevesim dışında ilkgençlik kusurlarımdan yavaş yavaş kurtulmaya başlıyordum.syf108
gençlikte henüz akla değer verir, ona inanırsın. Gençlikte ruhunun bütün güçleri geleceğe yöneliktir, gelecek de geçmişin deneyimlerine değil, hayali bir mutluluk olasılığına dayanan umudun etkisi altında öyle çeşitli, canlı ve büyüleyici şekiller alır ki, gelecekteki mutluluk üzerine ku-rulan, sadece anlaşılabilir ve paylaşılabilir hayaller bu yaşın gerçek mutluluğunu oluşturur.syf119
Durumuma alışamayacak kadar onurluydum, üzümün henüz koruk olduğuna kendisini inandıran tilki misali kendimi avuturdum; yani benim gözümde Volodya'nın yarar-landığı, benimse için için kıskandığım hoş bir dış görünüşün sağladığı tüm zevkleri küçümsemeye çalışır, gururlu bir yal-nızlıktan haz almak için aklımın ve hayalimin bütün gücünü zorlardım.syf29
Kendi ilkgençliğimi, özellikle de o talihsiz günde içinde bulunduğum ruh halini anımsayınca insanın herhangi bir amacı ve zarar verme isteği olmadığı halde sırf öylesine bir meraktan, bilinçsizce bir şeyler yapma gereksinimiyle çok korkunç bir suç işleyebileceğini çok iyi anlıyorum. Öyle an-lar olur, gelecek insana o kadar karanlık görünür ki, insan akıl gözlerini bu karanlığın üstünde durdurmaya korkar, aklının faaliyetini tamamen keser ve kendini bir geleceğin olmayacağına, geçmişin de olmadığına inandırmaya çalışır.syf64
İlkgençlik yıllarımda din konusunda kafamı karıştıran kuşkulara doğru ilk adımı tam bu anda attığımı, bu adımı atma nedenimin mutsuzluğumun beni hoşnutsuz-luğa ve inançsızlığa itmesi değil, ruhsal durumumun son derece bozuk olduğu ve gün boyunca tek başıma kaldığım bir sırada aklıma gelen Tanrı'nın adaletsizliği düşüncesinin yağmurdan sonra yumuşamış toprağa düşen kötü bir to-hum gibi hızla büyümesi ve köklerini salması olduğunu söyleyebilirim.syf70
Babamı seviyordum, ama insan aklı yüreğinden bağımsız bir yaşam sürüyor, sık sık da duygularını aşağılayan, duygu ları açısından anlaşılmaz ve acımasız düşünceler barındırı yor içinde. Uzaklaştırmak istediğim halde böyle düşünceler benim de aklıma geliyordu...syf102
...ruhum göğe uçuyor; orada şaşırtıcı güzellikte, beyaz, saydam, uzun bir şey görüyor ve bunun annem olduğunu hissediyorum. Bu beyaz şey çevremi sarıyor, beni okşuyor, ama ben içimde bir huzursuzluk duyuyorum, sanki onu tanımıyorum. "Eğer sahiden sensen," di-yorum, "o zaman sana sarılabilmem için kendini bana daha iyi göster." Sesi bana yanıt veriyor: Burada hepimiz böyleyiz, sana daha iyi sarılamam. Yoksa bu hoşuna gitmiyor mu?" "Hayır, çok hoşuma gidiyor, ama sen beni gıdıklayamıyor-sun, ben de senin ellerini öpemiyorum..." "Buna gerek yok, bu da çok güzel," diyor annem ve ben sahiden çok güzel olduğunu hissediyorum, birlikte daha yukarılara uçuyoruz. Burada sanki uykudan uyanıyorum ve kendimi tekrar san-dığın üstünde, karanlık kilerde, yanaklarım gözyaşlarından aslanmış, birlikte daha yukarılara uçuyoruz sözlerini doğru-layan düşüncelerden uzak buluyorum. Durumumu anlamak için uzun süre her türlü çabayı harcıyorum, ama şu anda zihnimde sadece ve sadece korkunç karanlık, aşılmaz bir boşluk canlanıyor. Gerçeğin aklıma gelmesiyle kopan o fe-rahlatıcı, mutlu hayallere geri dönmeye çalışıyorum; önceki hayallerin izini çabucak buluyorum, ama bu hayallerin de-vam etmesinin olanaksız olduğunu görmek beni şaşırtıyor ve daha da şaşırtıcı olan, bunların hiçbirinin artık bana keyif vermediğini görmek.syf71
Yaşamınızın belli bir döneminde olaylarla ilgili bakış açınızın tümden değiştiği, o ana dek gördüğünüz her şeyin henüz bilmediğiniz öbür yüzünü size döndürdüğünü ansızın fark ettiğiniz oldu mu hiç sevgili okurum? Benim ilkgençliğimin başlangıcı saydığım böyle bir manevi değişiklik ilk kez bu yolculuğumuz esnasında başıma geldi işte.
Yalnız olmadığımızı, yani ailemizin bir toplum içinde yaşadığını, bütün olayların yalnızca bizim çevremizde dönüp durmadığını, bizimle hiçbir ortak yönleri olmayan, bizim için kaygı duymayan ve hatta bizim varlığımızdan haberleri bile olmayan insanların da başka bir yaşamı olduğunu ilk kez açıkça düşünüyordum. Kuşkusuz bunların hepsini eskiden de biliyordum; ama şimdiki kadar bilmiyor, bilincine varmıyor, hissetmiyordum.
Düşünce inanç haline ancak bilinen tek yolla, genellik-le diğer akılların aynı inanca varmak için geçtikleri yollardan çok farklı, hiç beklenmedik bir yolla geçer.syf19
August 30, 2018
"Çalıştığım dersi sırasıyla güzelce anlatmak neşelendiriyor beni. Matematik fakültesine hazırlanıyorum, gerçeği söylemek gerekirse bu seçimi sırf sinüs, tanjant, diferansiyel, integral gibi sözcükler çok hoşuma gittiği için yaptım."
January 28, 2021
the lonely musings of this boy were so conceited and deeply rooted in his self-absorption but they were also really accurate.
teenagers are fuckin obsessed with themselves.
tolstoys writing continues to enrapture me. i hope to read the last installment in this series later this month.
teenagers are fuckin obsessed with themselves.
tolstoys writing continues to enrapture me. i hope to read the last installment in this series later this month.
January 16, 2025
The way tolstoy describes my most secret thoughts in his works are getting kinda scary
April 14, 2021
This second volume of Tolstoy’s autobiography covers his early years in Moscow, where his family moved after the death of his mother. For most if not all of the work he is between the ages of thirteen and sixteen. In its just under seventy odd pages, he manages to recount some charming anecdotes and interesting situations, but it is in the three aspects of his very fine powers of characterization, his youthful good humour and his developing philosophical introspection that I found most of the work’s rather minimal attractiveness.
Almost every individual with whom he came into contact at this time comes in for what has become to me the characteristic manner of Tolstoyan portrait painting. A brief physical description, usually entailing at least four or five distinctive traits is followed by at least a couple of habitual practices of the persona in question: more than enough to out-do Dickens in his ability to paint a vibrant, living picture with just words. For instance, the contrast between his sisters Lubotschka and Katarina is outlined with reference to their variant customs with respect to their mannerisms, their physiques, temperaments, hobbies, music, drawing, intents toward the opposite sex, means of laughing, expressions - both physical and verbal and with respect to his attitudes to each of them. And all this in a page and half! His brother, father, grandmother, his brother's friends and especially his two tutors all receive their share of his penetrating insight. I truly believe that the best writers are also the best observers, and that Tolstoy reigns supreme in these two aspects of his art.
The concatenation of totally flubbing his history lesson on the Crusades, being found outside the classroom when he should have been at his studies, and then breaking the key in a portfolio belonging to his father which he had been reading although he knew he shouldn’t have all work to bring the fourteen year old into a total paroxysm of despair. Shut in a store room for the night, he imagines first forgiving his father for concealing his adopted status from him, then wreaking vengeance on the despised tutor after serving in a glorious military career, and later, as a great landlord, dispensing largesse and romantic bliss on two of his servants. The scene on the journey to Moscow just after a severe thunderstorm, in which the young Nicolinka rushes through the meadow and returns with wet stalks of thyme, urging his sisters to smell them for their poignancy is sheer youthful delight. At least the older Tolstoy had the breadth of spirit to smile at his adolescent frivolities and enthusiasms.
It is to this period of being locked up thus that he attributes the beginning of his lifelong struggle to find a correct attitude to religion. He says the time he spent there thinking led him to develop ‘a pliancy of mind, a weakening of the will, a habit of perpetual moral analysis and diminution both of freshness of sentiment and of clearness of thought.’ After all, what kind of a God could make him suffer so? In a later chapter, he describes casting off several of his youthful traits, but has to confess that that for abstract thought still stayed with him. And his readers should be thankful that it did. War and Peace without Bezukhov’s rambling discussions with Prince Andrei, and Anna Karenina without Levin’s similar search for some meaning in life would be much, much less than the pinnacles of novelistic expression they both are. Tolstoy’s predilection for figuring things out is the heart and soul of his writing, and this novella can be regarded as shedding an introspective light on the beginning of this long and eventually unending journey.
Slight, but not bad.
Almost every individual with whom he came into contact at this time comes in for what has become to me the characteristic manner of Tolstoyan portrait painting. A brief physical description, usually entailing at least four or five distinctive traits is followed by at least a couple of habitual practices of the persona in question: more than enough to out-do Dickens in his ability to paint a vibrant, living picture with just words. For instance, the contrast between his sisters Lubotschka and Katarina is outlined with reference to their variant customs with respect to their mannerisms, their physiques, temperaments, hobbies, music, drawing, intents toward the opposite sex, means of laughing, expressions - both physical and verbal and with respect to his attitudes to each of them. And all this in a page and half! His brother, father, grandmother, his brother's friends and especially his two tutors all receive their share of his penetrating insight. I truly believe that the best writers are also the best observers, and that Tolstoy reigns supreme in these two aspects of his art.
The concatenation of totally flubbing his history lesson on the Crusades, being found outside the classroom when he should have been at his studies, and then breaking the key in a portfolio belonging to his father which he had been reading although he knew he shouldn’t have all work to bring the fourteen year old into a total paroxysm of despair. Shut in a store room for the night, he imagines first forgiving his father for concealing his adopted status from him, then wreaking vengeance on the despised tutor after serving in a glorious military career, and later, as a great landlord, dispensing largesse and romantic bliss on two of his servants. The scene on the journey to Moscow just after a severe thunderstorm, in which the young Nicolinka rushes through the meadow and returns with wet stalks of thyme, urging his sisters to smell them for their poignancy is sheer youthful delight. At least the older Tolstoy had the breadth of spirit to smile at his adolescent frivolities and enthusiasms.
It is to this period of being locked up thus that he attributes the beginning of his lifelong struggle to find a correct attitude to religion. He says the time he spent there thinking led him to develop ‘a pliancy of mind, a weakening of the will, a habit of perpetual moral analysis and diminution both of freshness of sentiment and of clearness of thought.’ After all, what kind of a God could make him suffer so? In a later chapter, he describes casting off several of his youthful traits, but has to confess that that for abstract thought still stayed with him. And his readers should be thankful that it did. War and Peace without Bezukhov’s rambling discussions with Prince Andrei, and Anna Karenina without Levin’s similar search for some meaning in life would be much, much less than the pinnacles of novelistic expression they both are. Tolstoy’s predilection for figuring things out is the heart and soul of his writing, and this novella can be regarded as shedding an introspective light on the beginning of this long and eventually unending journey.
Slight, but not bad.
January 7, 2021
The second part of Tolstoy's autobiographical trilogy has left the same impression on me as the last, but I appreciate the continuation of author's backstory, as he goes through this emotional journey and dealing with growing up and learning. Though the period is longer than his childhood, the length of this work is the same as with the previous one, as his school years are an overall experience, filled with some memories which he shares with readers. Also, the themes of family as his support is present within it, but I don't want to spoil anyone's reading. It doesn't take too much time to go through it, so it's recommendation, before going with his more notable works, as well as with the other two parts of the trilogy (which consists of 100 chapters overall). So far, my venture through Tolstoy's bibliography has taken me through joys and tragedies within family and the horrors of war (both of which he wrote through his first decade). I'm wondering what I'll discover in the next book, when the time comes.
January 12, 2021
Overall I really enjoyed this one. I would even say that I enjoyed it more than Childhood. Of course there might be several factors contributing to this statement whereas this is the first work by Tolstoy that I've read. And I'm slowly but surely getting used to his writing style, with longer descriptive parts which lets the imagination escape for a while. I'm happy to say that I'm continuing my Tolstoy journey.
August 24, 2020
Meteen na "Kinderjaren" las ik "Jongensjaren", de tweede roman van de nog jonge Tolstoj en het tweede deel van zijn semi-autobiografische trilogie. Ik vond "Kinderjaren" nog net wat ontroerender, omdat daarin zo mooi de zuivere ontvankelijkheid van de kinderjaren wordt beschreven en de treurnis over het afscheid ervan. Maar ook met "Jongensjaren" vermaakte ik mij goed.
Ik las dit boek met twee redenen: om in dit vroege werk al de sporen te zien van de geniale auteur van de prachtboeken "Oorlog en Vrede" en "Anna Karenina", maar ook om gewoon geroerd of geamuseerd te worden door wat ik zag zonder daarbij aan de latere Tolstoj te hoeven denken. In hoofdstuk twee, de beschrijving van een onweer, kwam ik meteen al aan mijn trekken. Want de beschrijving van het onweer, als het nadert en nadat het losbarst, ademt al fiks het levensgevoel uit dat Tolstoj twintig jaar later in "Oorlog en vrede" zo mooi uitwerkt: het overweldigd worden door de bovenmenselijke kracht van de natuur, door de onbevattelijke dreigingen ervan en door de al even onbevattelijke schoonheid De jonge Tolstoj schrijft daarover: "Op datzelfde ogenblik klinkt er vlak boven ons hoofd een majestueuze donderslag die steeds hoger, steeds wijder lijkt op te stijgen volgens een reusachtige spiraal, langzaam sterker wordt en overgaat in een oorverdovend gekraak dat je onwillekeurig doet sidderen en je de adem beneemt. De toorn Gods! Wat zit er veel poëzie in deze simpele volksopvatting!". Geen wonder dat hij ook zegt dat het bloed sneller door zijn adem stroomt: datzelfde bereikt hij bij de lezer door een paar heftige visuele effecten die ik hier niet zal verklappen.
Maar minstens zo aanstekelijk beschrijft hij hoe hij zelf opklaart zodra het onweer ophoudt, en helemaal doordesemd wordt van de opklarende natuur om hem heen: "Aan de ene kant van de weg glanzen de natte aarde en het groen van een onafzienbare, hier en daar door ondiepe dalletjes doorsneden akker wintergraan, die zich tot aan de horizon uitstrekt; aan de andere kant kan een espenbos, doorschoten met hazelaar- en vogelkersstruiken, als het ware zijn geluk niet op, roerloos en langzaam laat het van zijn schoongewassen takken lichte regendruppels op de droge bladeren van verleden jaar vallen. Aan alle kanten cirkelen kuifleeuweriken onder vrolijk gezang omhoog om dan weer een duikvlucht omlaag te nemen; in de natte struiken hoor je het drukke bewegen van kleine vogeltjes en uit het midden van het bos klinkt helder het geluid van een koekoek. Zo betoverend is de geur van een bos na een voorjaarsonweer, de geur van berken, viooltjes, rotte bladeren, morieljes, vogelkers, dat ik niet in de brik kan blijven zitten, van de treeplank afspring, naar de struiken ren en, ondanks de regen van druppels die op me neerdaalt, natte takken van de net ontbotte vogelkers afruk, mij ermee op mijn gezicht sla en hun wonderbaarlijke geur indrink. Zonder acht te slaan op de de reusachtige modderkluiten die aan mijn laarzen kleven en op mijn kletsnatte kousen bagger ik door de modder en ren naar het raampje van de koets. 'Ljoebotsjka! Katjenka!", schreeuw ik, mijn woorden kracht bijzettend met een paar takken vogelkers, 'Kijk eens wat mooi!'".
Vooral die laatste passage vind ik aanstekelijk geschreven. De zo aantrekkelijke en pure vreugde ervan contrasteert bovendien mooi met het vele somber gekwelde gepieker en het bokkige gepeins in de latere hoofdstukken. Wat mooi laat zien dat de zo kinderlijke en onbedorven vreugde, en de "natuurlijkheid" die in de "kinderjaren" voorop stond, in de "jongensjaren" er nog wel zijn maar meer naar de achtergrond zijn verdwenen. Want de "jongensjaren" zijn vooral puberjaren, en de jonge Tolstoj pubert flink. Meer nog dan normale pubers, want: "Tijdens het jaar waarin ik een afgezonderd, in mijzelf gekeerd, moreel leven leidde, rezen in mijn hoofd al alle abstracte vragen over de bestemming van de mens, over het leven na de dood, over de onsterfelijkheid van de ziel, en trachtte mijn zwakke kinderverstand met al het vuur van de onervarenheid een antwoord op deze vragen te vinden, welker formulering het hoogste is dat de menselijke geest kan bereiken, maar waarop het antwoord hem niet gegeven is". Dit charmeert mij zeer, omdat ik dan direct denk aan het imponerende personage Ljovin uit "Anna Karenina": in "Jongensjaren" zien we eigenlijke deze eeuwig vragende en zeer gekwelde zoeker als nog jonge man. En dat vind ik heerlijk, want ik vind Ljovin een geweldig personage. Maar ook los daarvan vind ik het treffend hoe "Jongensjaren" inderdaad in het teken staat van het onervaren, en vergeefs, maar uiterst intens zoeken naar antwoorden op existentiële vragen. En hoe dus dat vergeefse zoeken, dat in de geciteerde passage wordt benoemd, in andere passages meer tussen de regels voelbaar wordt gemaakt. Want Tolstoj neemt ons op vele bladzijden mooi mee in de puberale aanvechtingen van iemand die van nature twijfelende vragen stelt aan alles. Tot op het bot.
Bovendien, de subtiele beschrijvingen van de diverse familieleden en hun bedienden en huisleraren zijn zo vernuftig dat je alleen daarom al dit boek alsmaar doorleest. Zoals de even lange als tragi-komische beschrijving van de Oostenrijkse huisleraar Karl Ivanytsji, die na een lang leven vol omwentelingen en onfortuin op straat wordt gezet. Of de beschrijving van diens wat fattige Franse opvolger, en van de bijna redeloze agressie die hij bij de puberale Tolstoj oproept. Ook intrigerend is de beschrijving van Tolstojs geleidelijk aan zich ontwikkelende "andere kijk": de voor hem verbijsterende ontdekking dat er buiten zijn vertrouwde huishouden ook andere mensen bestaan, die totaal voorbijgaan aan zijn leven en aan de dingen en gevoelens die HEM zo intens bezig houden. Even onderhoudend als vermakelijk zijn de eerste verlokkingen van het andere geslacht, wat zich uit in een bijna clandestiene belangstelling voor 'de meidenkamer" met zijn dienstbodes.
En prachtig is de beschrijving van een beginnende vriendschap, met iemand die over dezelfde vraagstukken denkt als hij en met hetzelfde puberale vuur. Dat heeft iets lachwekkends, net als het gepieker van de jonge Tolstoj in zijn eentje, maar tegelijk ook iets bewonderenswaardigs. Want konden wij als pubers wel ZO intens piekeren over zulke existentiële vraagstukken? En zo ja, is het dan niet jammer dat we dat als volwassenen veel minder doen? Vooral dat laatste leidt bij Tolstoj, als volwassene terugkijkend op zijn puberjaren, duidelijk tot weemoed: "Destijds leek het verbeteren van de gehele mensheid, het vernietigen van alle ondeugden en al het ongeluk van de menselijke soort iets dat volkomen uitvoerbaar was, en het verbeteren van jezelf, je alle deugden eigen maken en gelukkig te zijn, dat leek al heel eenvoudig en gemakkelijk..... Trouwens, God alleen weet of die nobele dromen van de jeugd echt zo belachelijk waren en wiens schuld het is dat ze nooit werkelijkheid zijn geworden? ...".
Hoe gaat het verder met deze even naïeve als aanstekelijke dromer? Hoe gaat het verder met de ontwikkeling van Tolstoj als schrijver? Dat moet en zal ik nu weten, dus moet en zal ik nu door met deel 3 van de trilogie. Kortom: op naar "Studentenjaren"!
Ik las dit boek met twee redenen: om in dit vroege werk al de sporen te zien van de geniale auteur van de prachtboeken "Oorlog en Vrede" en "Anna Karenina", maar ook om gewoon geroerd of geamuseerd te worden door wat ik zag zonder daarbij aan de latere Tolstoj te hoeven denken. In hoofdstuk twee, de beschrijving van een onweer, kwam ik meteen al aan mijn trekken. Want de beschrijving van het onweer, als het nadert en nadat het losbarst, ademt al fiks het levensgevoel uit dat Tolstoj twintig jaar later in "Oorlog en vrede" zo mooi uitwerkt: het overweldigd worden door de bovenmenselijke kracht van de natuur, door de onbevattelijke dreigingen ervan en door de al even onbevattelijke schoonheid De jonge Tolstoj schrijft daarover: "Op datzelfde ogenblik klinkt er vlak boven ons hoofd een majestueuze donderslag die steeds hoger, steeds wijder lijkt op te stijgen volgens een reusachtige spiraal, langzaam sterker wordt en overgaat in een oorverdovend gekraak dat je onwillekeurig doet sidderen en je de adem beneemt. De toorn Gods! Wat zit er veel poëzie in deze simpele volksopvatting!". Geen wonder dat hij ook zegt dat het bloed sneller door zijn adem stroomt: datzelfde bereikt hij bij de lezer door een paar heftige visuele effecten die ik hier niet zal verklappen.
Maar minstens zo aanstekelijk beschrijft hij hoe hij zelf opklaart zodra het onweer ophoudt, en helemaal doordesemd wordt van de opklarende natuur om hem heen: "Aan de ene kant van de weg glanzen de natte aarde en het groen van een onafzienbare, hier en daar door ondiepe dalletjes doorsneden akker wintergraan, die zich tot aan de horizon uitstrekt; aan de andere kant kan een espenbos, doorschoten met hazelaar- en vogelkersstruiken, als het ware zijn geluk niet op, roerloos en langzaam laat het van zijn schoongewassen takken lichte regendruppels op de droge bladeren van verleden jaar vallen. Aan alle kanten cirkelen kuifleeuweriken onder vrolijk gezang omhoog om dan weer een duikvlucht omlaag te nemen; in de natte struiken hoor je het drukke bewegen van kleine vogeltjes en uit het midden van het bos klinkt helder het geluid van een koekoek. Zo betoverend is de geur van een bos na een voorjaarsonweer, de geur van berken, viooltjes, rotte bladeren, morieljes, vogelkers, dat ik niet in de brik kan blijven zitten, van de treeplank afspring, naar de struiken ren en, ondanks de regen van druppels die op me neerdaalt, natte takken van de net ontbotte vogelkers afruk, mij ermee op mijn gezicht sla en hun wonderbaarlijke geur indrink. Zonder acht te slaan op de de reusachtige modderkluiten die aan mijn laarzen kleven en op mijn kletsnatte kousen bagger ik door de modder en ren naar het raampje van de koets. 'Ljoebotsjka! Katjenka!", schreeuw ik, mijn woorden kracht bijzettend met een paar takken vogelkers, 'Kijk eens wat mooi!'".
Vooral die laatste passage vind ik aanstekelijk geschreven. De zo aantrekkelijke en pure vreugde ervan contrasteert bovendien mooi met het vele somber gekwelde gepieker en het bokkige gepeins in de latere hoofdstukken. Wat mooi laat zien dat de zo kinderlijke en onbedorven vreugde, en de "natuurlijkheid" die in de "kinderjaren" voorop stond, in de "jongensjaren" er nog wel zijn maar meer naar de achtergrond zijn verdwenen. Want de "jongensjaren" zijn vooral puberjaren, en de jonge Tolstoj pubert flink. Meer nog dan normale pubers, want: "Tijdens het jaar waarin ik een afgezonderd, in mijzelf gekeerd, moreel leven leidde, rezen in mijn hoofd al alle abstracte vragen over de bestemming van de mens, over het leven na de dood, over de onsterfelijkheid van de ziel, en trachtte mijn zwakke kinderverstand met al het vuur van de onervarenheid een antwoord op deze vragen te vinden, welker formulering het hoogste is dat de menselijke geest kan bereiken, maar waarop het antwoord hem niet gegeven is". Dit charmeert mij zeer, omdat ik dan direct denk aan het imponerende personage Ljovin uit "Anna Karenina": in "Jongensjaren" zien we eigenlijke deze eeuwig vragende en zeer gekwelde zoeker als nog jonge man. En dat vind ik heerlijk, want ik vind Ljovin een geweldig personage. Maar ook los daarvan vind ik het treffend hoe "Jongensjaren" inderdaad in het teken staat van het onervaren, en vergeefs, maar uiterst intens zoeken naar antwoorden op existentiële vragen. En hoe dus dat vergeefse zoeken, dat in de geciteerde passage wordt benoemd, in andere passages meer tussen de regels voelbaar wordt gemaakt. Want Tolstoj neemt ons op vele bladzijden mooi mee in de puberale aanvechtingen van iemand die van nature twijfelende vragen stelt aan alles. Tot op het bot.
Bovendien, de subtiele beschrijvingen van de diverse familieleden en hun bedienden en huisleraren zijn zo vernuftig dat je alleen daarom al dit boek alsmaar doorleest. Zoals de even lange als tragi-komische beschrijving van de Oostenrijkse huisleraar Karl Ivanytsji, die na een lang leven vol omwentelingen en onfortuin op straat wordt gezet. Of de beschrijving van diens wat fattige Franse opvolger, en van de bijna redeloze agressie die hij bij de puberale Tolstoj oproept. Ook intrigerend is de beschrijving van Tolstojs geleidelijk aan zich ontwikkelende "andere kijk": de voor hem verbijsterende ontdekking dat er buiten zijn vertrouwde huishouden ook andere mensen bestaan, die totaal voorbijgaan aan zijn leven en aan de dingen en gevoelens die HEM zo intens bezig houden. Even onderhoudend als vermakelijk zijn de eerste verlokkingen van het andere geslacht, wat zich uit in een bijna clandestiene belangstelling voor 'de meidenkamer" met zijn dienstbodes.
En prachtig is de beschrijving van een beginnende vriendschap, met iemand die over dezelfde vraagstukken denkt als hij en met hetzelfde puberale vuur. Dat heeft iets lachwekkends, net als het gepieker van de jonge Tolstoj in zijn eentje, maar tegelijk ook iets bewonderenswaardigs. Want konden wij als pubers wel ZO intens piekeren over zulke existentiële vraagstukken? En zo ja, is het dan niet jammer dat we dat als volwassenen veel minder doen? Vooral dat laatste leidt bij Tolstoj, als volwassene terugkijkend op zijn puberjaren, duidelijk tot weemoed: "Destijds leek het verbeteren van de gehele mensheid, het vernietigen van alle ondeugden en al het ongeluk van de menselijke soort iets dat volkomen uitvoerbaar was, en het verbeteren van jezelf, je alle deugden eigen maken en gelukkig te zijn, dat leek al heel eenvoudig en gemakkelijk..... Trouwens, God alleen weet of die nobele dromen van de jeugd echt zo belachelijk waren en wiens schuld het is dat ze nooit werkelijkheid zijn geworden? ...".
Hoe gaat het verder met deze even naïeve als aanstekelijke dromer? Hoe gaat het verder met de ontwikkeling van Tolstoj als schrijver? Dat moet en zal ik nu weten, dus moet en zal ik nu door met deel 3 van de trilogie. Kortom: op naar "Studentenjaren"!
August 18, 2017
The second part of Tolstoy’s autobiographical trilogy, published two years after Childhood, takes up where that narrative left off, continuing the recollections of Nikolai as he transitions from childhood to young adulthood. It’s a stormy transition (indeed, Tolstoy begins with Nikolai’s description of a sudden thunderstorm that moves across the countryside as he rides in a carriage). We see how the young man copes with life without his mother, the transition from being under the care of his beloved German tutor to a more strict French tutor, and the first spark of his interest in women. To cope with these changes, Nikolai turns even more inward with his philosophical musings. He invents long imaginative narratives in his mind as fantasies to offset the turbulent changes in his life.
In one of the more memorable sections, Tolstoy offers a first-person account of the German tutor's difficult life to contrast with Nikolai’s own narrative, which we discover is rather less harsh by comparison. This is an important moment because Nikolai not only comes into his own understanding as an individual with agency, but he also begins to recognize others -- especially servants and villagers -- as being individual people with their own lives, rather than merely “serfs.” He grapples with the same three Big Ideas as in Childhood (life, love, and death), as well as his first encounters with (and resistance to) authority.
Despite chronicling a very specific time, place, and culture, Tolstoy’s narrative has a universal appeal. We share in Nikolai’s anguish that “the world is against him” because it is the same feeling we all experience at that age. Once again, Tolstoy has penned an insightful, gripping, intellectual, and emotionally resonant work -- at the age of 25!
In one of the more memorable sections, Tolstoy offers a first-person account of the German tutor's difficult life to contrast with Nikolai’s own narrative, which we discover is rather less harsh by comparison. This is an important moment because Nikolai not only comes into his own understanding as an individual with agency, but he also begins to recognize others -- especially servants and villagers -- as being individual people with their own lives, rather than merely “serfs.” He grapples with the same three Big Ideas as in Childhood (life, love, and death), as well as his first encounters with (and resistance to) authority.
Despite chronicling a very specific time, place, and culture, Tolstoy’s narrative has a universal appeal. We share in Nikolai’s anguish that “the world is against him” because it is the same feeling we all experience at that age. Once again, Tolstoy has penned an insightful, gripping, intellectual, and emotionally resonant work -- at the age of 25!
January 25, 2018
Çok sevdim
January 22, 2025
2025’te okumaya başladığım ilk kitap. beni reading slumptan kurtardığı için ayrı bir teşekkürü borç bilirim. tolstoy’u tanımak için güzel bir başlangıç diye düşünüyorum
February 3, 2026
sånn digg 1800-tallsrealisme
December 14, 2018
Evet ama insan hep aynı kalamaz ki; bir gün gelir de değişmek gerekir.
Tolstoy’un yarı otobiyografik olan üçlemesinin ikinci kitabı olan İlkgençlik, serinin ilk kitabına göre bir tık daha iyiydi. O küçük çocuğun gençliğini okumak çok çok güzeldi. İlk uyanışlarını, ilk fark edişlerini okurken öyle bir etki altına alıyor ki sizi, acıyla gülümsemeden geçemiyorsunuz çünkü biliyorsunuz ki size bir yerden çok tanıdık anlatılanlar.
Düşünce alanında gitgide daha yukarı çıkarken bir anda bu alanın ne kadar uçsuz bucaksız, ilerlemeninse olanaksız olduğunu anladığın o dakikayı severdim.
Tolstoy’un yarı otobiyografik olan üçlemesinin ikinci kitabı olan İlkgençlik, serinin ilk kitabına göre bir tık daha iyiydi. O küçük çocuğun gençliğini okumak çok çok güzeldi. İlk uyanışlarını, ilk fark edişlerini okurken öyle bir etki altına alıyor ki sizi, acıyla gülümsemeden geçemiyorsunuz çünkü biliyorsunuz ki size bir yerden çok tanıdık anlatılanlar.
Düşünce alanında gitgide daha yukarı çıkarken bir anda bu alanın ne kadar uçsuz bucaksız, ilerlemeninse olanaksız olduğunu anladığın o dakikayı severdim.
June 10, 2012
So interesting how many parallels there are between 19th century Russian children and that of American children in the 21st century. So many similarities and passages of thought between what I can remember from my own younger days and Nikolai's. Sensitivity, conceit, insecurity, naivete, outspokenness, a propensity for trouble... it all comes back lol. Excellent read.
November 7, 2017
çocukluğum ve gençliğim kitapları yazarın ruh durumunu, yetiştiği ortamı, en azından çevresindeki insanlar için geçerli ilişkileri anlama bakımından önemli. Tolstoy'un, lezzeti daha oluşmamış ham tadını alır gibi hissettim.
September 25, 2017
Review to come...
June 11, 2019
What an utterly amusing book. The initial few chapters about the road journey are rather mundane. But I enjoyed the remainder of the book and found it hilarious in places.
February 24, 2023
Absolute banger of a book
March 13, 2022
i have never thought that i could relate to tolstoy in such a soul-shattering manner but here we are
July 31, 2025
I listened to the audiobook of this during a roadtrip and it truly made the journey more exhilarating, but somehow tranquil at the same time.
August 25, 2019
Under normal circumstances I would give this 3 stars. Its not as interesting as Childhood, the dialgue is more stilted, and its really meant to be an addendum until Tolstoy could properly develop *Youth.* I've given it a fourth star because for anyone whose read Tolstoy's major fiction, they'll recall the protagonist from *Resurrection,* Tolstoy's last major work, Prince Nekhlyudov. I almost never hide a review because of spoilers, but I have in this instance. Young Nicholas--Tolstoy--encounters an idealistic and engaging nobleman named Nechludoff. Not certain, but it seems to be the inspiration for Resurrection.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
October 9, 2025
Nineteen chapter of this book is so amazing. I love Tolstoy.
My readers will scarcely believe me when I tell them what were the favourite and most constantly recurring subjects of reflection during my boyhood, so incompatible were they with my age and situation. I think, however, that the incongruity of a man’s situation with his moral activity is the surest proof of his sincerity.
For the space of a year, during which I led a solitary interior life, shut in on myself, all the abstract questions concerning man’s destiny, the future life, the immortality of the soul, had presented themselves to me, and my weak childish intellect with all the ardour of inexperience strove to solve these problems, the formulation of which constitutes the highest level human intelligence can reach but the solution of which is beyond it.
It seems to me that the human mind in each separate individual follows in its evolution the same lines along which it has developed during whole generations; that the ideas which serve as basis for different philosophical theories are inalienable attributes of the mind; but that each man must be more or less conscious of them before he can know of the existence of the philosophical theories.
These thoughts presented themselves to me so clearly and forcibly that I even tried to apply them to life, imagining that I was the first to discover such great and important truths.
At one time it occurred to me that happiness did not depend on external causes but on our attitude to those causes; that a man who could grow used to suffering need not be unhappy – and to harden myself I would hold Tatishchev’s lexicon out at arm’s length for five minutes at a time (despite the horrible pain) or go into the box-room and scourge my bare back with a rope so severely that the tears involuntarily appeared in my eyes.
Another time, suddenly bethinking me that death awaited me at any hour, at any moment, I came to the conclusion – wondering that people had not realized it before – that one can only be happy by enjoying the present and not thinking of the future, and acting under the influence of this idea for two or three days I cast my lesson books aside and spent my time lying on my bed indulging in a novel and eating gingerbread made with honey, bought with the last money I possessed.
Another time, standing before the blackboard and drawing various figures on it with chalk, the thought suddenly struck me: ‘Why does symmetry please the eye? What is symmetry?’ – ‘It is an innate feeling,’ I answered myself. ‘What is it based on? Is there symmetry in everything in life? On the contrary, this is life’ – and I drew an oval on the board. ‘When life ends the soul passes into eternity – here is eternity’; and I drew a line from one side of the oval figure right to the edge of the board. ‘Why is there no corresponding line on the other side? And yes, indeed, how can eternity be only on one side? We must have existed before this life, though we have lost the recollection of it.’
This argument, which seemed to me exceedingly novel and clear and whose logic I can now perceive only with difficulty, pleased me mightily, and taking a sheet of paper I thought I would put it all down in writing; but thereupon such a host of ideas surged into my head that I was obliged to get up and walk about the room. When I came to the window my attention fell upon the dray-horse that the coachman was just putting to the cart to fetch water, and my thoughts all centred on the question: what animal or man would that horse’s soul enter when it died? Just then Volodya, as he passed through the room, smiled on seeing me absorbed in speculative thoughts, and that smile sufficed to make me feel that all I had been thinking about was the most awful nonsense.
I have related this occasion, which for some reason I remember, only in order to show the reader the nature of my philosophizings.
But not one of these philosophical theories held me so much as scepticism, which at one time brought me to the verge of insanity. I fancied that besides myself nobody and nothing existed in the universe, that objects were not real at all but images which appeared when I directed my attention to them, and that so soon as I stopped thinking of them these images immediately vanished. In short, I came to the same conclusion as Schelling, that objects do not exist but only my, relation to them exists. There were moments when I became so deranged by this idée fixe that I would glance sharply round in some opposite direction, hoping to catch unawares the void (the néant) where I was not.
What a pitiful trivial spring of moral activity is the mind of man!
My feeble intellect could not penetrate the impenetrable, and in that back-breaking effort lost one after the other the convictions which, for my life’s happiness, I ought never to have dared disturb.
All this weary mental struggle yielded me nothing save an artful elasticity of mind which weakened my will-power, and a habit of perpetually dissecting and analysing, which destroyed spontaneity of feeling and clarity of reason.
Abstract speculations are generated in consequence of man’s capacity by intuition to apprehend the state of his soul at a given moment, and transfer that apprehension to his memory. My fondness for abstract reasoning developed my conscious being to such an unnatural degree that frequently, thinking about the simplest things, I would fall into the vicious circle of analysis of my thoughts, entirely losing sight of the question that had occupied my mind at the outset, and thinking, instead, about what I was thinking about. Asking myself: ‘Of what am I thinking?’ I would answer: ‘I think of what I am thinking. And now what am I thinking of? I think that I am thinking of what I am thinking of.’ And so on. I was at my wits’ end.
However, the philosophical discoveries I made vastly flattered my vanity: I often imagined myself a great man discovering truths for the benefit of humanity, and gazed upon other mortals with a proud consciousness of my own worth; but strangely enough when I encountered those other mortals I felt shy of each and every one, and the higher I rated myself in my own estimation the less capable I was not only of displaying any consciousness of merit but even of schooling myself not to blush for every word and movement, however simple and unimportant.
My readers will scarcely believe me when I tell them what were the favourite and most constantly recurring subjects of reflection during my boyhood, so incompatible were they with my age and situation. I think, however, that the incongruity of a man’s situation with his moral activity is the surest proof of his sincerity.
For the space of a year, during which I led a solitary interior life, shut in on myself, all the abstract questions concerning man’s destiny, the future life, the immortality of the soul, had presented themselves to me, and my weak childish intellect with all the ardour of inexperience strove to solve these problems, the formulation of which constitutes the highest level human intelligence can reach but the solution of which is beyond it.
It seems to me that the human mind in each separate individual follows in its evolution the same lines along which it has developed during whole generations; that the ideas which serve as basis for different philosophical theories are inalienable attributes of the mind; but that each man must be more or less conscious of them before he can know of the existence of the philosophical theories.
These thoughts presented themselves to me so clearly and forcibly that I even tried to apply them to life, imagining that I was the first to discover such great and important truths.
At one time it occurred to me that happiness did not depend on external causes but on our attitude to those causes; that a man who could grow used to suffering need not be unhappy – and to harden myself I would hold Tatishchev’s lexicon out at arm’s length for five minutes at a time (despite the horrible pain) or go into the box-room and scourge my bare back with a rope so severely that the tears involuntarily appeared in my eyes.
Another time, suddenly bethinking me that death awaited me at any hour, at any moment, I came to the conclusion – wondering that people had not realized it before – that one can only be happy by enjoying the present and not thinking of the future, and acting under the influence of this idea for two or three days I cast my lesson books aside and spent my time lying on my bed indulging in a novel and eating gingerbread made with honey, bought with the last money I possessed.
Another time, standing before the blackboard and drawing various figures on it with chalk, the thought suddenly struck me: ‘Why does symmetry please the eye? What is symmetry?’ – ‘It is an innate feeling,’ I answered myself. ‘What is it based on? Is there symmetry in everything in life? On the contrary, this is life’ – and I drew an oval on the board. ‘When life ends the soul passes into eternity – here is eternity’; and I drew a line from one side of the oval figure right to the edge of the board. ‘Why is there no corresponding line on the other side? And yes, indeed, how can eternity be only on one side? We must have existed before this life, though we have lost the recollection of it.’
This argument, which seemed to me exceedingly novel and clear and whose logic I can now perceive only with difficulty, pleased me mightily, and taking a sheet of paper I thought I would put it all down in writing; but thereupon such a host of ideas surged into my head that I was obliged to get up and walk about the room. When I came to the window my attention fell upon the dray-horse that the coachman was just putting to the cart to fetch water, and my thoughts all centred on the question: what animal or man would that horse’s soul enter when it died? Just then Volodya, as he passed through the room, smiled on seeing me absorbed in speculative thoughts, and that smile sufficed to make me feel that all I had been thinking about was the most awful nonsense.
I have related this occasion, which for some reason I remember, only in order to show the reader the nature of my philosophizings.
But not one of these philosophical theories held me so much as scepticism, which at one time brought me to the verge of insanity. I fancied that besides myself nobody and nothing existed in the universe, that objects were not real at all but images which appeared when I directed my attention to them, and that so soon as I stopped thinking of them these images immediately vanished. In short, I came to the same conclusion as Schelling, that objects do not exist but only my, relation to them exists. There were moments when I became so deranged by this idée fixe that I would glance sharply round in some opposite direction, hoping to catch unawares the void (the néant) where I was not.
What a pitiful trivial spring of moral activity is the mind of man!
My feeble intellect could not penetrate the impenetrable, and in that back-breaking effort lost one after the other the convictions which, for my life’s happiness, I ought never to have dared disturb.
All this weary mental struggle yielded me nothing save an artful elasticity of mind which weakened my will-power, and a habit of perpetually dissecting and analysing, which destroyed spontaneity of feeling and clarity of reason.
Abstract speculations are generated in consequence of man’s capacity by intuition to apprehend the state of his soul at a given moment, and transfer that apprehension to his memory. My fondness for abstract reasoning developed my conscious being to such an unnatural degree that frequently, thinking about the simplest things, I would fall into the vicious circle of analysis of my thoughts, entirely losing sight of the question that had occupied my mind at the outset, and thinking, instead, about what I was thinking about. Asking myself: ‘Of what am I thinking?’ I would answer: ‘I think of what I am thinking. And now what am I thinking of? I think that I am thinking of what I am thinking of.’ And so on. I was at my wits’ end.
However, the philosophical discoveries I made vastly flattered my vanity: I often imagined myself a great man discovering truths for the benefit of humanity, and gazed upon other mortals with a proud consciousness of my own worth; but strangely enough when I encountered those other mortals I felt shy of each and every one, and the higher I rated myself in my own estimation the less capable I was not only of displaying any consciousness of merit but even of schooling myself not to blush for every word and movement, however simple and unimportant.
February 15, 2015
The writing is elegant (Although it begins with 10 pages of a bland road trip and excessive weather descriptions. Something authors could afford to do in a time there was no Candy Crush Saga.). The way Tolstoy paraphrased the simplicity of childish conversations with his mature prose gives a deliciously hilarious effect....
But the plot failed to engage me. I felt The Death of Ivan Ilych or Master and Man had more depth and critique.
But the plot failed to engage me. I felt The Death of Ivan Ilych or Master and Man had more depth and critique.
October 29, 2013
Вторая книга трилогии Толстого "Детство, Отрочество и Юность" ничем не хуже первой работы автора.
Она всё так же хороша и в ней искренне, душевно, чутко и поэтично воспроизведены на этот раз более зрелый период жизни юного героя, то есть описаны некоторые мысли, события и обстоятельства, которые происходили в жизни самого Льва Николаевича.
Она всё так же хороша и в ней искренне, душевно, чутко и поэтично воспроизведены на этот раз более зрелый период жизни юного героя, то есть описаны некоторые мысли, события и обстоятельства, которые происходили в жизни самого Льва Николаевича.
April 5, 2022
The problems in this novel felt a little pettier than the first, but dude still came through with the writing:
Has it ever befallen you, my readers, to become suddenly aware that your conception of things has altered—as though every object in life had unexpectedly turned a side towards you of which you had hitherto remained unaware?
Who has not known those secret, wordless communications which spring from some barely perceptible smile or movement—from a casual glance between two persons who live as constantly together as do brothers, friends, man and wife, or master and servant—particularly if those two persons do not in all things cultivate mutual frankness? How many half-expressed wishes, thoughts, and meanings which one shrinks from revealing are made plain by a single accidental glance which timidly and irresolutely meets the eye!
at one of those moments when the mind leaves off thinking and the imagination gains the upper hand and yearns for new impressions—I
I am certain that nothing so much influences the development of a man as his exterior—though the exterior itself less than his belief in its plainness or beauty.
I again assert that, in matters of feeling, it is the unexpected effects that constitute the most reliable signs of sincerity.
His was one of those limited natures which are agreeable through their very limitations; natures which cannot regard matters from every point of view, but which are nevertheless attracted by everything. Usually the reasoning of such persons is false and one-sided, yet always genuine and taking; wherefore their narrow egotism seems both amiable and excusable.
The truth was that we knew one another too well, and to know a person either too well or too little acts as a bar to intimacy.
Praise exercises an all-potent influence, not only upon the feelings, but also upon the intellect; so that under the influence of that agreeable sensation I straightway felt much cleverer than before, and thoughts began to rush with extraordinary rapidity through my head.
In youth the powers of the mind are directed wholly to the future, and that future assumes such various, vivid, and alluring forms under the influence of hope—hope based, not upon the experience of the past, but upon an assumed possibility of happiness to come—that
Has it ever befallen you, my readers, to become suddenly aware that your conception of things has altered—as though every object in life had unexpectedly turned a side towards you of which you had hitherto remained unaware?
Who has not known those secret, wordless communications which spring from some barely perceptible smile or movement—from a casual glance between two persons who live as constantly together as do brothers, friends, man and wife, or master and servant—particularly if those two persons do not in all things cultivate mutual frankness? How many half-expressed wishes, thoughts, and meanings which one shrinks from revealing are made plain by a single accidental glance which timidly and irresolutely meets the eye!
at one of those moments when the mind leaves off thinking and the imagination gains the upper hand and yearns for new impressions—I
I am certain that nothing so much influences the development of a man as his exterior—though the exterior itself less than his belief in its plainness or beauty.
I again assert that, in matters of feeling, it is the unexpected effects that constitute the most reliable signs of sincerity.
His was one of those limited natures which are agreeable through their very limitations; natures which cannot regard matters from every point of view, but which are nevertheless attracted by everything. Usually the reasoning of such persons is false and one-sided, yet always genuine and taking; wherefore their narrow egotism seems both amiable and excusable.
The truth was that we knew one another too well, and to know a person either too well or too little acts as a bar to intimacy.
Praise exercises an all-potent influence, not only upon the feelings, but also upon the intellect; so that under the influence of that agreeable sensation I straightway felt much cleverer than before, and thoughts began to rush with extraordinary rapidity through my head.
In youth the powers of the mind are directed wholly to the future, and that future assumes such various, vivid, and alluring forms under the influence of hope—hope based, not upon the experience of the past, but upon an assumed possibility of happiness to come—that
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April 29, 2025I've read somewhere that children from twelve to fourteen, that is, those at the transitional age of boyhood, are particularly susceptible to arson and even murder. Recalling my own boyhood, and especially the state of mind I was in on that unhappy day, I see very clearly how the most terrible crime might be committed not from a desire to cause harm or for any other reason, but 'just so,' out of curiosity or an unconscious need for action. There are times when the future presents itself to a person in such a dismal light that he's afraid to let his mental gaze dwell on it, and completely suspends the operation of his mind, convincing himself that there won't be any future and that there hasn't been any past. At such times, when thought no longer weighs every determination of the will in advance, and the only vital impulses are bodily instincts, it's understandable how a child might, from inexperience, be especially vulnerable to such a state, and without the least hesitation or fear, but with a little smile of curiosity, first set and then fan a fire under his own house in which his brothers, father and mother, all of whom he dearly loves, are fast asleep. Under the sway of that same temporary absence of thought—of distraction, almost—a peasant boy of seventeen, while examining the blade of a just sharpened axe next to a bench on which his old father is lying face-down asleep, might all of a sudden swing the axe, and then with dull curiosity watch the blood from the severed neck pool beneath the bench. And under the sway of that same instinctive curiosity and absence of thought, a person might take a pleasure in stopping at the very edge of a cliff and thinking, 'What if I jump?' Or in putting a loaded pistol to his forehead and thinking, 'What if I pull the trigger?' Or in looking at some very important personage before whom a whole society feels servile respect and wondering, 'What if I go over to him, grab him by the nose, and say, 'What about this, my dear fellow?'"
March 29, 2023
tolstoy'un yazdığı otobiyografik üçlemenin ikinci bölümü. yazarın çocukluk travmasının yerini yavaş yavaş yeni ve heyecan verici bir yolculuğa bıraktığı kısmı okuyoruz bu bölümde. üçlemenin ilk bölümünde daha çok çocuğun iç dünyasında yaşadıklarını okurken burada yavaş yavaş bir dışa yönelim söz konusu. özellikle kitabın başlarını oluşturan yolculuk ve bu yolculuk esnasında yazarımızın tasvirleriyle karşılaşıyoruz. belki de betimlemeler konusunda tarihin en başarılı yazarının bu yeteneği daha on üç, ön dört yaşlarındaki dikkatli gözlemleriyle oluşmaya başlamıştır diye düşündüm bu bölümleri okurken.
çocukluktan çıkıp ergenliğe geçilen dönem, ergen tolstoy'un zaman zaman yaşadığı duygusal patlamalarla, inatçı davranışlarla, karşı cinsi ve cinselliği yeni yeni keşfetmesiyle, aşağı yukarı her bireyin yaşadığı ve atlattığı biçimde, okurun kolayca empati kurabileceği sadelikte aktarılmış. o yaşlarda hangimiz "evlatlık olduğumuz için ailemizin bizi sevmediğini" düşünmedik? hangimiz "çevremizdekilere kafa tutup, evi terk etme hayalleri" kurmadık? küçük tolstoy'un iç dünyasını kendi sözleri aracılığıyla tanımak ve çevreyi onun gözlerinden görmek okuru son derece tatmin ediyor şüphesiz.
kitabın sonlarına doğru da artık tolstoy'un karakterinin ağır ağır oturduğuna şahit oluyoruz. artık on beş, on altı yaşlarına geldiğinde, iç dünyası şekillenmeye başlıyor. volodya'nın arkadaşı prens nehludov(diriliş romanındaki prens nehludovla bir bağlantısı var mı henüz araştırmadım) ve tolstoy arasındaki dostuk sayesinde yazarımız derin sohbetlere, felsefe üzerine düşünmeye doğru evriliyor. üçlemenin son kitabı olan "gençlik"le tolstoy'u yakından tanımaya büyük bir keyifle devam ediyorum.
çocukluktan çıkıp ergenliğe geçilen dönem, ergen tolstoy'un zaman zaman yaşadığı duygusal patlamalarla, inatçı davranışlarla, karşı cinsi ve cinselliği yeni yeni keşfetmesiyle, aşağı yukarı her bireyin yaşadığı ve atlattığı biçimde, okurun kolayca empati kurabileceği sadelikte aktarılmış. o yaşlarda hangimiz "evlatlık olduğumuz için ailemizin bizi sevmediğini" düşünmedik? hangimiz "çevremizdekilere kafa tutup, evi terk etme hayalleri" kurmadık? küçük tolstoy'un iç dünyasını kendi sözleri aracılığıyla tanımak ve çevreyi onun gözlerinden görmek okuru son derece tatmin ediyor şüphesiz.
kitabın sonlarına doğru da artık tolstoy'un karakterinin ağır ağır oturduğuna şahit oluyoruz. artık on beş, on altı yaşlarına geldiğinde, iç dünyası şekillenmeye başlıyor. volodya'nın arkadaşı prens nehludov(diriliş romanındaki prens nehludovla bir bağlantısı var mı henüz araştırmadım) ve tolstoy arasındaki dostuk sayesinde yazarımız derin sohbetlere, felsefe üzerine düşünmeye doğru evriliyor. üçlemenin son kitabı olan "gençlik"le tolstoy'u yakından tanımaya büyük bir keyifle devam ediyorum.
May 27, 2018
Kitabın Yorumu
“Gençliğim”; Tolstoy’un gençlik yıllarının 16 - 29 yaşına kadar ki anılarından oluşmaktadır ve yine onun ilk eseridir (Çocukluğum ve Gençliğim).
Yazar; gençlik yıllarının başlangıcını, hayata ait fikirlere bağlı kalma kararını verdiği gün olarak tanımlar. Bu kararını da; görünüşünü beğenmediği vücudundan, yüzünden, ellerinden duyduğu utançtan kaynaklı olumsuz hislerinden bir kaçış olarak değerlendirir.
Lev Nikoloviç Tolstoy “Gençliğimde”; babasını ve ikinci evliliğini, aile çevresini, komşularını, baharı, bahar aylarındaki okul sınavlarını (her bir dersi ayrı anlatacak şekilde), günahsız yaşama ve kendini iyiliğe adama azmini, bu maksatla koyduğu kuralları ve bunların kontrol çizelgelerini, kiliseye yakınlaşmasını, şehir dışındaki yakınlarına ziyaretlerini (her bir ziyareti ayrı bölüm olarak), yetişkinliğini, sevgiyi, aşkı ve kendi ifadesiyle “gönül işlerini”, klasik müzik hevesini, üniversiteye girişini (özel okul mu, devlet okulu mu kararı), okul dönemindeki içki alemini ve sosyeteyi, nihayetinde sınıfta kalmasını (integral ve diferansiyel denklemlerden) dörder - beşer sayfalık bölümler halinde anlatır. Bu anlatım, yazarın diğer bir eseri olan “Çocukluğum”daki gibi sadece olaylar üzerinden değil, daha çok; gözlemler, duygu ve yorumlar üzerinden gerçekleşir.
“Eser; insanın gençlik yıllarındaki kendini bulma arayışını ve savrulmalarını çarpıcı biçimde hikaye eder. Okura; iyilik ve doğruyu bulmak için gayret göstermenin değerini hissettirir.
“Gençliğim”; Tolstoy’un gençlik yıllarının 16 - 29 yaşına kadar ki anılarından oluşmaktadır ve yine onun ilk eseridir (Çocukluğum ve Gençliğim).
Yazar; gençlik yıllarının başlangıcını, hayata ait fikirlere bağlı kalma kararını verdiği gün olarak tanımlar. Bu kararını da; görünüşünü beğenmediği vücudundan, yüzünden, ellerinden duyduğu utançtan kaynaklı olumsuz hislerinden bir kaçış olarak değerlendirir.
Lev Nikoloviç Tolstoy “Gençliğimde”; babasını ve ikinci evliliğini, aile çevresini, komşularını, baharı, bahar aylarındaki okul sınavlarını (her bir dersi ayrı anlatacak şekilde), günahsız yaşama ve kendini iyiliğe adama azmini, bu maksatla koyduğu kuralları ve bunların kontrol çizelgelerini, kiliseye yakınlaşmasını, şehir dışındaki yakınlarına ziyaretlerini (her bir ziyareti ayrı bölüm olarak), yetişkinliğini, sevgiyi, aşkı ve kendi ifadesiyle “gönül işlerini”, klasik müzik hevesini, üniversiteye girişini (özel okul mu, devlet okulu mu kararı), okul dönemindeki içki alemini ve sosyeteyi, nihayetinde sınıfta kalmasını (integral ve diferansiyel denklemlerden) dörder - beşer sayfalık bölümler halinde anlatır. Bu anlatım, yazarın diğer bir eseri olan “Çocukluğum”daki gibi sadece olaylar üzerinden değil, daha çok; gözlemler, duygu ve yorumlar üzerinden gerçekleşir.
“Eser; insanın gençlik yıllarındaki kendini bulma arayışını ve savrulmalarını çarpıcı biçimde hikaye eder. Okura; iyilik ve doğruyu bulmak için gayret göstermenin değerini hissettirir.
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