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Oblomov
UM DOS MAIORES CLÁSSICOS DA LITERATURA DO SÉCULO XIX,
FINALMENTE EM FORMATO DE BOLSO.
«Oblomov parece uma caricatura, mas é um ser humano. É uma daquelas personagens cujo nome passa a integrar o léxico de um país, e se tornam símbolo de determinada característica humana. Assim como dizemos de um discurso que é acaciano, ou de uma atitude que é quixotesca, os russos usam a palavra oblomovismo para designar uma certa indolência apática. Não é uma indolência que rejeita a vida, como a de Bartleby, nem uma incapacidade de agir motivada pela ponderação das consequências dos seus actos, como a de Hamlet. É uma indolência pueril, de quem não pode nem quer abandonar a infância para entrar num mundo perigoso, aborrecido, contrário ao seu conceito de vida, e no qual se valoriza uma actividade abominável: o trabalho. Oblomov está assoberbado de inércia como uma criança aborrecida.»
— Ricardo Araújo Pereira
648 pages, Mass Market Paperback
First published January 1, 1859
2689 people are currently reading
57125 people want to read
About the author
Ivan Goncharov
281 books496 followersRussian novelist Ivan Aleksandrovich Goncharov (/ˈɡɒntʃəˌrɔːf, -ˌrɒf/; Russian: Ива́н Алекса́ндрович Гончаро́в), best known for his novels
A Common Story
(1847),
Oblomov
(1859), and
The Precipice
(1869). He also served in many official capacities, including the position of censor.
Goncharov was born into the family of a wealthy merchant, elevated as a reward for military service of his grandfather to gentry status. A boarding school, then the Moscow college of commerce, and finally Moscow State University educated him. After graduating, he served for a short time in the office of the governor of Simbirsk before moving to Saint Petersburg, where he worked as government translator and private tutor, while publishing poetry and fiction in private almanacs. People published A Common Story , first novel of Goncharov, in Sovremennik in 1847.
Goncharov's second and best-known novel Oblomov was published in 1859 in Otechestvennye zapiski. His third and final novel The Precipice was published in Vestnik Evropy in 1869. He also worked as a literary and theatre critic. Towards the end of his life Goncharov wrote a memoir called An Uncommon Story, in which he accused his literary rivals, first and foremost Ivan Turgenev, of having plagiarized his works and prevented him from achieving European fame. The memoir was published in 1924. Fyodor Dostoyevsky, among others, considered Goncharov an author of high stature. Anton Chekhov is quoted as stating that Goncharov was "...ten heads above me in talent."
Goncharov was born into the family of a wealthy merchant, elevated as a reward for military service of his grandfather to gentry status. A boarding school, then the Moscow college of commerce, and finally Moscow State University educated him. After graduating, he served for a short time in the office of the governor of Simbirsk before moving to Saint Petersburg, where he worked as government translator and private tutor, while publishing poetry and fiction in private almanacs. People published A Common Story , first novel of Goncharov, in Sovremennik in 1847.
Goncharov's second and best-known novel Oblomov was published in 1859 in Otechestvennye zapiski. His third and final novel The Precipice was published in Vestnik Evropy in 1869. He also worked as a literary and theatre critic. Towards the end of his life Goncharov wrote a memoir called An Uncommon Story, in which he accused his literary rivals, first and foremost Ivan Turgenev, of having plagiarized his works and prevented him from achieving European fame. The memoir was published in 1924. Fyodor Dostoyevsky, among others, considered Goncharov an author of high stature. Anton Chekhov is quoted as stating that Goncharov was "...ten heads above me in talent."
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December 12, 2023
There is a crustacean called a hermit crab that lives its entire life hiding from the world in a seashell… This is the way Ilya Ilyich Oblomov exists among other human beings…
Inertia of the mind and fear of everything new don’t allow the hero to do anything or take any however small step forward… He is locked in a prison of his apathy, ennui and listlessness so lethargy is the way of his living from day to day…
But the novel is much wider than just a portrayal of the main hero – Ivan Goncharov paints the whole gallery of the vivid characters that constitute the human fauna surrounding Oblomov.
When he meets a young intelligent girl, Oblomov seems to wake from his hibernation and he starts changing his ways of life but all in vain – inertness doesn’t let him go and he is pushed back into the mire of his inactivity for good.
Tranquility… Sometimes a snail or a slug would crawl across a green leaf and after it nothing would be left except a slightly glimmering trail of mucus.
If the meek inherit the earth, the world will be lying in ruins…
He was a man of about thirty-two or three, of medium height and pleasant appearance, with dark grey eyes, but with a total absence of any definite idea, any concentration, in his features. Thoughts promenaded freely all over his face, fluttered about in his eyes, reposed on his half-parted lips, concealed themselves in the furrows of his brow, and then vanished completely – and it was at such moments that an expression of serene unconcern spread all over his face. This unconcern passed from his face into the contours of his body and even into the folds of his dressing-gown.
Inertia of the mind and fear of everything new don’t allow the hero to do anything or take any however small step forward… He is locked in a prison of his apathy, ennui and listlessness so lethargy is the way of his living from day to day…
‘Writes articles at night,’ Oblomov mused. ‘When does he sleep? And yet he probably earns five thousand a year. It’s his bread and butter. But to keep on writing, wasting his mind and soul on trifles, to change his convictions, sell his intelligence and imagination, do violence to his nature, be in a perpetual state of excitement and turmoil, knowing no rest, always rushing about… And write and write, like a wheel or a machine – write to-morrow, write the day after – the holidays, summer will come – always writing, writing! When is he to stop and have a rest? Poor wretch!’
But the novel is much wider than just a portrayal of the main hero – Ivan Goncharov paints the whole gallery of the vivid characters that constitute the human fauna surrounding Oblomov.
When he meets a young intelligent girl, Oblomov seems to wake from his hibernation and he starts changing his ways of life but all in vain – inertness doesn’t let him go and he is pushed back into the mire of his inactivity for good.
‘Don’t talk rubbish! Man has been created to arrange his own life and even to change his own nature, and you’ve grown a big belly and think that nature has sent you this burden! You had wings once, but you took them off.’
Tranquility… Sometimes a snail or a slug would crawl across a green leaf and after it nothing would be left except a slightly glimmering trail of mucus.
If the meek inherit the earth, the world will be lying in ruins…
May 24, 2023
It was the moment of solemn stillness in nature, when the creative mind works more actively, poetic thoughts glow more fervently, the heart burns with passion more ardently or suffers more bitter anguish, when the seed of a criminal design ripens unhindered in a cruel soul, when….everhtying in Oblomovka is peacefully and soundly asleep.
The hero of this delightful 19th-century Russian masterpiece is the melancholy and slothful landowner Ilya Ilyitch Oblomov, who spends about half of the book in bed. Daydreaming about his childhood on Oblomovka, the family estate, he forges grand plans, more hindered than helped by his grumpy servant Zahar. When the adorable Olga appears on stage, singing Casta Diva, Oblomov's listless, lethargic life is turned upside down...
Heartwarming, moving, often funny and so recognizable. After all, isn’t there a little of Oblomov in all of us?
(Illustration N. Shcheglov)
Dit is het uur, waarin de weidse stilte van de nacht heel de natuur in zich opneemt, waarin de scheppende geest nieuwe kracht ontvangt, de dichtader rijkelijker vloeit, waarin het hart heftiger klopt van hartstocht of pijnlijk ineenkrimpt van een smartelijk begeren, waarin de kiem van de misdaad in het wrede gemoed tot welige bloei komt, en waarin in Oblomowka allen ongestoord slapen.
De held van dit heerlijke 19de-eeuwse meesterwerk is de melancholieke en aartsluie landeigenaar Ilja Oblomow, die zowat de helft van het boek doezelend in bed doorbrengt. Dagdromend over zijn jeugd op Oblomowka, het familielandgoed, smeedt hij grootse plannen, daarbij meer gehinderd dan geholpen door zijn knorrige huisknecht. Als de aanbiddelijke Olga op het toneel verschijnt, wordt Oblomows lusteloze leventje danig overhoop gegooid… Hartverwarmend, ontroerend, vaak grappig en heel herkenbaar, want zijn wij niet allemaal een béétje Oblomow?
The hero of this delightful 19th-century Russian masterpiece is the melancholy and slothful landowner Ilya Ilyitch Oblomov, who spends about half of the book in bed. Daydreaming about his childhood on Oblomovka, the family estate, he forges grand plans, more hindered than helped by his grumpy servant Zahar. When the adorable Olga appears on stage, singing Casta Diva, Oblomov's listless, lethargic life is turned upside down...
Heartwarming, moving, often funny and so recognizable. After all, isn’t there a little of Oblomov in all of us?
(Illustration N. Shcheglov)
Dit is het uur, waarin de weidse stilte van de nacht heel de natuur in zich opneemt, waarin de scheppende geest nieuwe kracht ontvangt, de dichtader rijkelijker vloeit, waarin het hart heftiger klopt van hartstocht of pijnlijk ineenkrimpt van een smartelijk begeren, waarin de kiem van de misdaad in het wrede gemoed tot welige bloei komt, en waarin in Oblomowka allen ongestoord slapen.
De held van dit heerlijke 19de-eeuwse meesterwerk is de melancholieke en aartsluie landeigenaar Ilja Oblomow, die zowat de helft van het boek doezelend in bed doorbrengt. Dagdromend over zijn jeugd op Oblomowka, het familielandgoed, smeedt hij grootse plannen, daarbij meer gehinderd dan geholpen door zijn knorrige huisknecht. Als de aanbiddelijke Olga op het toneel verschijnt, wordt Oblomows lusteloze leventje danig overhoop gegooid… Hartverwarmend, ontroerend, vaak grappig en heel herkenbaar, want zijn wij niet allemaal een béétje Oblomow?
September 10, 2023
Mi-e atît de lene să scriu o recenzie, e atît de bine în pat, n-are nici un rost să mă scol, să merg la birou, să deschid laptopul etc. etc., încît nu pot decît să vă îndemn să citiți romanul lui Goncearov...
***
După 3 ore. Cu un suprem efort de care sînt foarte mîndru, transcriu dintr-o recenzie mai veche de-a mea (sic!) acest șir de întrebări metafizice:
„Oare Oblomov, săracul, stînd toată ziua în pat, simțea că trăiește? De ce o tot amîna pe fermecătoarea Olga Sergheevna? De ce nu voia să aibă o soție? De ce nu se hotăra odată și odată să se ridice din pat și să se însoare? Se temea că posesiunea lui va sfîrși prin a-l poseda?”.
Mai pe seară am să meditez la chestia asta. Acum mă culc la loc s-o aprofundez.
***
M-am trezit provizoriu ca să beau un ceai rusesc. Pînă fierbe samovarul, transcriu acest minunat pasaj: „Pentru Ilia Ilici, a sta culcat nu era o necesitate, ca pentru un bolnav sau pentru un om care vrea să doarmă, nici ceva întîmplător, ca pentru unul obosit, dar nici o plăcere, ca pentru un leneş; era o poziție normală. Cînd era acasă – şi era mai întotdeauna acasă – stătea tot timpul culcat în aceeaşi odaie unde l-am găsit şi care-i servea în aceiaşi timp de iatac, de birou şi de salon. Mai avea încă trei odăi, dar intra rar în ele, numai câteodată dimineaţa, şi nu în fiecare zi, ci numai cînd servitorul mătura în birou, ceea ce nu se întîmpla zilnic. În încăperile acestea, perdelele erau trase şi mobilele acoperite cu învelitori de pînză”.
Cu ultimele puteri, stors, mă întind la loc pe canapea. Asta e poziția mea normală. N-am mai băut ceaiul, am preferat o vodcă. Face minuni înainte de culcare. Noapte bună! Pa!
***
După 3 ore. Cu un suprem efort de care sînt foarte mîndru, transcriu dintr-o recenzie mai veche de-a mea (sic!) acest șir de întrebări metafizice:
„Oare Oblomov, săracul, stînd toată ziua în pat, simțea că trăiește? De ce o tot amîna pe fermecătoarea Olga Sergheevna? De ce nu voia să aibă o soție? De ce nu se hotăra odată și odată să se ridice din pat și să se însoare? Se temea că posesiunea lui va sfîrși prin a-l poseda?”.
Mai pe seară am să meditez la chestia asta. Acum mă culc la loc s-o aprofundez.
***
M-am trezit provizoriu ca să beau un ceai rusesc. Pînă fierbe samovarul, transcriu acest minunat pasaj: „Pentru Ilia Ilici, a sta culcat nu era o necesitate, ca pentru un bolnav sau pentru un om care vrea să doarmă, nici ceva întîmplător, ca pentru unul obosit, dar nici o plăcere, ca pentru un leneş; era o poziție normală. Cînd era acasă – şi era mai întotdeauna acasă – stătea tot timpul culcat în aceeaşi odaie unde l-am găsit şi care-i servea în aceiaşi timp de iatac, de birou şi de salon. Mai avea încă trei odăi, dar intra rar în ele, numai câteodată dimineaţa, şi nu în fiecare zi, ci numai cînd servitorul mătura în birou, ceea ce nu se întîmpla zilnic. În încăperile acestea, perdelele erau trase şi mobilele acoperite cu învelitori de pînză”.
Cu ultimele puteri, stors, mă întind la loc pe canapea. Asta e poziția mea normală. N-am mai băut ceaiul, am preferat o vodcă. Face minuni înainte de culcare. Noapte bună! Pa!
February 28, 2025
آبلوموف نوشته شده توسط ایوان گنچاروف رمانی ایست در باره کسی که هیچ کاری انجام نمی دهد ، هیچ هیچ ، حتی به زحمت از خانه بیرون می رود ، با پولی که از املاک خود می گیرد زندگی را نه به سختی و نه به راحتی ، بلکه به هیچ می گذراند . چه گونه نویسنده از چنین سوژه ای موفق به ساختن یک رمان عظیم شده است؟
قسمت عمده کتاب در اطاق خواب یا ناهار خوری اتفاق می افتد
از خود آبلوموف مهم تر فرهنگی ایست که با خود آورده : آبلومویسم نماد تنبلی کامل و ترسناک تر از همه این است که همه ما تا بخشی به آن مبتلا هستیم ، مثلا چه تصمیم هایی گرفتیم و به آنها عمل نکردیم ، حتی آن ها را فراموش کردیم ، چه قدر از وقت ما به خوابیدن و چرت زدن یا به یک نقطه زل زدن گذشت ، رویاهای سوخته شده ، کارهای نیمه تمام که برای انجام دادنشان هیچ قدمی برنداشتیم ..
کتاب نقد منفی به مردم روسیه و در حالت کلی تر به مردم کشورهای توسعه نیافته از جمله ایران هم دارد : آنجا که زندگی دوست آلمانی آبلوموف را با زندگی خودش مقایسه میکند : اشتولتس بر خلاف ابلوموف از کودکی با استقلال و کشیدن سختی و کار سخت بزرگ شده ، همیشه با حقایق زندگی روبرو شده و تربیت سخت به روش آلمانی از او فردی سر سخت و مدبر ساخته ، کاملا بر عکس آبلوموف
اما کتاب یک شخصیت به شدت نفرت انگیز دیگر هم دارد : زاخار نوکر آبلوموف که نمادی از طبقه عامه روسیه در آن زمان است :کثیف ، تنبل و دله دزد ، در حالی که به شدت از شرایط ناراضی ایست فقط غر می زند و هیچ کاری نمی کند، چرا که خود زاخار هم آبلومویسم زده است !
قسمت عمده کتاب در اطاق خواب یا ناهار خوری اتفاق می افتد
از خود آبلوموف مهم تر فرهنگی ایست که با خود آورده : آبلومویسم نماد تنبلی کامل و ترسناک تر از همه این است که همه ما تا بخشی به آن مبتلا هستیم ، مثلا چه تصمیم هایی گرفتیم و به آنها عمل نکردیم ، حتی آن ها را فراموش کردیم ، چه قدر از وقت ما به خوابیدن و چرت زدن یا به یک نقطه زل زدن گذشت ، رویاهای سوخته شده ، کارهای نیمه تمام که برای انجام دادنشان هیچ قدمی برنداشتیم ..
کتاب نقد منفی به مردم روسیه و در حالت کلی تر به مردم کشورهای توسعه نیافته از جمله ایران هم دارد : آنجا که زندگی دوست آلمانی آبلوموف را با زندگی خودش مقایسه میکند : اشتولتس بر خلاف ابلوموف از کودکی با استقلال و کشیدن سختی و کار سخت بزرگ شده ، همیشه با حقایق زندگی روبرو شده و تربیت سخت به روش آلمانی از او فردی سر سخت و مدبر ساخته ، کاملا بر عکس آبلوموف
اما کتاب یک شخصیت به شدت نفرت انگیز دیگر هم دارد : زاخار نوکر آبلوموف که نمادی از طبقه عامه روسیه در آن زمان است :کثیف ، تنبل و دله دزد ، در حالی که به شدت از شرایط ناراضی ایست فقط غر می زند و هیچ کاری نمی کند، چرا که خود زاخار هم آبلومویسم زده است !
November 24, 2012
I know I’m not going to do Oblomov justice: this is what happens when I’m in awe. I’m much better really at slagging books off. Masterpieces leave me ‘I’m not worthy’ tongue-tied.
Oblomov is so big he’s become a word in Russian: ‘oblomovschina’. As in, the Russian dictionary. To mean ‘Godot-ism’ or an existential couch-potato. The man is wedded to his couch: life bubbles all around him at super sonic speed, but Oblomov: well, he....reclines. He lays about 24/7, and then he dies. The end.
But. And yet. There are so many layers to this, the proverbial onion can but weep. A helicopter view lays bare a man too lazy and apathetic to emulate a Hamlet simulacra. If the latter debates the merit of ‘going on’, the former is merely ‘getting on’. Its not a question of ‘why live’, but one of getting the whole business of living over and done with. Oblomov is simply waiting to die: whether he realises it or not. Zoom in closer and Oblomov is a metaphor, a gynormous symbol. Here is what of:
How many times have I cradled a pint and reminisced with ‘auld acquaintance’ on the ‘what ifs’ of life. People locked into the mundane, informed of socially accepted barriers which separate them from a degree of greatness: the children, the mortgage, ailing parents they need to care for, health constraints, money woes; all of this and more is why they tread the hamster wheel and live the groundhog day and notch one same old after another. We clink glasses and toast and encourage each other in attaining even greater average-ness, for the sake of A’ that. Goncharev, as I see it, lays bare this lie, and promulgates Oblamov: who doesn’t have any of the above or other worries, but simply succumbs to the utilitarian without any excuse whatsoever.
Self limiting, inauspicious, unambitious, unadventurous, dispassionate, locked in analysis paralysis, passive, call it ,sister: because thats what the bulk of us are, sheep! No, it wasn’t your momma what did it, nor the groping catholic priest, nor daddy whos sick in bed, nor the lack of moolah: its YOU. No excuses. One just wants movement in life, or one doesn’t. There is no point blaming circumstances in how we turn out: this is very much a nature over nurture battle-cry.
Oblomov, wallowing in utmost sloth, inability to act or live, in full knowledge of his dire circumstances, has this to say: ‘Yet no life but this do I wish, or have it in my power, to live’. Quite a brave introspection. Bottom line: we are all, EXACTLY, where we want to be. Regardless of what excuses we heap on our life-shit pile, we’re ultimately living the life we want. That this is so is intuitive: if we didn’t want our shit lives, we would do something about it. What we really mean is: ‘I ‘m living my life exactly how I want it, but this isn’t socially acceptable. Therefore, I’m going to conjure up a whole load of stock-pile excuses as to why I’m doing this’.
Oblamov is also a bit more than a dissection of individual human psyche. Goncharev also tackles ‘the Russian zeitgeist’. And how. In exploring the collective consciousness of Russia, he does something which I love, love, love, for personal reasons, being a multi-cultural product myself. He’s quick to spot the extreme backwardness and childishness and inutility of the apathetic, superstitious milieu, and he’s not afraid to show it. But. Yet. In vivisecting and laying bare the dross of Russian trope, he wields the scalpel with infinite care and love. Underlying his condemnation is a profound and unrevokable love for his motherland, a generous tolerance despite his misgivings, an acknowledgement that no matter how deep the scalpel delves, the body is still worth preserving. I adore that kind dichotomy. We are none of us so big for our britches that we can swipe away the qualia of our entire birth nation. Really, there can be no true negation by a native: he will always be a product. Goncharev knows this.
Oblamov is also a bit more than a dissection of individual and collective consciousness. It is also a riotous satire, a Massala of humour, so understated and elegant, its ephemeral in its delicacy. The scene with the arrival of a letter at Oblomovo surely must, must, rate as one of the virtuoso moments in literature, of any epoch.
Oblamov is also a bit more than a dissection of individual and collective consciousness and (take a deep breath) a riotous satire. Its a philosophical treatise on the meaning of life, and non so more touched me as Olga Segeivna. There is perhaps no other literary character I have come across so far who portrays my own conundrums and fears as she does; and its immensely comforting to see that I am not alone in the penumbra.
What a book. Really.
Oblomov is so big he’s become a word in Russian: ‘oblomovschina’. As in, the Russian dictionary. To mean ‘Godot-ism’ or an existential couch-potato. The man is wedded to his couch: life bubbles all around him at super sonic speed, but Oblomov: well, he....reclines. He lays about 24/7, and then he dies. The end.
But. And yet. There are so many layers to this, the proverbial onion can but weep. A helicopter view lays bare a man too lazy and apathetic to emulate a Hamlet simulacra. If the latter debates the merit of ‘going on’, the former is merely ‘getting on’. Its not a question of ‘why live’, but one of getting the whole business of living over and done with. Oblomov is simply waiting to die: whether he realises it or not. Zoom in closer and Oblomov is a metaphor, a gynormous symbol. Here is what of:
How many times have I cradled a pint and reminisced with ‘auld acquaintance’ on the ‘what ifs’ of life. People locked into the mundane, informed of socially accepted barriers which separate them from a degree of greatness: the children, the mortgage, ailing parents they need to care for, health constraints, money woes; all of this and more is why they tread the hamster wheel and live the groundhog day and notch one same old after another. We clink glasses and toast and encourage each other in attaining even greater average-ness, for the sake of A’ that. Goncharev, as I see it, lays bare this lie, and promulgates Oblamov: who doesn’t have any of the above or other worries, but simply succumbs to the utilitarian without any excuse whatsoever.
Self limiting, inauspicious, unambitious, unadventurous, dispassionate, locked in analysis paralysis, passive, call it ,sister: because thats what the bulk of us are, sheep! No, it wasn’t your momma what did it, nor the groping catholic priest, nor daddy whos sick in bed, nor the lack of moolah: its YOU. No excuses. One just wants movement in life, or one doesn’t. There is no point blaming circumstances in how we turn out: this is very much a nature over nurture battle-cry.
Oblomov, wallowing in utmost sloth, inability to act or live, in full knowledge of his dire circumstances, has this to say: ‘Yet no life but this do I wish, or have it in my power, to live’. Quite a brave introspection. Bottom line: we are all, EXACTLY, where we want to be. Regardless of what excuses we heap on our life-shit pile, we’re ultimately living the life we want. That this is so is intuitive: if we didn’t want our shit lives, we would do something about it. What we really mean is: ‘I ‘m living my life exactly how I want it, but this isn’t socially acceptable. Therefore, I’m going to conjure up a whole load of stock-pile excuses as to why I’m doing this’.
Oblamov is also a bit more than a dissection of individual human psyche. Goncharev also tackles ‘the Russian zeitgeist’. And how. In exploring the collective consciousness of Russia, he does something which I love, love, love, for personal reasons, being a multi-cultural product myself. He’s quick to spot the extreme backwardness and childishness and inutility of the apathetic, superstitious milieu, and he’s not afraid to show it. But. Yet. In vivisecting and laying bare the dross of Russian trope, he wields the scalpel with infinite care and love. Underlying his condemnation is a profound and unrevokable love for his motherland, a generous tolerance despite his misgivings, an acknowledgement that no matter how deep the scalpel delves, the body is still worth preserving. I adore that kind dichotomy. We are none of us so big for our britches that we can swipe away the qualia of our entire birth nation. Really, there can be no true negation by a native: he will always be a product. Goncharev knows this.
Oblamov is also a bit more than a dissection of individual and collective consciousness. It is also a riotous satire, a Massala of humour, so understated and elegant, its ephemeral in its delicacy. The scene with the arrival of a letter at Oblomovo surely must, must, rate as one of the virtuoso moments in literature, of any epoch.
Oblamov is also a bit more than a dissection of individual and collective consciousness and (take a deep breath) a riotous satire. Its a philosophical treatise on the meaning of life, and non so more touched me as Olga Segeivna. There is perhaps no other literary character I have come across so far who portrays my own conundrums and fears as she does; and its immensely comforting to see that I am not alone in the penumbra.
What a book. Really.
November 13, 2025
This is the second book I've read in a short amount of time where it seems the whole point is that it's boring. I enjoyed Oblomov more than An American Tragedy, but maybe that's just because it was half as long so only half as boring.
I jest. I think. More likely it was just thematically more interesting to me— mostly because I've read many other books that have deconstructed the American Dream in fewer, and better, pages, but I have room for some more ruminating on the inertia and spiritual malaise of the 19th century Russian aristocracy.
Oblomov is a depressing, and slightly comical, book about a man who can barely get out of bed and certainly cannot leave his house. He yearns for a bygone childhood at Oblomovka— his family estate —and cannot deal with the pragmatic demands of adulthood. So he does not. Deal with them, that is. Instead, he slumps in passivity, making up excuses to the friends who try to engage him in parties and other activities. Him not doing much of anything is the whole point.
I read up on the context alongside the novel— how it was intended as a critique of the Russian landed gentry in the mid-19th century, whose unearned comfort had dulled their vitality and rendered them incapable of progress. Goncharov witnessed this societal apathy and saw it as rooted in excessive comfort, fear of change, and resistance to the demands of a new, reform-minded era.
The character of Stolz is held up as the antithesis of Oblomov— he is ambitious and longs to always keep himself busy. Seeking leisure and comfort is nowhere on his agenda. Though Goncharov's depiction of him is not entirely positive either, but more complex. Clearly, Oblomov is a symbol of the old Russia— one of aristocracy, now collapsing under the weight of its own moral inertia —while Stolz serves as a symbol of the new— reforms, modernization, and a country moving on from aristocracy.
Though, to me, there is something universal about the story's themes. The human conflict between seeking pleasure/comforts, and hard work and achievement. Also, simply the conflict between conservatism and progressivism— should we cling to the ways of old with nostalgia, or embrace change?
Thematically fascinating, even if having to sit through Oblomov sitting up, lying back down, sitting up, putting his slippers on, taking them off, lying back down, a million times was mind-numbing.
I jest. I think. More likely it was just thematically more interesting to me— mostly because I've read many other books that have deconstructed the American Dream in fewer, and better, pages, but I have room for some more ruminating on the inertia and spiritual malaise of the 19th century Russian aristocracy.
Oblomov is a depressing, and slightly comical, book about a man who can barely get out of bed and certainly cannot leave his house. He yearns for a bygone childhood at Oblomovka— his family estate —and cannot deal with the pragmatic demands of adulthood. So he does not. Deal with them, that is. Instead, he slumps in passivity, making up excuses to the friends who try to engage him in parties and other activities. Him not doing much of anything is the whole point.
I read up on the context alongside the novel— how it was intended as a critique of the Russian landed gentry in the mid-19th century, whose unearned comfort had dulled their vitality and rendered them incapable of progress. Goncharov witnessed this societal apathy and saw it as rooted in excessive comfort, fear of change, and resistance to the demands of a new, reform-minded era.
The character of Stolz is held up as the antithesis of Oblomov— he is ambitious and longs to always keep himself busy. Seeking leisure and comfort is nowhere on his agenda. Though Goncharov's depiction of him is not entirely positive either, but more complex. Clearly, Oblomov is a symbol of the old Russia— one of aristocracy, now collapsing under the weight of its own moral inertia —while Stolz serves as a symbol of the new— reforms, modernization, and a country moving on from aristocracy.
Though, to me, there is something universal about the story's themes. The human conflict between seeking pleasure/comforts, and hard work and achievement. Also, simply the conflict between conservatism and progressivism— should we cling to the ways of old with nostalgia, or embrace change?
Thematically fascinating, even if having to sit through Oblomov sitting up, lying back down, sitting up, putting his slippers on, taking them off, lying back down, a million times was mind-numbing.
February 15, 2020
Un libro de fino humor. Las escenas entre Oblomov y su mayordomo son geniales y, guardando las distancias, me recuerdan a las de Jeeves y Bertram Wooster del magistral Wodehouse. Ya saben, un clásico ruso de los que hay que leer, no porque sea un clásico, no porque sea ruso, solo por lo mucho que lo disfrutarán.
March 25, 2021
Oblomov, by Ivan Goncharov
The novel shows the conditions in Russia before a long time. A declining nobility, harassed by energetic citizens. The characters in the novel represent the people we meet in our daily lives. Busy Stolz, lazy Oblomov, obstinate servant Sachar, false Tarantjew. The book is both magical and tragic. It also offers funny parts. Anyone who can get used to occasionally somewhat outdated formulations will find a real treasure here. It´s not only Oblomov that is remarkable here, but especially the design of Olga, which is plunged into a serious identity crisis as a result of her efforts to bring about Oblomov. In general, Goncharov's woman portrayal, his partisanship is extremely modern for her and one more reason to read this novel. It's really a classic. Very amusing with very fine humor. By the way, the book gets more and more exciting towards the end. So whoever keep going on it will be rewarded.
The novel shows the conditions in Russia before a long time. A declining nobility, harassed by energetic citizens. The characters in the novel represent the people we meet in our daily lives. Busy Stolz, lazy Oblomov, obstinate servant Sachar, false Tarantjew. The book is both magical and tragic. It also offers funny parts. Anyone who can get used to occasionally somewhat outdated formulations will find a real treasure here. It´s not only Oblomov that is remarkable here, but especially the design of Olga, which is plunged into a serious identity crisis as a result of her efforts to bring about Oblomov. In general, Goncharov's woman portrayal, his partisanship is extremely modern for her and one more reason to read this novel. It's really a classic. Very amusing with very fine humor. By the way, the book gets more and more exciting towards the end. So whoever keep going on it will be rewarded.
Read
January 26, 2020The novel Oblomov was written between Russia's defeat in the Crimean War and the Emancipation of Serfs. Between two profound shocks to a society which had been drifting along inertly, yet with profound self confidence, in the rut dug out by Peter the Great ().
Oblomov is the eponymous central character of the novel (hero in this case would be an entirely inappropriate choice of words). He is characterised above all by a ponderousness that is almost immobility. Wrapped about in his great oriental dressing gown he is at once mountain like and passive. Open to be led on or exploited. The plot sees Oblomov pushed out of his repose and stirred into action only to see him return to indolent corpulence at the end. His sofa and dressing gown suggestive of oriental laziness and inefficiency .
This is then a novel about Russia on the eve of change. It can't continue as it has done, yet lacks the motivation to move on. The price though of not changing is colonisation and exploitation by the nimble.
The core of the book is the chapter "Oblomov's Dream" a vision of an unchanging life on the family's country estate. Warm, cosy, perpetually well fed. Stable. This dream is Oblomov's fixed point. Oblomov moves in a spiral around that point dragged out of his place from time to time but springing back as soon as it has the opportunity.
His name comes from Oblom': a cloud. His nature lacks decisiveness and drive but rather drifts cloud like in contradistinction to his childhood friend, the half Russian-half German Stolz (Pride) who instead demonstrates German vigour and resolve which comes over as being un-Russian. Stolz drives forward. At one point determined to 'save' his friend and drag him, more or less, kicking and screaming in to a different way of life, away from the oriental dressing gown, away from the sofa and the daily struggle to move across the room from one piece of furniture to another.
The nuance in the portrayal of the potentially horrific Oblomov comes from his immobility. If he can't to motivated to get up and go, equally he can't be blown about by the fickle winds of popular enthusiasm (he is not going to entertain the idea that some flavour of the month poet is better than Pushkin! ). He has cultural values that are immutable. This gives a strength to his otherwise unformed and unfocused life. Oblomov is never going to throw out the baby - but at the cost of forever keeping hold of the bathwater. As a result he is doomed to spiral downwards in ever tightening and restricting cycles towards an ultimate still point. His dream, a nightmare for others. The heavy symbolism of a country in need of change to remain a leading power in the world, is entirely intentional . Goncharov's Mendalian answer is that you need to cross Russian 'soul', by which is meant an emotional and poetic state of being, with German efficiency and drive in a mixture of 3:1, depending on where you stand on the spectrum of Russian nationalism you may find that optimistic, pessimistic, or entirely misguided.
Oblomov is the eponymous central character of the novel (hero in this case would be an entirely inappropriate choice of words). He is characterised above all by a ponderousness that is almost immobility. Wrapped about in his great oriental dressing gown he is at once mountain like and passive. Open to be led on or exploited. The plot sees Oblomov pushed out of his repose and stirred into action only to see him return to indolent corpulence at the end. His sofa and dressing gown suggestive of oriental laziness and inefficiency .
This is then a novel about Russia on the eve of change. It can't continue as it has done, yet lacks the motivation to move on. The price though of not changing is colonisation and exploitation by the nimble.
The core of the book is the chapter "Oblomov's Dream" a vision of an unchanging life on the family's country estate. Warm, cosy, perpetually well fed. Stable. This dream is Oblomov's fixed point. Oblomov moves in a spiral around that point dragged out of his place from time to time but springing back as soon as it has the opportunity.
His name comes from Oblom': a cloud. His nature lacks decisiveness and drive but rather drifts cloud like in contradistinction to his childhood friend, the half Russian-half German Stolz (Pride) who instead demonstrates German vigour and resolve which comes over as being un-Russian. Stolz drives forward. At one point determined to 'save' his friend and drag him, more or less, kicking and screaming in to a different way of life, away from the oriental dressing gown, away from the sofa and the daily struggle to move across the room from one piece of furniture to another.
The nuance in the portrayal of the potentially horrific Oblomov comes from his immobility. If he can't to motivated to get up and go, equally he can't be blown about by the fickle winds of popular enthusiasm (he is not going to entertain the idea that some flavour of the month poet is better than Pushkin! ). He has cultural values that are immutable. This gives a strength to his otherwise unformed and unfocused life. Oblomov is never going to throw out the baby - but at the cost of forever keeping hold of the bathwater. As a result he is doomed to spiral downwards in ever tightening and restricting cycles towards an ultimate still point. His dream, a nightmare for others. The heavy symbolism of a country in need of change to remain a leading power in the world, is entirely intentional . Goncharov's Mendalian answer is that you need to cross Russian 'soul', by which is meant an emotional and poetic state of being, with German efficiency and drive in a mixture of 3:1, depending on where you stand on the spectrum of Russian nationalism you may find that optimistic, pessimistic, or entirely misguided.
August 16, 2022
Life, and life only, and of course life does not follow logic, it has its own strange ways, keeps telling us in all the possible ways that there is a (big) difference between the male mind and the female mind, and their functioning is different, same as true polars. Although spiritually they are exactly the same, physiologically they are poles apart, and function in different ways. [for example, man is more physical and more extrovert than woman; the woman is more psychological and more introvert. Or, when a man and a woman are in deep, loving embrace, the woman immediately closes her eyes. He remains more or less an outsider, a spectator. He is more interested in watching than in being in it. The woman is more concerned with her inner being, what is happening there. Hence, for women their real interest is in their inner processes. These differences are so great that they make for different life-styles]
One thing that struck me greatly was to find out that men are happier being married than not because when they are not married they simply feel lonely. So, even if the marriage is miserable, it is better than to be lonely; at least there is something to keep you occupied. Misery also keeps you occupied and man always wants to remain occupied — something on the outside so that he need not go in, so he can keep his eyes open. On the other side, the woman is not so interested in the outside, so when a woman is unmarried she feels more alone than lonely. And she can enjoy her aloneness better than a man because she is more inner-directed — she is more selfish, but in a very positive meaning, she is self-centered. The man is other-centered; he is constantly thinking of others. The woman is thinking more about herself. At the most, she remains interested in the neighborhood — who is fooling around with whom. Hence, she can remain alone in a more healthy way than man; he feels very lonely. He has to know what is happening in the whole world. Even in his aloneness he will create some imaginary beings — God, angels — and imaginary problems: How many angels can stand on the point of a needle? And he will be really into the problem; he will waste his whole life counting the angels, and he will argue to no end! The woman simply laughs (well, I do laugh too 😉). The woman deep down knows boys are just boys — let them talk! They call it philosophy, theology — they are very skillful in giving great names to things. So, paradoxically the woman can be more happy alone than married, because she can make herself rooted without the man; the man is not such a great need. [and yes, there is a great need to be a mother in a woman, but there is no great need to be a wife.] She can be more independent than the man — she IS more independent. And, just because the woman is more independent, down the ages man has tried to make her dependent in other ways — economically, socially. Naturally, she is more independent and that hurts the man (his ego), so he has tried to make her dependent in some way (artificial dependence). Economically she has been paralyzed, she has to depend on man. This is a consolation for man: if he depends on her, she also depends on him. It is a compensation and a consolation. Politically, socially, she has been thrown out of the society (btw, nowadays even the company I am working for realized that it’s high time they should allow more women to take places in the middle and higher management…well, at least some change of perspective in the communication style…). Well, something that made me ponder over is that, perhaps, that’s why she looks more beautiful — her beauty has roots in her physiological balance.
Eventually, each man and each woman needs a great education about it — that they are different; their physiologies are different, their psychologies are different, and they have to understand each other’s psychology, each other’s physiology. They have to be taught. And, as the author clearly emphasized, ”Love is a most difficult school of life!”
Once upon a time I was a Stolz, but days and years passed by, many of them it seems so far, and I have realized that I am inclining towards growing into an Oblomov sort of type (I even bought myself a dressing-gown, of course not of Persian cloth, but Romanian made, still pretty comfortable, cosy and with a home-feel). My ‘Oblomov’ attitude is there for sure 2 days out of 7 - I feel, think and act as an original Oblomov. The other 5 days I am still perfectly adapted to Stolz model. I guess it’s in my nature too, I might be more masculine or male-oriented, although apparently and technically I am built to represent a feminine form and shape. Well, that can be misleading too, cannot it? 😉
I felt so much for Oblomov, he made me cry. Goodness! I didn’t know I could cry for such a male type. But I did. He truly didn’t deserve to waste his life like he did. What a pity!! I appreciated his inner struggle and intention to clear out the mental confusion. Despite his failure. Still that was so much worth it. ”Why am I like this? Oblomov asked himself almost with tears, hiding his head under the blanket again. Why?… But what am I? Oblomov- and nothing more!”
I do ask myself, too: Why am I like this? What am I? And, I do keep asking myself (well not so often, because my free time is less and less nowadays), but still I am not fully satisfied with the current answers. But again, I am so much “fragmented” – same like our darling hero, with dove-like tenderness, Oblomov. He is truly representing a fragmented man, like his name stands for.
Well, man – weak creature that he is, feels bewildered, and tries to find in his imagination, if mind cannot support or serve, the key to his own being and to the mysteries that encompass him. And, perhaps it was the everlasting quiet of a sleepy and stagnant life and the absence of movement and of any real terrors, adventures, and dangers that made man create amidst the real life another fantastic one where he might find amusement and true scope for his idle imagination or an explanation of ordinary events and the causes of the events outside the events themselves…
Oblomov is being justified. In his house/home, in the countryside, everything there was imbued with the same primitive laziness, simplicity of customs, peace, and inertia. The child’s heart and mind had been filled with the scenes, pictures, and habits of that life long before he set eyes on his first book. And who can tell when the development of a child’s intellect begins? How can one trace the birth of the first ideas and impressions in a child’s mind? Perhaps when a child begins to talk, or even before it can talk or walk, but only gazes at everything with that dumb, intent look that seems blank to grown-ups, it already catches and perceives the meaning and the connexions of the events of his life, but is not able to tell it to himself or to others.
Later on, in his mature years, he does have an explanation, too.
“…of course, I dreamed, whispered hopes of the future, made plans, developed ideas and-feelings, too. It all died, and was never repeated again! And where did it all disappear to? Why has it become extinguished? I can’t understand! There were no storms or shocks in my life; I never lost anything; there is no load on my conscience: it is clear as glass; no blow has killed ambition in me, and goodness only knows why everything has been utterly wasted!”
The only paragraph that puts a final conclusion is this one, which I keep returning once in a while, too:
“The trouble is that no devastating or redeeming fires have ever burnt in my life. It never was like a morning which gradually fills with light and colour and then turns, like other people’s, into a blazing, hot day, when everything seethes and shimmers in the bright noonday sun, and then gradually grows paler and more subdued, fading naturally into the evening twilight. NO! MY life began by Flickering out. It may sound strange but it is so. From the very first moment I became conscious of myself, I felt that I was already flickering out. I began to flicker out over the writing of official papers at the office; I went on flickering out when I read truths in books which I did not know how to apply in life, when I sat with friends listening to rumours, gossip, jeering, spiteful, cold, and empty chatter, and watching friendships kept up by meetings that were without aim or affection; I was flickering out and wasting my energies with Minna on whom I spent more than half of my income, imagining that I loved her; I was flickering out at parties- on reception days, where I was welcomed with open arms as a fairly eligible young man; I was flickering out and wasting my life and mind on trifles moving from town to some country house, and from the country house to Gorokhovaya, etc etc … and life in general by lazy and comfortable somnolence like the rest… Even ambition- what was it wasted on? To order clothes at a famous tailor’s? To get an invitation to a famous house? To shake hands with Prince P.? And ambition is the salt of life! Where has it gone to? Either I have not understood this sort of life or it is utterly worthless; but I did not know of a better one. No one showed it to me. You (his childhood and youth long life friend Stolz) appeared and disappeared like a bright and swiftly moving comet, and I forgot it all and went on flickering out…. “...
The End: A masterpiece of a book! A must read!
One thing that struck me greatly was to find out that men are happier being married than not because when they are not married they simply feel lonely. So, even if the marriage is miserable, it is better than to be lonely; at least there is something to keep you occupied. Misery also keeps you occupied and man always wants to remain occupied — something on the outside so that he need not go in, so he can keep his eyes open. On the other side, the woman is not so interested in the outside, so when a woman is unmarried she feels more alone than lonely. And she can enjoy her aloneness better than a man because she is more inner-directed — she is more selfish, but in a very positive meaning, she is self-centered. The man is other-centered; he is constantly thinking of others. The woman is thinking more about herself. At the most, she remains interested in the neighborhood — who is fooling around with whom. Hence, she can remain alone in a more healthy way than man; he feels very lonely. He has to know what is happening in the whole world. Even in his aloneness he will create some imaginary beings — God, angels — and imaginary problems: How many angels can stand on the point of a needle? And he will be really into the problem; he will waste his whole life counting the angels, and he will argue to no end! The woman simply laughs (well, I do laugh too 😉). The woman deep down knows boys are just boys — let them talk! They call it philosophy, theology — they are very skillful in giving great names to things. So, paradoxically the woman can be more happy alone than married, because she can make herself rooted without the man; the man is not such a great need. [and yes, there is a great need to be a mother in a woman, but there is no great need to be a wife.] She can be more independent than the man — she IS more independent. And, just because the woman is more independent, down the ages man has tried to make her dependent in other ways — economically, socially. Naturally, she is more independent and that hurts the man (his ego), so he has tried to make her dependent in some way (artificial dependence). Economically she has been paralyzed, she has to depend on man. This is a consolation for man: if he depends on her, she also depends on him. It is a compensation and a consolation. Politically, socially, she has been thrown out of the society (btw, nowadays even the company I am working for realized that it’s high time they should allow more women to take places in the middle and higher management…well, at least some change of perspective in the communication style…). Well, something that made me ponder over is that, perhaps, that’s why she looks more beautiful — her beauty has roots in her physiological balance.
Eventually, each man and each woman needs a great education about it — that they are different; their physiologies are different, their psychologies are different, and they have to understand each other’s psychology, each other’s physiology. They have to be taught. And, as the author clearly emphasized, ”Love is a most difficult school of life!”
Once upon a time I was a Stolz, but days and years passed by, many of them it seems so far, and I have realized that I am inclining towards growing into an Oblomov sort of type (I even bought myself a dressing-gown, of course not of Persian cloth, but Romanian made, still pretty comfortable, cosy and with a home-feel). My ‘Oblomov’ attitude is there for sure 2 days out of 7 - I feel, think and act as an original Oblomov. The other 5 days I am still perfectly adapted to Stolz model. I guess it’s in my nature too, I might be more masculine or male-oriented, although apparently and technically I am built to represent a feminine form and shape. Well, that can be misleading too, cannot it? 😉
I felt so much for Oblomov, he made me cry. Goodness! I didn’t know I could cry for such a male type. But I did. He truly didn’t deserve to waste his life like he did. What a pity!! I appreciated his inner struggle and intention to clear out the mental confusion. Despite his failure. Still that was so much worth it. ”Why am I like this? Oblomov asked himself almost with tears, hiding his head under the blanket again. Why?… But what am I? Oblomov- and nothing more!”
I do ask myself, too: Why am I like this? What am I? And, I do keep asking myself (well not so often, because my free time is less and less nowadays), but still I am not fully satisfied with the current answers. But again, I am so much “fragmented” – same like our darling hero, with dove-like tenderness, Oblomov. He is truly representing a fragmented man, like his name stands for.
Well, man – weak creature that he is, feels bewildered, and tries to find in his imagination, if mind cannot support or serve, the key to his own being and to the mysteries that encompass him. And, perhaps it was the everlasting quiet of a sleepy and stagnant life and the absence of movement and of any real terrors, adventures, and dangers that made man create amidst the real life another fantastic one where he might find amusement and true scope for his idle imagination or an explanation of ordinary events and the causes of the events outside the events themselves…
Oblomov is being justified. In his house/home, in the countryside, everything there was imbued with the same primitive laziness, simplicity of customs, peace, and inertia. The child’s heart and mind had been filled with the scenes, pictures, and habits of that life long before he set eyes on his first book. And who can tell when the development of a child’s intellect begins? How can one trace the birth of the first ideas and impressions in a child’s mind? Perhaps when a child begins to talk, or even before it can talk or walk, but only gazes at everything with that dumb, intent look that seems blank to grown-ups, it already catches and perceives the meaning and the connexions of the events of his life, but is not able to tell it to himself or to others.
Later on, in his mature years, he does have an explanation, too.
“…of course, I dreamed, whispered hopes of the future, made plans, developed ideas and-feelings, too. It all died, and was never repeated again! And where did it all disappear to? Why has it become extinguished? I can’t understand! There were no storms or shocks in my life; I never lost anything; there is no load on my conscience: it is clear as glass; no blow has killed ambition in me, and goodness only knows why everything has been utterly wasted!”
The only paragraph that puts a final conclusion is this one, which I keep returning once in a while, too:
“The trouble is that no devastating or redeeming fires have ever burnt in my life. It never was like a morning which gradually fills with light and colour and then turns, like other people’s, into a blazing, hot day, when everything seethes and shimmers in the bright noonday sun, and then gradually grows paler and more subdued, fading naturally into the evening twilight. NO! MY life began by Flickering out. It may sound strange but it is so. From the very first moment I became conscious of myself, I felt that I was already flickering out. I began to flicker out over the writing of official papers at the office; I went on flickering out when I read truths in books which I did not know how to apply in life, when I sat with friends listening to rumours, gossip, jeering, spiteful, cold, and empty chatter, and watching friendships kept up by meetings that were without aim or affection; I was flickering out and wasting my energies with Minna on whom I spent more than half of my income, imagining that I loved her; I was flickering out at parties- on reception days, where I was welcomed with open arms as a fairly eligible young man; I was flickering out and wasting my life and mind on trifles moving from town to some country house, and from the country house to Gorokhovaya, etc etc … and life in general by lazy and comfortable somnolence like the rest… Even ambition- what was it wasted on? To order clothes at a famous tailor’s? To get an invitation to a famous house? To shake hands with Prince P.? And ambition is the salt of life! Where has it gone to? Either I have not understood this sort of life or it is utterly worthless; but I did not know of a better one. No one showed it to me. You (his childhood and youth long life friend Stolz) appeared and disappeared like a bright and swiftly moving comet, and I forgot it all and went on flickering out…. “...
The End: A masterpiece of a book! A must read!
May 29, 2020
If Oblomov was Hamlet the famous soliloquy would have been “To get off my arse or not to get off my arse, that is the question” but actually there wouldn’t have been a soliloquy because Oblomov wouldn’t have bothered with anything hard like that. There would just be the sound of light snoring. Never do today what you can put off till a week on Friday, he says.
It’s a fact that Oblomov spends the first 160 pages of this novel in bed or, having made a herculean effort to heave his body across the room, in a chair. Yes, 160 pages describing one day.
So we have here a fat-ass do-nothing couch potato who being a member of the property owning class has an estate with 300 serfs whose job it is to do backbreaking work all year long so that at regular intervals Oblomov can get lots of lovely free money. The estate is 1000 miles away from Petersburg and Oblomov never visits it, are you kidding? – so he has no idea what goes on there, all he wants is the free money so he can continue to eat heartily and doze, eat heartily and doze, eat heartily and doze.
In the novel Oblomov has a little group of people around him who love him, and many readers of the novel seem to share their views that he’s admittedly useless but kind of cute, he looks dimwitted but really he’s intelligent, he has a heart of gold and a pure soul, he’s an angel in disguise. I didn’t buy any of that. This is a guy, this Oblomov, who never combs his own hair. His servant does that for him. And yet his best friend says
he had no less intelligence than other people, only it was sleeping idly, hidden, covered over by all sorts of rubbish. Would you like me to tell you why he is dear to you, what it is in him that you still love? …. You love that in him which is worth more than any amount of intelligence: his honest, faithful heart! It is like pure gold in him from nature; he has preserved it throughout his life unharmed. He sank under difficulties, grew cold, dropped asleep, and finally, crushed and disappointed, lost the strength to live, but he has not lost his faith and honesty. His heart has never struck a single false note and nothing has sullied it…. Oblomov will never worship false idols and his soul will always be pure, honest, good. . . . His soul is clear as crystal; there aren’t many men like him, they are rare ; they are like pearls among the crowd.
Sorry, no. He’s an enemy of the people is what he is, along with the rest of his class of leeches. He's an infantilised man who bats his puppydog helpless eyes at his friends and servants and they scurry about making sure he has enough larks tongues and champagne for his supper. As far as I was concerned, if he fell down an abandoned salt mine and died horribly it would have been no great loss.
Ivan Goncharov wrote a great novel about a guy who drives you into spasms of irritation. Not only that but it’s about this annoying guy not doing things. So there is no plot to speak about in these 500 pages. And yet Oblomov is great. It is also true that Mr Goncharov could have done with an editor to tell him to chop out some really dull philosophising about marriage or another ten pages about meals being prepared
“Pickled cabbage and salmon,” she said. ‘‘There isn’t any sturgeon to be had: I’ve been to all the shops and my brother asked for it, but there isn’t any. Only, perhaps, if a live sturgeon is caught— a merchant from the Karetny Ryad has ordered one — the fishmonger promised to cut us some of it. Then there is veal and fried corn-meal.”
And yet in spite of all of these awkwardnesses and imperfections, this is a great novel. The hideous damaging life-withering vampirism that is Oblomov’s life is a steady dead-eyed devastating hatchet-job on Russian society as it was before the serfs got liberated. Along the way, Goncharev lobs in one liners
Cunning is like small coin with which one cannot buy much.
And brilliant page-long soft-voiced denunciations – here he is on the idle rich :
her thorough knowledge of house-keeping and of all home comforts, was for him the incarnate ideal of a life of boundless and unruffled repose, the picture of which had been indelibly stamped on his mind in childhood, under the parental roof. His father, his grandfather, the children, the grandchildren, the visitors, sat or lay in restful idleness, knowing that there were in the house unsleeping eyes that watched over them and never-weary hands that sewed their clothes, gave them food and drink, dressed them, put them to bed, and closed their eyes when they were dead; and now Oblomov, sitting still on the sofa, saw something quick and lively moving for his benefit, and knew that the sun might not rise to-morrow, whirlwinds might hide the sky, a storm might sweep the world, but his soup and roast would be on the table, his linen would be fresh and clean, the cobwebs would be taken off the wall, and he would not know how it was all done; that before he had taken the trouble to think of what he wanted it would be guessed and placed before him — not rudely and lazily, but by clean, white hands and arms bare to the elbow, with a cheerful and gentle glance and a smile of profound devotion.
Like Carl Douglas with "Kung Fu Fighting" or the Baha Men with "Who Let the Dogs Out?" Ivan Goncharov was a one hit wonder. His first novel is no longer read and his third and last, The Precipice (820 pages), is described by the translator here as "cumbersome and drearily tiresome". But Oblomov is, mostly, sharp, devastating and funny.
4.5 stars
It’s a fact that Oblomov spends the first 160 pages of this novel in bed or, having made a herculean effort to heave his body across the room, in a chair. Yes, 160 pages describing one day.
So we have here a fat-ass do-nothing couch potato who being a member of the property owning class has an estate with 300 serfs whose job it is to do backbreaking work all year long so that at regular intervals Oblomov can get lots of lovely free money. The estate is 1000 miles away from Petersburg and Oblomov never visits it, are you kidding? – so he has no idea what goes on there, all he wants is the free money so he can continue to eat heartily and doze, eat heartily and doze, eat heartily and doze.
In the novel Oblomov has a little group of people around him who love him, and many readers of the novel seem to share their views that he’s admittedly useless but kind of cute, he looks dimwitted but really he’s intelligent, he has a heart of gold and a pure soul, he’s an angel in disguise. I didn’t buy any of that. This is a guy, this Oblomov, who never combs his own hair. His servant does that for him. And yet his best friend says
he had no less intelligence than other people, only it was sleeping idly, hidden, covered over by all sorts of rubbish. Would you like me to tell you why he is dear to you, what it is in him that you still love? …. You love that in him which is worth more than any amount of intelligence: his honest, faithful heart! It is like pure gold in him from nature; he has preserved it throughout his life unharmed. He sank under difficulties, grew cold, dropped asleep, and finally, crushed and disappointed, lost the strength to live, but he has not lost his faith and honesty. His heart has never struck a single false note and nothing has sullied it…. Oblomov will never worship false idols and his soul will always be pure, honest, good. . . . His soul is clear as crystal; there aren’t many men like him, they are rare ; they are like pearls among the crowd.
Sorry, no. He’s an enemy of the people is what he is, along with the rest of his class of leeches. He's an infantilised man who bats his puppydog helpless eyes at his friends and servants and they scurry about making sure he has enough larks tongues and champagne for his supper. As far as I was concerned, if he fell down an abandoned salt mine and died horribly it would have been no great loss.
Ivan Goncharov wrote a great novel about a guy who drives you into spasms of irritation. Not only that but it’s about this annoying guy not doing things. So there is no plot to speak about in these 500 pages. And yet Oblomov is great. It is also true that Mr Goncharov could have done with an editor to tell him to chop out some really dull philosophising about marriage or another ten pages about meals being prepared
“Pickled cabbage and salmon,” she said. ‘‘There isn’t any sturgeon to be had: I’ve been to all the shops and my brother asked for it, but there isn’t any. Only, perhaps, if a live sturgeon is caught— a merchant from the Karetny Ryad has ordered one — the fishmonger promised to cut us some of it. Then there is veal and fried corn-meal.”
And yet in spite of all of these awkwardnesses and imperfections, this is a great novel. The hideous damaging life-withering vampirism that is Oblomov’s life is a steady dead-eyed devastating hatchet-job on Russian society as it was before the serfs got liberated. Along the way, Goncharev lobs in one liners
Cunning is like small coin with which one cannot buy much.
And brilliant page-long soft-voiced denunciations – here he is on the idle rich :
her thorough knowledge of house-keeping and of all home comforts, was for him the incarnate ideal of a life of boundless and unruffled repose, the picture of which had been indelibly stamped on his mind in childhood, under the parental roof. His father, his grandfather, the children, the grandchildren, the visitors, sat or lay in restful idleness, knowing that there were in the house unsleeping eyes that watched over them and never-weary hands that sewed their clothes, gave them food and drink, dressed them, put them to bed, and closed their eyes when they were dead; and now Oblomov, sitting still on the sofa, saw something quick and lively moving for his benefit, and knew that the sun might not rise to-morrow, whirlwinds might hide the sky, a storm might sweep the world, but his soup and roast would be on the table, his linen would be fresh and clean, the cobwebs would be taken off the wall, and he would not know how it was all done; that before he had taken the trouble to think of what he wanted it would be guessed and placed before him — not rudely and lazily, but by clean, white hands and arms bare to the elbow, with a cheerful and gentle glance and a smile of profound devotion.
Like Carl Douglas with "Kung Fu Fighting" or the Baha Men with "Who Let the Dogs Out?" Ivan Goncharov was a one hit wonder. His first novel is no longer read and his third and last, The Precipice (820 pages), is described by the translator here as "cumbersome and drearily tiresome". But Oblomov is, mostly, sharp, devastating and funny.
4.5 stars
September 17, 2018
نمی دونم چرا حس می کنم آبلوموف بیماری جسمی داشت، یه چیزی توی مایه های نارکولپسی یا حملات خواب.
ولی همه طوری بی رحمانه بهش حمله می کردن که انگار دچار یه ضعف اخلاقی و اختیاریه.
حالا بیشتر می خونم و اگه چیزی پیدا کردم می نویسم.
راجع به کتاب صوتی
کتاب صوتی ای که گوش دادم، بر خلاف کتاب های صوتی معمول، به شکل نمایشنامه ای تنظیم شده بود. یعنی با حذف بخش زیادی از بخش های توصیفی، فقط دیالوگ ها رو باقی گذاشته بودن که توسط بازیگرهای مختلف مثل یه نمایشنامه خونده می شد. در حقیقت هم عنوان اصلی چیزی که گوش دادم کتاب صوتی نبود، بلکه نمایشنامه رادیویی بود.
خیلی برام لذت بخش بود و اجراها هم خیلی عالی بودن. با توجه به حجم زیاد کتاب قصد نداشتم حالا حالاها سراغش برم، ولی این نمایشنامه مدتش سه ساعت بود و خیلی راحت در طی چهار پنج روز تمومش کردم. البته جای داستان اصلی رو نمی گیره، ولی بهتر از هیچیه.
اگه خواستید می تونید صوتش رو توی این کانال سرچ کنید و پیدا کنید:
@Taarikhaneh
ولی همه طوری بی رحمانه بهش حمله می کردن که انگار دچار یه ضعف اخلاقی و اختیاریه.
حالا بیشتر می خونم و اگه چیزی پیدا کردم می نویسم.
راجع به کتاب صوتی
کتاب صوتی ای که گوش دادم، بر خلاف کتاب های صوتی معمول، به شکل نمایشنامه ای تنظیم شده بود. یعنی با حذف بخش زیادی از بخش های توصیفی، فقط دیالوگ ها رو باقی گذاشته بودن که توسط بازیگرهای مختلف مثل یه نمایشنامه خونده می شد. در حقیقت هم عنوان اصلی چیزی که گوش دادم کتاب صوتی نبود، بلکه نمایشنامه رادیویی بود.
خیلی برام لذت بخش بود و اجراها هم خیلی عالی بودن. با توجه به حجم زیاد کتاب قصد نداشتم حالا حالاها سراغش برم، ولی این نمایشنامه مدتش سه ساعت بود و خیلی راحت در طی چهار پنج روز تمومش کردم. البته جای داستان اصلی رو نمی گیره، ولی بهتر از هیچیه.
اگه خواستید می تونید صوتش رو توی این کانال سرچ کنید و پیدا کنید:
@Taarikhaneh
November 24, 2024
وقتی درمهر 1356 کتاب ابلوموف راازیک کتابفروشی درمیدان "ژاله " برای تولدخواهرم خریدم و خواندم ، اولین برداشتم این بودکه قهرمان داستان مبتلای به تنبلی است . بعدها درسنین بالاتر دوباره آن راخواندم .فیلمی اقتباسی و روسی هم سالها بعدروی پرده سینماهای تهران به نمایش درآمد که طبیعتا " حق کتاب حجیم سراسر محاوره ونکته راادانمیکرد ولی خوب بود. اکنون که به این کتاب فکرمیکنم موضوع آن شاید نه تنبلی بلکه "ملال " است .خودش میگوید من خواب نیستم . " بی بیدار " هستم . انتخاب او ، انتخاب بین رنج وملال است. رنج عاشق شدن ، رنج مهمانی ، رنج سفر ، رنج کار ..وی ازآنهافرارمیکند و نتیجه ی سرکوب رنج ، ملال است .ملالی ویژه آنها که غم نان ندارند حتما" . .
June 3, 2022
I remember reading some years ago about a category of modern Japanese men called, in English transliteration, Hikikomori. They are unable to cope with life and have become ultra-reclusive, rarely leaving even their bedrooms, let alone going outside. Thinking about it, I imagine such people have always been with us and in olden times were those known as hermits. You might say that Oblomov is a similar type of personality. He is though lucky enough to have been born into the aristocracy, so an inherited income from his country estate allows him to live with a degree of comfort.
Oblomov is the great procrastinator. I suppose many of us have a tendency to procrastinate - I certainly do - but Oblomov is a true master. His lawyer and his starosta write constantly to tell him his estate is falling into rack and ruin. He reads the letters and ignores them, other than to tell people he is developing plans for the reform of the estate. He actually spends all day in bed, dozing or lolling about.
Poor Oblomov has a fear of life. He is a gentle and kind soul but the pressures of everyday life are too much for him. A natural pessimist, his reaction is to try and hide and to live in a Fool’s Paradise. In the first part of the book there are two long “dream sequences” during which Oblomov dreams of his youth. These are used to provide the reader with an explanation for his personality.
As a contrast to Oblomov we have his best friend Stoltz, an ethnic German whose father was Oblomov’s schoolteacher. Stoltz is an efficient, decisive man but a loyal friend to Oblomov. He introduces him to a young woman, Olga, and between them the two try to bring Oblomov back into the world. I liked the way Olga’s personality is developed during the book.
This isn’t really a plot driven novel, just a study of the lives of the main characters, but Oblomov will be an indelible character for me. I think most readers will feel a great sympathy for his plight.
I understand that the novel gave rise to an entire concept of “Oblomovism”.
Oblomov is the great procrastinator. I suppose many of us have a tendency to procrastinate - I certainly do - but Oblomov is a true master. His lawyer and his starosta write constantly to tell him his estate is falling into rack and ruin. He reads the letters and ignores them, other than to tell people he is developing plans for the reform of the estate. He actually spends all day in bed, dozing or lolling about.
Poor Oblomov has a fear of life. He is a gentle and kind soul but the pressures of everyday life are too much for him. A natural pessimist, his reaction is to try and hide and to live in a Fool’s Paradise. In the first part of the book there are two long “dream sequences” during which Oblomov dreams of his youth. These are used to provide the reader with an explanation for his personality.
As a contrast to Oblomov we have his best friend Stoltz, an ethnic German whose father was Oblomov’s schoolteacher. Stoltz is an efficient, decisive man but a loyal friend to Oblomov. He introduces him to a young woman, Olga, and between them the two try to bring Oblomov back into the world. I liked the way Olga’s personality is developed during the book.
This isn’t really a plot driven novel, just a study of the lives of the main characters, but Oblomov will be an indelible character for me. I think most readers will feel a great sympathy for his plight.
I understand that the novel gave rise to an entire concept of “Oblomovism”.
June 25, 2022
1)واژه آبلوموفیسم در فرهنگ های لغت معانى زیر را می دهد:
سستی،خمودگی و بی رمقی،بی حسی و بی توجهی به زندگی، دوری از عشق و احساسات و پناه آوردن به خواب، خیالبافی غیرفعال.
خوب يا بد اکثر خوانندگان ایرانی این کتاب مثل من و دیگران،خصوصیات وویژگی های مشترکی با شخص آبلوموف داشته اند وبا این شخص به نوعی همزاد پنداری کرده اند که نشان می دهد اکثریت ایرانی ها مردمانی اهل حرف وخیال و رویا هستند تا تلاش وعمل،شاید مثل مردم روسیه زمان کتاب وبعضی جوامع دیگر.
2)گاهی در زندگی افرادی سر راهمان قرار می گیرند که می توانند و می خواهند ناجی و فرشته زندگی ما باشند وازظلمت وسیاهی درون،وجود عالی وانسانی ما را رشد و پر وبال دهند؛مانند آیدا برای شاملو شاعر،فروغ برای ابراهیم گلستان و...
الگا می خواست آیدا این ایلیا ایلیچ سقوط کرده در سیاه چال زندگی باشد ولی این بار شاملویی وجود نداشت.
قدراین فرصت ها وآدم ها را در این چرخه کوتاه زندگی بیشتر بدانیم،معجزات زندگی همیشگی نیست.
3)انسان تا به یک جایی از عمر می تواند به دنیال آرزوها وخواسته واهدافش در زندگی باشد و برای آن تلاش کند ودر زندگی جنگ کند.بعد از آن دیگر نه رمقی می ماند و ونه حسی و نه سری که روزگارى آن آرزوها را در خود داشت؛مثل آبلوموف در بخش پایانی کتاب وزندگی که دیگرشتولس هم نتوانست او را نجات دهد.
4)برای آبلوموف شدن فقط خود شخص آبلوموف به تنهایی کافی نیست،وجود وهمراهی اشخاصی مثل زاخار چه به عنوان مستخدم ونوکر وچه به صرف وجود داشتن با عناوینی دیگر دراین کرختی و سرد شدن وسستی در زندگی نقشی پررنگ واساسی دارند.
5)نقش جامعه ومحیط وکشور را هم برای آبلوموف شدن نباید نادیده گرفت.مانند خیلی از مردم که در این اوضاع نابسامان وسخت اقتصادی وتورم افسار گسیخته کشور،هزاران آرزو وفکر وخیال وزندگی را در خود کشته اند ودفن کرده اند وآبلوموف وار مشغول گذراندن سرنوشت خویش هستند؛ وقتی زحمت وتلاش وپشتکارشان ره به جایی ندارد؛به قول این بیت جناب شهریار:
بدتر از خواستن این لطمه نتوانستن// هی بخواهیم ورسیدن نتوانیم که چه
سستی،خمودگی و بی رمقی،بی حسی و بی توجهی به زندگی، دوری از عشق و احساسات و پناه آوردن به خواب، خیالبافی غیرفعال.
خوب يا بد اکثر خوانندگان ایرانی این کتاب مثل من و دیگران،خصوصیات وویژگی های مشترکی با شخص آبلوموف داشته اند وبا این شخص به نوعی همزاد پنداری کرده اند که نشان می دهد اکثریت ایرانی ها مردمانی اهل حرف وخیال و رویا هستند تا تلاش وعمل،شاید مثل مردم روسیه زمان کتاب وبعضی جوامع دیگر.
2)گاهی در زندگی افرادی سر راهمان قرار می گیرند که می توانند و می خواهند ناجی و فرشته زندگی ما باشند وازظلمت وسیاهی درون،وجود عالی وانسانی ما را رشد و پر وبال دهند؛مانند آیدا برای شاملو شاعر،فروغ برای ابراهیم گلستان و...
الگا می خواست آیدا این ایلیا ایلیچ سقوط کرده در سیاه چال زندگی باشد ولی این بار شاملویی وجود نداشت.
قدراین فرصت ها وآدم ها را در این چرخه کوتاه زندگی بیشتر بدانیم،معجزات زندگی همیشگی نیست.
3)انسان تا به یک جایی از عمر می تواند به دنیال آرزوها وخواسته واهدافش در زندگی باشد و برای آن تلاش کند ودر زندگی جنگ کند.بعد از آن دیگر نه رمقی می ماند و ونه حسی و نه سری که روزگارى آن آرزوها را در خود داشت؛مثل آبلوموف در بخش پایانی کتاب وزندگی که دیگرشتولس هم نتوانست او را نجات دهد.
4)برای آبلوموف شدن فقط خود شخص آبلوموف به تنهایی کافی نیست،وجود وهمراهی اشخاصی مثل زاخار چه به عنوان مستخدم ونوکر وچه به صرف وجود داشتن با عناوینی دیگر دراین کرختی و سرد شدن وسستی در زندگی نقشی پررنگ واساسی دارند.
5)نقش جامعه ومحیط وکشور را هم برای آبلوموف شدن نباید نادیده گرفت.مانند خیلی از مردم که در این اوضاع نابسامان وسخت اقتصادی وتورم افسار گسیخته کشور،هزاران آرزو وفکر وخیال وزندگی را در خود کشته اند ودفن کرده اند وآبلوموف وار مشغول گذراندن سرنوشت خویش هستند؛ وقتی زحمت وتلاش وپشتکارشان ره به جایی ندارد؛به قول این بیت جناب شهریار:
بدتر از خواستن این لطمه نتوانستن// هی بخواهیم ورسیدن نتوانیم که چه
May 8, 2022
آبلوموف کتابیه که من خیلیییی دوستش داشتم و به جای ۵ ستاره باید ۵۰ ستاره بگیره، هرچند در ابتدا سیر کندی داره ولی کمی که دندان روی جگر بزاری و ادامه بدهی کتاب به قدری به دل میشینه که نمیتونی زمین اش بگذاری!
کاراکتر آبلوموف از آنهاست که به این زودیها از یاد نمیرود، هفتهها و گاه سالها کارهای سادهای رو به تعویق میاندازه و انقد تو را حرص میدهه که عرقی سرد روی تمام بدنت میشینه و من انگار همون بچه ۶، ۷ سالهای بودم که داشتم کارتون پینوکیو میدیدم که گربه نره و روباه مکار پول پینوکیو را چال میکردن و بعد گولش میزدن. همونطور، نگران حال آبلوموف هم بودم هر بار که مگسان گرد شیرینی سر کیسه اش میکردن،حتی گاهی برایش اشک میریختم به دلیل این سایهی سرد بی دردی ای که روی روح و روانش افتاده بود و نمیگذاشت به خوبی زندگی کند همان طور که در جایی از کتاب میگه:
"- چرا همه چیز خراب شد؟ ایلیا، چه کسی تو را نفرین کرده؟ تو چه کردهای؟ تو به این خوبی، هوشمندی، مهربانی و نجابت... چرا تباه شدی؟ چه چیز تو را نابود کرده است؟ این درد تو هیچ اسمی ندارد؟ آبلوموف با صدایی به زحمت شنیدنی گفت: ــ چرا اسم دارد... الگا نگاه پرسانش را از پشت پرده اشک به سوی او بالا آورد. آبلوموف آهسته گفت: ــ آبلومویسم..."
آبلوموف از آن آثاری است که میتوان با خواندنش مطمئن شد که کتابها فقط برای اظهار فضل و گذراندن زمان نیستن! بلکه میتوانن اثر عمیقی روی زندگی واقعی انسان بگذرانند در واقع میشود گفت آبلوموف یک مانیفست اخلاقی است که به تو می آموزد بهتر است چه طور بچه هایت را بار بیاوری که مثل آبلوموف پرهایشان نشکند و در واقع درست عکس او یعنی چگونه فرزندانی "شتولتس وار" بار بیاوری که زنده و پویا باشن و یا راه و رسم درست زندگی زناشویی را در رفتار الگا و همسرش میتوان دید و دانستن اینکه ترس از کار و آینده اولین قدم در راه آبلوموف شدن است! همان طور که در کتاب آمده است:
"به یاد داشته باش که زنده بودن و کار کردن خود هدف زندگی است!"
هرچند که کتاب آبلوموف را من در درست ترین زمان زندگیم خوندم و چه بسا اگر در زمان دیگری میخواندم تا این حد روی من اثر نمیگذاشت اما برای اینکه یادم نرود اینجا مینویسم که نام کتاب را چند سال پیش از یکی از اساتیدم در دانشگاه که مرد سخت گیری بود شنیدم در توضیح بیدردی ای که دانشجویان گرفتار آن میشوند که همان تنبلی است!
پ.ن: ترجمه کتاب هم فوقالعاده بود چون از اون کتاباس که اگه ترجمه خوبی نداشت خیلی بدفهم میشد:)
کاراکتر آبلوموف از آنهاست که به این زودیها از یاد نمیرود، هفتهها و گاه سالها کارهای سادهای رو به تعویق میاندازه و انقد تو را حرص میدهه که عرقی سرد روی تمام بدنت میشینه و من انگار همون بچه ۶، ۷ سالهای بودم که داشتم کارتون پینوکیو میدیدم که گربه نره و روباه مکار پول پینوکیو را چال میکردن و بعد گولش میزدن. همونطور، نگران حال آبلوموف هم بودم هر بار که مگسان گرد شیرینی سر کیسه اش میکردن،حتی گاهی برایش اشک میریختم به دلیل این سایهی سرد بی دردی ای که روی روح و روانش افتاده بود و نمیگذاشت به خوبی زندگی کند همان طور که در جایی از کتاب میگه:
"- چرا همه چیز خراب شد؟ ایلیا، چه کسی تو را نفرین کرده؟ تو چه کردهای؟ تو به این خوبی، هوشمندی، مهربانی و نجابت... چرا تباه شدی؟ چه چیز تو را نابود کرده است؟ این درد تو هیچ اسمی ندارد؟ آبلوموف با صدایی به زحمت شنیدنی گفت: ــ چرا اسم دارد... الگا نگاه پرسانش را از پشت پرده اشک به سوی او بالا آورد. آبلوموف آهسته گفت: ــ آبلومویسم..."
آبلوموف از آن آثاری است که میتوان با خواندنش مطمئن شد که کتابها فقط برای اظهار فضل و گذراندن زمان نیستن! بلکه میتوانن اثر عمیقی روی زندگی واقعی انسان بگذرانند در واقع میشود گفت آبلوموف یک مانیفست اخلاقی است که به تو می آموزد بهتر است چه طور بچه هایت را بار بیاوری که مثل آبلوموف پرهایشان نشکند و در واقع درست عکس او یعنی چگونه فرزندانی "شتولتس وار" بار بیاوری که زنده و پویا باشن و یا راه و رسم درست زندگی زناشویی را در رفتار الگا و همسرش میتوان دید و دانستن اینکه ترس از کار و آینده اولین قدم در راه آبلوموف شدن است! همان طور که در کتاب آمده است:
"به یاد داشته باش که زنده بودن و کار کردن خود هدف زندگی است!"
هرچند که کتاب آبلوموف را من در درست ترین زمان زندگیم خوندم و چه بسا اگر در زمان دیگری میخواندم تا این حد روی من اثر نمیگذاشت اما برای اینکه یادم نرود اینجا مینویسم که نام کتاب را چند سال پیش از یکی از اساتیدم در دانشگاه که مرد سخت گیری بود شنیدم در توضیح بیدردی ای که دانشجویان گرفتار آن میشوند که همان تنبلی است!
پ.ن: ترجمه کتاب هم فوقالعاده بود چون از اون کتاباس که اگه ترجمه خوبی نداشت خیلی بدفهم میشد:)
November 17, 2017
I think this might be my favorite novel, at least think this might be the most perfect novel I have ever read. Yet, I am not surprised that this novel is not as popular as other Russian classics. Its merit and preciousness lie in its subtleties. This book has no sudden outbursts of emotion, no unbelievable plot twists, and that is precisely why it is so brilliant. The emotional and intellectual depth of this novel is something that one seldom encounters, but one is able to see that only when one gets past the superficial stereotypes surrounding this novel.
This novel is packed in layers with social commentary, humour, and philosophy, and one has to look past one layer to see the other. "Oblomov! Isn't that the novel about the lazy rich nobleman?" It seems so, but that is not the point. It seems to me that the people who regard this novel as a warning against laziness and idleness fail to grasp the full meaning of the work. When I saw Lenin's supposed remark about how "the Oblomovs should be whipped", I couldn't help thinking that maybe he too, didn't quite get it. Whipping Oblomov wouldn't do any good at all.
To me this book is mostly about the question of "what is one to do with oneself?" or "how does one live?" and "for what?", "Who and what should we value in our lives?" . Beneath the supposed laziness of Oblomov lies the dilemma of his entire existence which he does not know how to resolve. Eventually this lack of resolution in his life, leads Oblomov into not quite a depression, but to a strange type of anhedonia, which is temporary lifted by certain people and events, but which ultimately remains with him until the end.
The other part of this work which is subtle and profound is the discussion between Stolz and Oblomov as respective representatives of German and Russian culture. Stolz is seemingly the model man, yet he is unable to answer Oblomov's simple question of why he works as much as he does, and for what purpose? Perhaps the point is that Stolz is never still enough to have an existential crisis, and is proof that if we stay just busy enough to not think seriously about our lives, we'll glide our way through one way or another.
I think this work captures every aspect of the Russian attitude, intellect, emotion, soul, and lifestyle from the most superficial level to the very deep.
I do not think this novel would appeal to everyone, however, I still think it is a literary masterpiece for all times.
This novel is packed in layers with social commentary, humour, and philosophy, and one has to look past one layer to see the other. "Oblomov! Isn't that the novel about the lazy rich nobleman?" It seems so, but that is not the point. It seems to me that the people who regard this novel as a warning against laziness and idleness fail to grasp the full meaning of the work. When I saw Lenin's supposed remark about how "the Oblomovs should be whipped", I couldn't help thinking that maybe he too, didn't quite get it. Whipping Oblomov wouldn't do any good at all.
To me this book is mostly about the question of "what is one to do with oneself?" or "how does one live?" and "for what?", "Who and what should we value in our lives?" . Beneath the supposed laziness of Oblomov lies the dilemma of his entire existence which he does not know how to resolve. Eventually this lack of resolution in his life, leads Oblomov into not quite a depression, but to a strange type of anhedonia, which is temporary lifted by certain people and events, but which ultimately remains with him until the end.
The other part of this work which is subtle and profound is the discussion between Stolz and Oblomov as respective representatives of German and Russian culture. Stolz is seemingly the model man, yet he is unable to answer Oblomov's simple question of why he works as much as he does, and for what purpose? Perhaps the point is that Stolz is never still enough to have an existential crisis, and is proof that if we stay just busy enough to not think seriously about our lives, we'll glide our way through one way or another.
I think this work captures every aspect of the Russian attitude, intellect, emotion, soul, and lifestyle from the most superficial level to the very deep.
I do not think this novel would appeal to everyone, however, I still think it is a literary masterpiece for all times.
March 24, 2012
A slow, sad poem weaving through to an end that is left revealed to the reader from the beginning. To read this book is like watching the waves on a lonely beach, you know what will happen next, but it is beautiful to just sit and watch...
But, maybe it is best to let the book describe its own message? -
Yes; such is the payment exacted for the Promethean fire. You must not only endure, you must even love and respect, the sorrow and the doubts and the self-questionings of which you have spoken: for they constitute the excess, the luxury, of life, and show themselves most when happiness is at its zenith, and has alloyed with it no gross desires. Such troubles are powerless to spring to birth amid life which is ordinary and everyday; they cannot touch the individual who is forced to endure hardship and want. That is why the bulk of the crowd goes on its way without ever experiencing the cloud of doubt, the pain of self-questioning. To him or to her, however, who voluntarily goes to meet those difficulties they become welcome guests, not a scourge.
But, maybe it is best to let the book describe its own message? -
Yes; such is the payment exacted for the Promethean fire. You must not only endure, you must even love and respect, the sorrow and the doubts and the self-questionings of which you have spoken: for they constitute the excess, the luxury, of life, and show themselves most when happiness is at its zenith, and has alloyed with it no gross desires. Such troubles are powerless to spring to birth amid life which is ordinary and everyday; they cannot touch the individual who is forced to endure hardship and want. That is why the bulk of the crowd goes on its way without ever experiencing the cloud of doubt, the pain of self-questioning. To him or to her, however, who voluntarily goes to meet those difficulties they become welcome guests, not a scourge.
July 25, 2021
Jest, jest. Došli su posljednji dani, ustaće narod na narod, carstvo na carstvo, nastaće propast svijeta.
Često imućniji ljudi, da ne kažem aristokrate, kad se već govori o ovom romanu - žive životom koji poprište svog postojanja nalaze u letargičnosti i unutrašnjem spokojnom uzbuđenju. Nepokretnost, nadražaji izazvani dremežom i apatijom predstavljaju učestalu sliku njihovog, pa i života glavnog junaka ove knjige. Sve to predstavlja metaforu kraha feudalnog sistema. Sopstvena zapuštenost generiše zapuštenost imanja u vidu nakupljenog blata, pukotina, vlage i sličnog. Život Ilje Iljiča je prije svega unutrašnje, duševne prirode, poput šume u kojoj sve divlja, dok je spolja statična. Njegova volja je paralizovana za sve ono što dolazi spolja dok mu pričinjava zadovoljstvo za sve ono iznutra. On se kanio da započne novi život bez obzira na njegovo stanje i okolini u kojoj se nalazi. Sanjao je o slici svoje budućnosti, ali kako su godine prolazile djelići te slike su počeli blijediti; svaki put se nalazio novi razlog za popravljanje ili izmjenjivanje te slike. Gončarov zapaža sljedeće: ,,Rus i danas, kad ga okružava ozbiljna stvarnost u kojoj nema izmišljotine, voli vjerovati primamljivim gatkama iz starine, i može biti neće se još dugo otresti tog vjerovanja.” Sva lijenost i tromost koja je neminovno sklona entropiji, iziskuje žrtvu koja će joj titrati. Gončarov ovdje pruža lakonski humor i ironiju, jer i nepokretnog i žrtvu na kraju čeka ista svijeća. On ne pravi veliki raskorak između tromog i žrtve, naprotiv, žrtva je u obmani, ubijeđena da ne postoji drugačije. Pojavljivaće se likovi koji će pokušati da izliječe Oblomovštinu, kao što su Štolc čije njemačko porijeklo predstavlja karakternu distinkciju, i Olga Sergejevna koja ljubavlju svojom pokušava da probudi i pokrene Oblomovljev život. Međutim, Oblomova više podstiču raspoloženja, nego događaji. Krevet će biti jedno idealno mjesto za takva raspoloženja.
January 3, 2021
با اینکه توصیفات زیادی داشت و واقعا هم کوچیکترین جزییات رو گفته بود ولی اصلا خسته کننده نبود و واقعا هم خودم تعجب کردم چطوری میشه؟که این بدون شک نشون دهنده قدرت نویسندگیه.
ولی یه مساله که اذیتم میکرد این بود که نویسنده همه مشکلات آبلوموف رو به پای تنبلیش گذاشته بود که بنظر من اصلا اینطوری نیست، البته خب انتظار زیادیه که دو قرن پیش در مورد بیماری های روح و روان کسی چیزی بدونه.
این رخوتی که آبلوموف دچارش بود طبیعی نبود و مطمینا فقط دلیلش تن پروری یا سبک زندگی بچگیش نبود.
اگه بخوام 5ستاره بدم بهش یجورایی مهر تایید به این قضیه میزنم که آره اگه یه نفر افسردست انتخاب خودش بوده و مثلا طرف بره ورزشش کنه و چه میدونم فعالیت های دیگه ایی داشته باشه خوب مبشه درحالیکه اصلا اینطور نیست و نیازمند کمک های حرفه اییه.
البته بازم میگم واسه 200سال پیش این انتظار زیادیه.
ولی یه مساله که اذیتم میکرد این بود که نویسنده همه مشکلات آبلوموف رو به پای تنبلیش گذاشته بود که بنظر من اصلا اینطوری نیست، البته خب انتظار زیادیه که دو قرن پیش در مورد بیماری های روح و روان کسی چیزی بدونه.
این رخوتی که آبلوموف دچارش بود طبیعی نبود و مطمینا فقط دلیلش تن پروری یا سبک زندگی بچگیش نبود.
اگه بخوام 5ستاره بدم بهش یجورایی مهر تایید به این قضیه میزنم که آره اگه یه نفر افسردست انتخاب خودش بوده و مثلا طرف بره ورزشش کنه و چه میدونم فعالیت های دیگه ایی داشته باشه خوب مبشه درحالیکه اصلا اینطور نیست و نیازمند کمک های حرفه اییه.
البته بازم میگم واسه 200سال پیش این انتظار زیادیه.
October 14, 2011
Finish Powerball brilla meno di Goncarov
Ho sprecato almeno dieci minuti della mezz'ora che ho a disposizione all'internet-caffè, a inventarmi un titolo accattivante per questa recensione. All'inizio avevo pensato a Oblomoviglioso, poi ho alzato lo sguardo e i miei occhi si sono posati sui bicchieri fumanti che la banconiera toglieva dalla lavastoviglie con mani in apparenza ignifughe. E TA-DAAA... il plagio dello spot pubblicitario si era ormai compiuto.
Adesso viene la parte difficile: tener desta la vostra attenzione, sempre che il paragone col brillantante l'abbia effettivamente catturata.
Ciò che mi muove a volervi convincere, non è solo la grandiosità di questo romanzo, ma è soprattutto la profonda indignazione nel veder dimenticato il nome di Goncarov nel firmamento letterario. Contemporaneo di Turgenev e Dostoevskij, ospite del loro stesso mecenate, frequentatore dei loro stessi salotti, a detta loro persino “conversatore brillante, spiritoso e autoironico”, ha scritto la sua prima importante opera (Storia comune), a soli 33 anni. Quasi la stessa età della lettrice che in questo momento sta cercando i ridare prestigio all'illustre autore, mentre ordina il secondo caffè ristretto della giornata.
Eppure tra i celebri letterati russi, per non so quale conventio ad excludendum, Goncarov viene citato poco e niente. Sgomento assoluto!!
(In pratica sarebbe come fare un elenco dei recensionisti indecentemente frivoli, e non citare me! Sgomento inaudito!!)
In Oblomov, ciò che conta non è l'ambiente ma l'atmosfera, non è la staticità dei fatti, ma l'inossidabilità di certi meccanismi dell'anima che suonano più attuali di quelli che potete vedere in una puntata di “The Mentalist”.
Il'jà Oblomov è un uomo che ha fatto dell'apatia uno stile di vita; attorno al suo modus vivendi gravitano personaggi che alla fine della storia vi sembreranno “di casa”. E proprio perché “familiari” vi permetterete di giudicarli. E di trarne delle conclusioni.
Le mie sono le seguenti. E siccome personali, sono ovviamente anche soggettive.
1)”Chi si assomiglia si piglia”. I poli opposti si attrarranno pure, ma alla fine il meno si sposa col meno e il più col più.
2)E' inutile girarci attorno: noi donne, abbiamo indubbiamente un certo istinto materno, e possiamo anche divertirci a fare le crocerossine in qualche imprecisato periodo della nostra vita, ma chi seguiremmo in capo al mondo non è il “sensibilone” di turno, ma l'uomo pratico e di polso che ci tiene per mano nelle peripezie quotidiane, ma all'occorrenza ci smuove, ci strattona (ho detto “strattona”, non “tratta male”, lungi da me alimentare il falso mito del “Teorema” di Ferradini), ma soprattutto ci stimola. Allora ci sentiremo finalmente appagate, e siccome l'uomo di cui parlo non è né Indiana Jones,né Robocop, avrà sicuramente anche lui le sue debolezze e la sua sensibilità interiore, occasioni in cui potremo persino soddisfare il nostro istinto da chiocce.
In parole povere, possiamo anche avere memorabili storie con artisti, poeti, intellettuali, e aggiungerei anche i Nerd (che adesso van tanto di moda), ma quello che volgiamo inconsciamente e non, è un uomo all'altezza delle rogne giornaliere, che davanti a un problema di gestione pratica, non vada in paranoia o si rifugi in elucubrazioni filosofiche, scaricandoci la patata bollente. Naturalmente il tutto va condito con l'aroma inebriante della moderazione. Gli estremismi si sa, in amore come nel carattere non vanno mai bene.
3)Tutti quanti abbiamo vissuto un periodo in cui abbiamo perso tempo a “tracciare l'arabesco della nostra vita” senza però muovere un dito per dargli una forma compiuta. Comunque presto o tardi, nel bene o nel male, ci siamo mossi e scrollati l'inerzia di dosso.
Guardiamo a questo banale momento come a un successo e rallegriamocene. C'è chi non si muove, o non ha la forza di farlo, e si condanna a vivere come una pallottola di pasta arrotolata.
Si chiama Oblomovismo.
Adesso mi direte che non vi ho parlato del libro, ma quale miglior motivo potevo darvi per leggerlo, se non quello che qualunque testo vi porti a fare delle riflessioni sul vostro modo di vivere, è un'opera ben riuscita?
E non vi ho neanche parlato della rarità dei cuori nobili. Ma questo lo scoprirete da soli, qualora decidiate di accompagnare Il'jà nel suo piccolo mondo antico.
Ah, un'ultima cosa. Le prime 100 pagine servono da preselezione per scremare il pubblico paziente da quello che vuole tutto e subito. Superato il dubbio di esservi immersi nella lettura di un testo teatrale, dove i personaggi entrano in scena uno dopo l'altro al centro del palcoscenico, potrete sprofondare nella poltrona e godervi lo spettacolo, perché da quel momento in poi... silenzio! Parla Oblomov.
Ho sprecato almeno dieci minuti della mezz'ora che ho a disposizione all'internet-caffè, a inventarmi un titolo accattivante per questa recensione. All'inizio avevo pensato a Oblomoviglioso, poi ho alzato lo sguardo e i miei occhi si sono posati sui bicchieri fumanti che la banconiera toglieva dalla lavastoviglie con mani in apparenza ignifughe. E TA-DAAA... il plagio dello spot pubblicitario si era ormai compiuto.
Adesso viene la parte difficile: tener desta la vostra attenzione, sempre che il paragone col brillantante l'abbia effettivamente catturata.
Ciò che mi muove a volervi convincere, non è solo la grandiosità di questo romanzo, ma è soprattutto la profonda indignazione nel veder dimenticato il nome di Goncarov nel firmamento letterario. Contemporaneo di Turgenev e Dostoevskij, ospite del loro stesso mecenate, frequentatore dei loro stessi salotti, a detta loro persino “conversatore brillante, spiritoso e autoironico”, ha scritto la sua prima importante opera (Storia comune), a soli 33 anni. Quasi la stessa età della lettrice che in questo momento sta cercando i ridare prestigio all'illustre autore, mentre ordina il secondo caffè ristretto della giornata.
Eppure tra i celebri letterati russi, per non so quale conventio ad excludendum, Goncarov viene citato poco e niente. Sgomento assoluto!!
(In pratica sarebbe come fare un elenco dei recensionisti indecentemente frivoli, e non citare me! Sgomento inaudito!!)
In Oblomov, ciò che conta non è l'ambiente ma l'atmosfera, non è la staticità dei fatti, ma l'inossidabilità di certi meccanismi dell'anima che suonano più attuali di quelli che potete vedere in una puntata di “The Mentalist”.
Il'jà Oblomov è un uomo che ha fatto dell'apatia uno stile di vita; attorno al suo modus vivendi gravitano personaggi che alla fine della storia vi sembreranno “di casa”. E proprio perché “familiari” vi permetterete di giudicarli. E di trarne delle conclusioni.
Le mie sono le seguenti. E siccome personali, sono ovviamente anche soggettive.
1)”Chi si assomiglia si piglia”. I poli opposti si attrarranno pure, ma alla fine il meno si sposa col meno e il più col più.
2)E' inutile girarci attorno: noi donne, abbiamo indubbiamente un certo istinto materno, e possiamo anche divertirci a fare le crocerossine in qualche imprecisato periodo della nostra vita, ma chi seguiremmo in capo al mondo non è il “sensibilone” di turno, ma l'uomo pratico e di polso che ci tiene per mano nelle peripezie quotidiane, ma all'occorrenza ci smuove, ci strattona (ho detto “strattona”, non “tratta male”, lungi da me alimentare il falso mito del “Teorema” di Ferradini), ma soprattutto ci stimola. Allora ci sentiremo finalmente appagate, e siccome l'uomo di cui parlo non è né Indiana Jones,né Robocop, avrà sicuramente anche lui le sue debolezze e la sua sensibilità interiore, occasioni in cui potremo persino soddisfare il nostro istinto da chiocce.
In parole povere, possiamo anche avere memorabili storie con artisti, poeti, intellettuali, e aggiungerei anche i Nerd (che adesso van tanto di moda), ma quello che volgiamo inconsciamente e non, è un uomo all'altezza delle rogne giornaliere, che davanti a un problema di gestione pratica, non vada in paranoia o si rifugi in elucubrazioni filosofiche, scaricandoci la patata bollente. Naturalmente il tutto va condito con l'aroma inebriante della moderazione. Gli estremismi si sa, in amore come nel carattere non vanno mai bene.
3)Tutti quanti abbiamo vissuto un periodo in cui abbiamo perso tempo a “tracciare l'arabesco della nostra vita” senza però muovere un dito per dargli una forma compiuta. Comunque presto o tardi, nel bene o nel male, ci siamo mossi e scrollati l'inerzia di dosso.
Guardiamo a questo banale momento come a un successo e rallegriamocene. C'è chi non si muove, o non ha la forza di farlo, e si condanna a vivere come una pallottola di pasta arrotolata.
Si chiama Oblomovismo.
Adesso mi direte che non vi ho parlato del libro, ma quale miglior motivo potevo darvi per leggerlo, se non quello che qualunque testo vi porti a fare delle riflessioni sul vostro modo di vivere, è un'opera ben riuscita?
E non vi ho neanche parlato della rarità dei cuori nobili. Ma questo lo scoprirete da soli, qualora decidiate di accompagnare Il'jà nel suo piccolo mondo antico.
Ah, un'ultima cosa. Le prime 100 pagine servono da preselezione per scremare il pubblico paziente da quello che vuole tutto e subito. Superato il dubbio di esservi immersi nella lettura di un testo teatrale, dove i personaggi entrano in scena uno dopo l'altro al centro del palcoscenico, potrete sprofondare nella poltrona e godervi lo spettacolo, perché da quel momento in poi... silenzio! Parla Oblomov.
July 22, 2024
How we choose to live our lives is a fundamental question for each human being, regardless of the resources at our disposal or the circumstances in which we find ourselves. Will we be a force for good, kind, curious, active? Will we lollygag around, get by doing as little as we can, hide from our responsibilities or obligations? These are the questions Goncharov raises in Oblomov. He gives us two men - Ilya Ilyich Oblomov and Andrei Ivanovich Stoltz - who are good friends but complete opposites in all things except both are deeply good and decent.
The story is primarily about Ilya, the eponymous protagonist, considered the apotheosis of the Russian lit "superfluous man" archetype. This is a young man, usually educated and wealthy, but without aim or purpose, unable to successfully engage in life or with those around him. In this case, our superfluous man is benign - Ilya is trusting and good-natured and loveable, with a "dovelike tenderness" that endears him to those who look for good qualities in the people around them.
Like all good 19th century Russian writers (haha), Goncharov packs in a lot of big ideas, such as class and gender, master and servant, education and culture, us vs. them-ism (e.g. Russian vs European, urban vs rural, etc.), goodness and criminality, into a phenomenal literary work with a deeply moving story. He also creates a portrait of marriage that is one of my favorites in all literature.
A re-read 35 years apart. Well worth a revisit.
The story is primarily about Ilya, the eponymous protagonist, considered the apotheosis of the Russian lit "superfluous man" archetype. This is a young man, usually educated and wealthy, but without aim or purpose, unable to successfully engage in life or with those around him. In this case, our superfluous man is benign - Ilya is trusting and good-natured and loveable, with a "dovelike tenderness" that endears him to those who look for good qualities in the people around them.
Like all good 19th century Russian writers (haha), Goncharov packs in a lot of big ideas, such as class and gender, master and servant, education and culture, us vs. them-ism (e.g. Russian vs European, urban vs rural, etc.), goodness and criminality, into a phenomenal literary work with a deeply moving story. He also creates a portrait of marriage that is one of my favorites in all literature.
A re-read 35 years apart. Well worth a revisit.
May 17, 2025
Benvenuti nella Russia di fine '800. Mettetevi comodi, il buon Oblomov, ricco proprietario terriero e padrone di casa, tra uno sbadiglio e l'altro, vi farà accomodare e vi renderà partecipi della sua particolare filosofia di vita.
Oblomov è il re dei pigri e degli apatici. Da lui nasce il termine oblomovismo riferito a quella classe nobile russa dell'Ottocento incapace di creare e sviluppare e del tutto imprigionata nella decadenza.
"Per dodici anni in me è stata rinchiusa una luce che cercava una via d'uscita, ma bruciava soltanto la sua prigione, non ha saputo liberarsi e si è spenta".
"Eppure l'amor proprio è il sale della vita! Dove se n'è andato? O questa vita io non l'ho compresa, o essa non serve a niente, e una migliore non l'ho vista nè conosciuta, nessuno me l'ha mostrata".
La felicità del suo vivere è racchiusa nei suoi ricordi di bambino, nelle consuetudini della sua infanzia felice. Immagine utopica che persevera e sogna sdraiato comodamente sul suo letto vivendo beato di rendita.
Per lui la fiaba si è confusa con la vita, e talvolta inconsciamente si rattrista che la fiaba non sia la vita, e la vita non sia fiaba. Oblomov è un poeta della vita, perchè la vita è poesia. Colpa degli uomini se l'hanno snaturata.
"Restare tristemente a casa iperprotetto come un fiore esotico in serra, e come il fiore tenuto sotto vetro cresceva lentamente e stentatamente. Le energie che cercavano di manifestarsi si ripiegavano all'interno e sfiorivano, avvizzendo. Germoglio di generazioni vissute nobilmente e inevitabilmente nella mollezza, fra broccati, velluti e trine."
In alcuni momenti, sospinto da altri, come il suo migliore amico o la sua amata Ol'ga, dimostra attimi di chiara consapevolezza e sano rimprovero della coscienza. Brevi momenti, tristi e toccanti, che l'ingenuo Oblomov, dal cuore grande a cui è impossibile voler male, elemento appassito della società a cui appartiene, è incapace di affrontare con determinazione e del tutto incapace di scrollarsi di dosso quel torpore che diventa sempre più pesante e lo spegne giorno dopo giorno.
Ammetto che un terzo del romanzo è da applausi scroscianti, dove i temi dell'apatia, del quieto vivere, della noia e la visione della realtà del tempo in cui è ambientata, hanno riscosso il mio pieno gradimento, così come lo sviluppo certosino e magistrale di tutte le personalità coinvolte.
Negli altri due terzi la storia aimè si sviluppa esclusivamente sul rapporto amoroso tra il buon Oblomov e la giovane Ol'ga, in un continuo tira e molla, dove gli infiniti dubbi dell'indeciso Oblomov mi hanno stremato. Non sono un lettore di romance, anzi credo di non averne nessuno tra i miei libri, quindi magari non sono la persona adatta a giudicare questa parte che per me rimane troppo lunga e a tratti noiosa ed ha determinato purtroppo il mio giudizio finale. Mi sento comunque di consigliarlo a chi non ha questi limiti.
Un romanzo molto raccontato, figlio del suo tempo e per questo va accettato così com'è, con le sue caratteristiche stilistiche e le peculiarità sociali del tempo.
Goncharov non basa il racconto sull'azione, ma sull'introspezione e sui temi che riguardano la società del suo tempo, stanca e stagnante, ormai sull'orlo del prossimo inevitabilmente cambiamento. Un'esperienza tuttavia positiva che ripeterò con altri classici russi.
-------------------------
Welcome to Russia at the end of the 19th century. Make yourselves comfortable, the good Oblomov, rich landowner and landlord, between one yawn and another, will make you sit down and make you participate in his particular philosophy of life.
Oblomov is the king of the lazy and apathetic. From him was born the term Oblomovism referring to that Russian noble class of the nineteenth century incapable of creating and developing and completely imprisoned in decadence.
"For twelve years a light was locked up in me that was looking for a way out, but only his prison was burning, it was unable to free itself and was extinguished".
"And yet self-love is the spice of life! Where has it gone? Either I have not understood this life, or it is of no use, and I have not seen or known a better one, no one can tell me 'showed.
The happiness of his life is contained in his childhood memories, in the habits of his happy childhood. Utopian image that perseveres and dreams lying comfortably on his bed, living happily on an income.
For him the fairy tale has become confused with life, and sometimes he unconsciously feels sad that the fairy tale is not life, and life is not a fairy tale. Oblomov is a poet of life, because life is poetry. It's the fault of men if they distorted it.
"Sadly staying at home overprotected like an exotic flower in a greenhouse, and like the flower kept under glass it grew slowly and with difficulty. The energies that tried to manifest themselves folded inwards and withered away, withering. Sprout of generations lived nobly and inevitably in softness, among brocades, velvets and lace."
In some moments, pushed by others, such as his best friend or his beloved Olga, he demonstrates moments of clear awareness and healthy reproach of conscience. Brief moments, sad and touching, which the naive Oblomov, with a big heart that it is impossible to love, a withered element of the society to which he belongs, is incapable of facing with determination and completely incapable of shaking off that torpor that always becomes heavier and turns it off day after day.
I admit that a third of the novel deserves thunderous applause, where the themes of apathy, quiet living, boredom and the vision of the reality of the time in which it is set have received my full approval, as well as the painstaking and masterful development of all the personalities involved.
In the other two thirds the story alas develops exclusively on the love relationship between the good Oblomov and the young Olga, in a continuous push and pull, where the infinite doubts of the undecided Oblomov exhausted me. I'm not a romance reader, in fact I don't think I have any among my books, so maybe I'm not the right person to judge this part which for me remains too long and at times boring and unfortunately determined my final judgement. However, I would recommend it to those who do not have these limitations.
A much-told novel, a child of his time and for this reason it must be accepted as it is, with its stylistic characteristics and the social peculiarities of the time.
Goncharov does not base the story on action, but on introspection and on the themes that concern the society of his time, tired and stagnant, now on the brink of the next inevitable change. However, a positive experience that he will repeat with other Russian classics.
Oblomov è il re dei pigri e degli apatici. Da lui nasce il termine oblomovismo riferito a quella classe nobile russa dell'Ottocento incapace di creare e sviluppare e del tutto imprigionata nella decadenza.
"Per dodici anni in me è stata rinchiusa una luce che cercava una via d'uscita, ma bruciava soltanto la sua prigione, non ha saputo liberarsi e si è spenta".
"Eppure l'amor proprio è il sale della vita! Dove se n'è andato? O questa vita io non l'ho compresa, o essa non serve a niente, e una migliore non l'ho vista nè conosciuta, nessuno me l'ha mostrata".
La felicità del suo vivere è racchiusa nei suoi ricordi di bambino, nelle consuetudini della sua infanzia felice. Immagine utopica che persevera e sogna sdraiato comodamente sul suo letto vivendo beato di rendita.
Per lui la fiaba si è confusa con la vita, e talvolta inconsciamente si rattrista che la fiaba non sia la vita, e la vita non sia fiaba. Oblomov è un poeta della vita, perchè la vita è poesia. Colpa degli uomini se l'hanno snaturata.
"Restare tristemente a casa iperprotetto come un fiore esotico in serra, e come il fiore tenuto sotto vetro cresceva lentamente e stentatamente. Le energie che cercavano di manifestarsi si ripiegavano all'interno e sfiorivano, avvizzendo. Germoglio di generazioni vissute nobilmente e inevitabilmente nella mollezza, fra broccati, velluti e trine."
In alcuni momenti, sospinto da altri, come il suo migliore amico o la sua amata Ol'ga, dimostra attimi di chiara consapevolezza e sano rimprovero della coscienza. Brevi momenti, tristi e toccanti, che l'ingenuo Oblomov, dal cuore grande a cui è impossibile voler male, elemento appassito della società a cui appartiene, è incapace di affrontare con determinazione e del tutto incapace di scrollarsi di dosso quel torpore che diventa sempre più pesante e lo spegne giorno dopo giorno.
Ammetto che un terzo del romanzo è da applausi scroscianti, dove i temi dell'apatia, del quieto vivere, della noia e la visione della realtà del tempo in cui è ambientata, hanno riscosso il mio pieno gradimento, così come lo sviluppo certosino e magistrale di tutte le personalità coinvolte.
Negli altri due terzi la storia aimè si sviluppa esclusivamente sul rapporto amoroso tra il buon Oblomov e la giovane Ol'ga, in un continuo tira e molla, dove gli infiniti dubbi dell'indeciso Oblomov mi hanno stremato. Non sono un lettore di romance, anzi credo di non averne nessuno tra i miei libri, quindi magari non sono la persona adatta a giudicare questa parte che per me rimane troppo lunga e a tratti noiosa ed ha determinato purtroppo il mio giudizio finale. Mi sento comunque di consigliarlo a chi non ha questi limiti.
Un romanzo molto raccontato, figlio del suo tempo e per questo va accettato così com'è, con le sue caratteristiche stilistiche e le peculiarità sociali del tempo.
Goncharov non basa il racconto sull'azione, ma sull'introspezione e sui temi che riguardano la società del suo tempo, stanca e stagnante, ormai sull'orlo del prossimo inevitabilmente cambiamento. Un'esperienza tuttavia positiva che ripeterò con altri classici russi.
-------------------------
Welcome to Russia at the end of the 19th century. Make yourselves comfortable, the good Oblomov, rich landowner and landlord, between one yawn and another, will make you sit down and make you participate in his particular philosophy of life.
Oblomov is the king of the lazy and apathetic. From him was born the term Oblomovism referring to that Russian noble class of the nineteenth century incapable of creating and developing and completely imprisoned in decadence.
"For twelve years a light was locked up in me that was looking for a way out, but only his prison was burning, it was unable to free itself and was extinguished".
"And yet self-love is the spice of life! Where has it gone? Either I have not understood this life, or it is of no use, and I have not seen or known a better one, no one can tell me 'showed.
The happiness of his life is contained in his childhood memories, in the habits of his happy childhood. Utopian image that perseveres and dreams lying comfortably on his bed, living happily on an income.
For him the fairy tale has become confused with life, and sometimes he unconsciously feels sad that the fairy tale is not life, and life is not a fairy tale. Oblomov is a poet of life, because life is poetry. It's the fault of men if they distorted it.
"Sadly staying at home overprotected like an exotic flower in a greenhouse, and like the flower kept under glass it grew slowly and with difficulty. The energies that tried to manifest themselves folded inwards and withered away, withering. Sprout of generations lived nobly and inevitably in softness, among brocades, velvets and lace."
In some moments, pushed by others, such as his best friend or his beloved Olga, he demonstrates moments of clear awareness and healthy reproach of conscience. Brief moments, sad and touching, which the naive Oblomov, with a big heart that it is impossible to love, a withered element of the society to which he belongs, is incapable of facing with determination and completely incapable of shaking off that torpor that always becomes heavier and turns it off day after day.
I admit that a third of the novel deserves thunderous applause, where the themes of apathy, quiet living, boredom and the vision of the reality of the time in which it is set have received my full approval, as well as the painstaking and masterful development of all the personalities involved.
In the other two thirds the story alas develops exclusively on the love relationship between the good Oblomov and the young Olga, in a continuous push and pull, where the infinite doubts of the undecided Oblomov exhausted me. I'm not a romance reader, in fact I don't think I have any among my books, so maybe I'm not the right person to judge this part which for me remains too long and at times boring and unfortunately determined my final judgement. However, I would recommend it to those who do not have these limitations.
A much-told novel, a child of his time and for this reason it must be accepted as it is, with its stylistic characteristics and the social peculiarities of the time.
Goncharov does not base the story on action, but on introspection and on the themes that concern the society of his time, tired and stagnant, now on the brink of the next inevitable change. However, a positive experience that he will repeat with other Russian classics.
April 23, 2023
this was yet another emotional, heart shattering and devastating russian classic that teaches many great lessons... it left me emptily staring at the wall after finishing the story (in the best possible way)
totally in need of time to process everything, W.O.W
review will follow
totally in need of time to process everything, W.O.W
review will follow
November 25, 2025
آبلوموف تصویری از سقوط ی انسان در دل آسایشیه که کمکم به زندان تبدیل میشه. گنچاروف نه صرفا ی شخصیت، بلکه ی وضعیت رو کالبدشکافی میکنه: آبلوموفیسم!
رخوتی شیرین و مرگبار که در ظاهر آرامش محضه و در باطن، انحلال تدریجی اراده.
ایلیا ایلیچ آبلوموف با رویاهای بزرگ زندگی میکنه اما با هیچکدومشون مواجه نمیشه. در کنه ذهن و وجودش میل به تغییر وجود داره، اما اراده و حرکت نه. تصمیمهاش در سطح باقی میمونن و زندگیش زیر پتوی خیال تبخیر میشه. این الگو، ی نقص فردی نیست، بلکه محصول تربیت اربابسالارانه و ساختاریه که مسئولیت رو از انسان میگیره و جای اون رو با آسایش بیپایان و انفعال پر میکنه، این وضعیت اون انقدر ریشه ای و واگیر داره که به محیط اطرافش و ادم های نزدیک و هم سقفش هم سرایت میکنه.
در برابر اون، آندره شکل دیگه ای از جهان رو ارائه میده: سرعت، نظم، اقدام و قطعیت. تقابل این دو دوست، نه فقط شگرد رواییه داستان، که شالودهی ایدهی این رمانه. دو جهانبینی متضاد که گنچاروف اونها رو در کنار هم برای تشریح و تحلیل قرار میده. یکی نمایندهی حرکت، دیگری نمادی از سکون، یکی جهان بیرونی و دیگری جهان درونی.
نثر گنچاروف کند، مفصل و ریزبینانه س. این کندی هم البته آگاهانه و بخشی از تجربهی روایته، انگار متن خودش، با ضربآهنگ رخوت شخصیت اصلی هماهنگ شده، همین ویژگی میتونه نقطهی قوتی باشه و بهعنوان نوعی همآوایی در ساختار تلقی بشه و هم میتونه نقطهی ضعف به شمار بیاد چون ریتم داستان گهگاه دچار کسالت و ایست میشه، انگار خواننده هم تو همون تاری گیر میفته که ایلیا به دور خودش تنیده.
آبلوموف نمونهی واضح ترس از مواجهه س، ترسی که نه با فریاد، بلکه با پچ پچ و نجوا عمل میکنه. میل به امنیت کامل در وجود ایلیا، به نقطهای میرسه که خودش به منبع اضطرابش تبدیل میشه. رابطهاش با اولگا، که امکان شکوفایی و نتیجه داره، زیر فشار همین ترس آروم آروم فرو میپاشه، چون تغییر نیازمند از دستدادن بخشی از آرامشه و آبلوموف پذیرای این هزینه نیست، بنابراین مسیری رو به سمت زوال انتخاب میکنه، اون ترجیح میده بشینه و به از دست رفتن فرصت هاش نگاه کنه تا اینکه بخواد قدمی برای به ثمر رسوندنشون برداره.
وجه اجتماعی رمان، نقد طبقه و منش اشرافی روسیه س، ساختاری که در اون رکود مزمن، مصداق فضیلته و عمل، امری گزاف و بیملاحظه.
آبلوموف نمایشی از ی طبقهی تاریخیه و نویسنده با دقت، این طبقه رو در قالب ی فرد و سرنوشتش به تصویر میکشه.
طنز موجود در رمان، نرم، گزنده و تلخه ، پشتش لبخند غمگینی داره و لایههای عمیقتری از ناامیدی رو آشکار میکنه، تا پیام نهایی اثر رو روشن و بیپرده بیان کنه:
زندگی با خیالپردازی میگذره اما با عمل ساخته میشه. بیعملی فاجعهای ناگهانی نیست، بلکه فرسایشی کند و کشنده س ، ی مرگ تدریجی که در سکوت رخ میده و حتی گاهی ممکنه با لطافت هم همراه باشه.
آبلوموف، دربارهی رکود، ترس از تغییر و آسیبهای آسودگی بیش از حده و همین صراحتش، اون رو به اثری موندگار تبدیل کرده....
رخوتی شیرین و مرگبار که در ظاهر آرامش محضه و در باطن، انحلال تدریجی اراده.
ایلیا ایلیچ آبلوموف با رویاهای بزرگ زندگی میکنه اما با هیچکدومشون مواجه نمیشه. در کنه ذهن و وجودش میل به تغییر وجود داره، اما اراده و حرکت نه. تصمیمهاش در سطح باقی میمونن و زندگیش زیر پتوی خیال تبخیر میشه. این الگو، ی نقص فردی نیست، بلکه محصول تربیت اربابسالارانه و ساختاریه که مسئولیت رو از انسان میگیره و جای اون رو با آسایش بیپایان و انفعال پر میکنه، این وضعیت اون انقدر ریشه ای و واگیر داره که به محیط اطرافش و ادم های نزدیک و هم سقفش هم سرایت میکنه.
در برابر اون، آندره شکل دیگه ای از جهان رو ارائه میده: سرعت، نظم، اقدام و قطعیت. تقابل این دو دوست، نه فقط شگرد رواییه داستان، که شالودهی ایدهی این رمانه. دو جهانبینی متضاد که گنچاروف اونها رو در کنار هم برای تشریح و تحلیل قرار میده. یکی نمایندهی حرکت، دیگری نمادی از سکون، یکی جهان بیرونی و دیگری جهان درونی.
نثر گنچاروف کند، مفصل و ریزبینانه س. این کندی هم البته آگاهانه و بخشی از تجربهی روایته، انگار متن خودش، با ضربآهنگ رخوت شخصیت اصلی هماهنگ شده، همین ویژگی میتونه نقطهی قوتی باشه و بهعنوان نوعی همآوایی در ساختار تلقی بشه و هم میتونه نقطهی ضعف به شمار بیاد چون ریتم داستان گهگاه دچار کسالت و ایست میشه، انگار خواننده هم تو همون تاری گیر میفته که ایلیا به دور خودش تنیده.
آبلوموف نمونهی واضح ترس از مواجهه س، ترسی که نه با فریاد، بلکه با پچ پچ و نجوا عمل میکنه. میل به امنیت کامل در وجود ایلیا، به نقطهای میرسه که خودش به منبع اضطرابش تبدیل میشه. رابطهاش با اولگا، که امکان شکوفایی و نتیجه داره، زیر فشار همین ترس آروم آروم فرو میپاشه، چون تغییر نیازمند از دستدادن بخشی از آرامشه و آبلوموف پذیرای این هزینه نیست، بنابراین مسیری رو به سمت زوال انتخاب میکنه، اون ترجیح میده بشینه و به از دست رفتن فرصت هاش نگاه کنه تا اینکه بخواد قدمی برای به ثمر رسوندنشون برداره.
وجه اجتماعی رمان، نقد طبقه و منش اشرافی روسیه س، ساختاری که در اون رکود مزمن، مصداق فضیلته و عمل، امری گزاف و بیملاحظه.
آبلوموف نمایشی از ی طبقهی تاریخیه و نویسنده با دقت، این طبقه رو در قالب ی فرد و سرنوشتش به تصویر میکشه.
طنز موجود در رمان، نرم، گزنده و تلخه ، پشتش لبخند غمگینی داره و لایههای عمیقتری از ناامیدی رو آشکار میکنه، تا پیام نهایی اثر رو روشن و بیپرده بیان کنه:
زندگی با خیالپردازی میگذره اما با عمل ساخته میشه. بیعملی فاجعهای ناگهانی نیست، بلکه فرسایشی کند و کشنده س ، ی مرگ تدریجی که در سکوت رخ میده و حتی گاهی ممکنه با لطافت هم همراه باشه.
آبلوموف، دربارهی رکود، ترس از تغییر و آسیبهای آسودگی بیش از حده و همین صراحتش، اون رو به اثری موندگار تبدیل کرده....
December 2, 2020
آبلوموف ظریفترین و باریکبینترین کتابی بوده که تابحال خوندم. کتابی که ممکن بود با اندکی لغزش، به یک رمان مبتذل و آبکی بدل بشه اما واکاوی دقیق حالات و رفتارهای گنچاروف چیزیه که این کتاب رو از هر کتاب دیگهای متمایز میکنه. چیزی که نهایتا منجر به خلق مفهوم جدیدی به نام "آبلومویسم" شد.
همه ما در زندگیمون بنا به شرایطی که از محیط بر ما تحمیل میشه اهدافی رو در زندگیمون تعیین میکنیم و عمر رو در خدمت رسیدن به این اهداف سپری میکنیم. زندگی ما در تلاش ما برای رسیدن به اهدافمون تعریف میشه. انسان سالم، با رسیدن به یک هدف، بعد از حظ بردن از موفقیت، هدف جدیدی تعریف میکنه و بلافاصله دوباره به راه میافته. سکون و رخوت برای اون مرگه و تا زندست در تلاشه.
اما بیماری وجود داره به نام "آبلومویسم". بیمار در این فقره، در عین برخورداری از تمامی صفات یک انسان نیکسیرت، ذهنی بسیار پویا و خیالپرداز داره. به طوری که قبل از رسیدن به یک هدف، ذهنش شروع میکنه به پرداختن به اهداف بعدی، بعدتر و بعدتر تر! ذهنش آنچنان در عالم رویا و خیال غرق میشه که عاقبت از انجام کار فعلی غافل میشه و کاری جز خیالپردازی انجام نمیده. و نهایتا ذهن اونقدر با سرعت نردبان خیال رو بالا میره که کارهای پیشرو و روزمره همگی براش بیمعنا و کسالتبار میشن. اینجاست که میگیم به بیماری "آبلومویسم" دچار شده! بیماری مختص انسانهای متفکر و متمدن!ا
کتاب راجع به اربابزادهای به نام ایلیا ایلیچ آبلوموف هستش که به همراه نوکرش زاخار در شهر زندگی میکنه و به لطف پولی که از دِه، که سابقا پدر مرحومش ارباب اون بوده، براش میرسه گذران زندگی میکنه. منتها این پول نه اونقدر زیاده که لایتناهی باشه و نه اونقدر کمه که مجبور باشه کاری انجام بده. آبلوموف با همین مقدار گذران میکنه و دلیلی نمیبینه کاری انجام بده. رخوتی عمیق که تا عمق جان آبلوموف رسوخ کرده اونقدر که حتی هدف از زندگی کردن رو هم نمیتونه توضیح بده.
آبلوموف چنان ناتوانه که انسان رو در عین حال هم به خنده و هم به عصبانیت میاندازه. اون دارای یک "من آرمانی" در ذهنشه که به بهش میباله و اون رو عاری از هر عیب و محدودیتی میبینه. اونقدر جایگاه رفیعی برای این "من" در ذهنش قائله که خود را بالاتر از دیگران میبینه و همه چیز رو از دیده تحقیر نگاه میکنه. اما از طرف دیگه به خاطر بیماری حاد "آبلومویسم"، آن چنان دچار رخوتی هستش که برای کوچکترین کارها نیازمند دیگرانه و خودش از انجام هر کاری قاصره. در واقع رخوت و سستی حاصل از "آبلومویسم" آنچنان در همه کارها( از پوشیدن لباس به تنهایی بگیر تا رسیدگی به حساب و کتابهای زندگی و کار و ...) رخنه کرده که پیدا کردن اینکه تنبلی دلیل آبلومویسمه یا آبلومویسم عامل تنبلی، برای ناظر بیرونی به کاری غیرممکن بدل شده.
آبلوموف، آبلوموفه! شبیه هیچ چیز یا هیچ کس دیگهای نیست. مفهومی هستش که همه ما کمابیش به شکلی گنگ لمسش کردیم اما اینجا به شکلی زننده و افراطی تجلی پیدا میکنه و نامی بر اون گذاشته میشه. گنچاروف اونقدر در خلق این شخصیت مهارت بخرج داده، اونقدر رفتارها و احساسات با هم تطابق دارند که شاید اگر قصد میکردیم یک شخص واقعی رو در خلال این صفحات توصیف کنیم، اینقدر ملموس و واقعی از آب در نمییومد. صفحات طولانی این کتاب چیزی جز تشریح احوالات این بیمار در شرایط مختلف، و نقبهایی به گذشته و تربیت دوران کودکی اون نیست. از این جهت اگر حوصله خوندن رمانهای کلاسیک ندارید، نخونید که بدجور حوصله سربره!ا
پ.ن: با اینکه گفتم اگر کلاسیک دوست ندارید نخونید، اما بخونید چون انسانها دو دستهاند! اونها که آبلوموف رو میشناسن و اونها که آبلوموف رو نمیشناسن 🧐 ؛
همه ما در زندگیمون بنا به شرایطی که از محیط بر ما تحمیل میشه اهدافی رو در زندگیمون تعیین میکنیم و عمر رو در خدمت رسیدن به این اهداف سپری میکنیم. زندگی ما در تلاش ما برای رسیدن به اهدافمون تعریف میشه. انسان سالم، با رسیدن به یک هدف، بعد از حظ بردن از موفقیت، هدف جدیدی تعریف میکنه و بلافاصله دوباره به راه میافته. سکون و رخوت برای اون مرگه و تا زندست در تلاشه.
اما بیماری وجود داره به نام "آبلومویسم". بیمار در این فقره، در عین برخورداری از تمامی صفات یک انسان نیکسیرت، ذهنی بسیار پویا و خیالپرداز داره. به طوری که قبل از رسیدن به یک هدف، ذهنش شروع میکنه به پرداختن به اهداف بعدی، بعدتر و بعدتر تر! ذهنش آنچنان در عالم رویا و خیال غرق میشه که عاقبت از انجام کار فعلی غافل میشه و کاری جز خیالپردازی انجام نمیده. و نهایتا ذهن اونقدر با سرعت نردبان خیال رو بالا میره که کارهای پیشرو و روزمره همگی براش بیمعنا و کسالتبار میشن. اینجاست که میگیم به بیماری "آبلومویسم" دچار شده! بیماری مختص انسانهای متفکر و متمدن!ا
کتاب راجع به اربابزادهای به نام ایلیا ایلیچ آبلوموف هستش که به همراه نوکرش زاخار در شهر زندگی میکنه و به لطف پولی که از دِه، که سابقا پدر مرحومش ارباب اون بوده، براش میرسه گذران زندگی میکنه. منتها این پول نه اونقدر زیاده که لایتناهی باشه و نه اونقدر کمه که مجبور باشه کاری انجام بده. آبلوموف با همین مقدار گذران میکنه و دلیلی نمیبینه کاری انجام بده. رخوتی عمیق که تا عمق جان آبلوموف رسوخ کرده اونقدر که حتی هدف از زندگی کردن رو هم نمیتونه توضیح بده.
آبلوموف چنان ناتوانه که انسان رو در عین حال هم به خنده و هم به عصبانیت میاندازه. اون دارای یک "من آرمانی" در ذهنشه که به بهش میباله و اون رو عاری از هر عیب و محدودیتی میبینه. اونقدر جایگاه رفیعی برای این "من" در ذهنش قائله که خود را بالاتر از دیگران میبینه و همه چیز رو از دیده تحقیر نگاه میکنه. اما از طرف دیگه به خاطر بیماری حاد "آبلومویسم"، آن چنان دچار رخوتی هستش که برای کوچکترین کارها نیازمند دیگرانه و خودش از انجام هر کاری قاصره. در واقع رخوت و سستی حاصل از "آبلومویسم" آنچنان در همه کارها( از پوشیدن لباس به تنهایی بگیر تا رسیدگی به حساب و کتابهای زندگی و کار و ...) رخنه کرده که پیدا کردن اینکه تنبلی دلیل آبلومویسمه یا آبلومویسم عامل تنبلی، برای ناظر بیرونی به کاری غیرممکن بدل شده.
آبلوموف، آبلوموفه! شبیه هیچ چیز یا هیچ کس دیگهای نیست. مفهومی هستش که همه ما کمابیش به شکلی گنگ لمسش کردیم اما اینجا به شکلی زننده و افراطی تجلی پیدا میکنه و نامی بر اون گذاشته میشه. گنچاروف اونقدر در خلق این شخصیت مهارت بخرج داده، اونقدر رفتارها و احساسات با هم تطابق دارند که شاید اگر قصد میکردیم یک شخص واقعی رو در خلال این صفحات توصیف کنیم، اینقدر ملموس و واقعی از آب در نمییومد. صفحات طولانی این کتاب چیزی جز تشریح احوالات این بیمار در شرایط مختلف، و نقبهایی به گذشته و تربیت دوران کودکی اون نیست. از این جهت اگر حوصله خوندن رمانهای کلاسیک ندارید، نخونید که بدجور حوصله سربره!ا
پ.ن: با اینکه گفتم اگر کلاسیک دوست ندارید نخونید، اما بخونید چون انسانها دو دستهاند! اونها که آبلوموف رو میشناسن و اونها که آبلوموف رو نمیشناسن 🧐 ؛
August 4, 2013
O kadar büyük ve doğru yazılmış bir eser ki. İçinde o kadar büyük ve isabetli tespitler var ki.
Sigmund Freud'dan önce, freudyen çıkarımlarda bulunma başarısını bile gösterebilen bir roman.
Asla üşengeçlik, tembellik falan anlattığı yok, zaten bu herkesin malumu. Oblomov'un "Oblomov" olmasındaki sebep, taa çocukluğunda yatıyor. Ailesinin hataları, aşırı koruyucu kollayıcı tavırları, vurdumduymazlıkları; İlya İlyiç'in kişisel çekingen ve kibar yapısıyla da birleşince, ortaya sosyal fobik, depresif (hatta manik depresif), amansız romantik, bipolar bir karakter çıkarıyor. Tembellik, erteleme hastalığı, hep bunların bir semptomu haline geliyor.
Hiçbir şeyi kendisi yapmamış, kendisi başarmamış birisi İlya İlyiç. 25 yaşına dek ailesiyle yaşamış. Onlar ölünce de tek başına, yapayalnız kalmış. Uzun süre aranmayan sevilen arkadaşlarla aranın ister istemez açılması gibi, hayatla olan bağları iyice esnemiş, sonunda kendisini karanlık odasına hapsetmiş. Çünkü orası güvenli, sıcak, gamsız, çözülmesi gereken problemlerden tamamen uzak. Tamamen antiagorafobik.
Zaten her şey, Oblomov'un evinden taşınması zorunluluğuyla başlıyor. Hayata hiçbir şekilde hazırlanmamış birisi, deyim yerindeyse kendisini çırılçıplak sokakta buluyor. En önemlisi ise sonra geliyor: Can dostu sayesinde zoraki tanıştığı Olga'ya âşık oluyor, oysa Oblomov bu aşka da hiç hazır değil. Belki de karşısına kim çıksa âşık olacaktı. "Awakenings" filmindeki gibi, kısa süreli bir uyanış yaşıyor Oblomov, bu uyanışın kendisini de, araç değil, amaç olarak kullandığı için, tekrar uykuya dalıyor.
Sonunda her şey beklenen noktaya varıyor elbette, "oblomovluk", Oblomov'un yakasını bırakmıyor zira. Oblomov ise bundan her zaman şikayetçi, bundan her zaman kurtulmak isteğinde olsa da (ki aslında bu da, hep başkalarından beklenen bir istek, zira kendisinin kurtulmaya da takati yok), hayatının son deminde kendisiyle tam anlamıyla barışıyor. huzuru, gerçek yaşama tercih ediyor ve huzurlu ama ezik bir biçimde yok olup gidiyor.
Oblomov'u suçlayabilir miyiz? Hiç sanmıyorum. Yaşanan hiçbir şeyde Oblomov'un hatası yok. Oblomov'dan başka bir şey beklenemezdi. Tüm çocukluğu, ergenliği, onu bu kaçınılmaz noktaya kadar getirdi. Gerçekten en az suçlu olan İlya İlyiç'tir; hele de ailenin, bir çocuğun karakterini şekillendirme gücü düşünülürse.
İşin psikolojik yönünden toplumsal yönüne kayarsak da, ortaya bu kez "Selim Işık" değil, "Züğürt Ağa" çıkıyor. Yeni ile eski arasında sıkışıp kalmış; yeniyi isteyen, oradaki sosyal statü ve güzelliklere iç çekerek bakan; ancak orada nasıl yaşanacağını, nasıl davranılacağını bilmediği için sürekli kaybeden, kazıklanan, çoğu zaman da iyiliğinin kurbanı olan bir adam. Tıpkı Yavuz Turgul'un tüm karakterleri gibi, mahkum bir yaşantı içinde, hayal dünyasında, eskiyle bağlarını koparamamış birisi. Dolayısıyla eski-yeni ayrımında, romantik ve hayalperest Oblomov'un hayatını bitirdiği nokta, yine rastlantı olmuyor.
Oblomov, hayatımda okuduğum en müthiş eserlerden birisi.
Sigmund Freud'dan önce, freudyen çıkarımlarda bulunma başarısını bile gösterebilen bir roman.
Asla üşengeçlik, tembellik falan anlattığı yok, zaten bu herkesin malumu. Oblomov'un "Oblomov" olmasındaki sebep, taa çocukluğunda yatıyor. Ailesinin hataları, aşırı koruyucu kollayıcı tavırları, vurdumduymazlıkları; İlya İlyiç'in kişisel çekingen ve kibar yapısıyla da birleşince, ortaya sosyal fobik, depresif (hatta manik depresif), amansız romantik, bipolar bir karakter çıkarıyor. Tembellik, erteleme hastalığı, hep bunların bir semptomu haline geliyor.
Hiçbir şeyi kendisi yapmamış, kendisi başarmamış birisi İlya İlyiç. 25 yaşına dek ailesiyle yaşamış. Onlar ölünce de tek başına, yapayalnız kalmış. Uzun süre aranmayan sevilen arkadaşlarla aranın ister istemez açılması gibi, hayatla olan bağları iyice esnemiş, sonunda kendisini karanlık odasına hapsetmiş. Çünkü orası güvenli, sıcak, gamsız, çözülmesi gereken problemlerden tamamen uzak. Tamamen antiagorafobik.
Zaten her şey, Oblomov'un evinden taşınması zorunluluğuyla başlıyor. Hayata hiçbir şekilde hazırlanmamış birisi, deyim yerindeyse kendisini çırılçıplak sokakta buluyor. En önemlisi ise sonra geliyor: Can dostu sayesinde zoraki tanıştığı Olga'ya âşık oluyor, oysa Oblomov bu aşka da hiç hazır değil. Belki de karşısına kim çıksa âşık olacaktı. "Awakenings" filmindeki gibi, kısa süreli bir uyanış yaşıyor Oblomov, bu uyanışın kendisini de, araç değil, amaç olarak kullandığı için, tekrar uykuya dalıyor.
Sonunda her şey beklenen noktaya varıyor elbette, "oblomovluk", Oblomov'un yakasını bırakmıyor zira. Oblomov ise bundan her zaman şikayetçi, bundan her zaman kurtulmak isteğinde olsa da (ki aslında bu da, hep başkalarından beklenen bir istek, zira kendisinin kurtulmaya da takati yok), hayatının son deminde kendisiyle tam anlamıyla barışıyor. huzuru, gerçek yaşama tercih ediyor ve huzurlu ama ezik bir biçimde yok olup gidiyor.
Oblomov'u suçlayabilir miyiz? Hiç sanmıyorum. Yaşanan hiçbir şeyde Oblomov'un hatası yok. Oblomov'dan başka bir şey beklenemezdi. Tüm çocukluğu, ergenliği, onu bu kaçınılmaz noktaya kadar getirdi. Gerçekten en az suçlu olan İlya İlyiç'tir; hele de ailenin, bir çocuğun karakterini şekillendirme gücü düşünülürse.
İşin psikolojik yönünden toplumsal yönüne kayarsak da, ortaya bu kez "Selim Işık" değil, "Züğürt Ağa" çıkıyor. Yeni ile eski arasında sıkışıp kalmış; yeniyi isteyen, oradaki sosyal statü ve güzelliklere iç çekerek bakan; ancak orada nasıl yaşanacağını, nasıl davranılacağını bilmediği için sürekli kaybeden, kazıklanan, çoğu zaman da iyiliğinin kurbanı olan bir adam. Tıpkı Yavuz Turgul'un tüm karakterleri gibi, mahkum bir yaşantı içinde, hayal dünyasında, eskiyle bağlarını koparamamış birisi. Dolayısıyla eski-yeni ayrımında, romantik ve hayalperest Oblomov'un hayatını bitirdiği nokta, yine rastlantı olmuyor.
Oblomov, hayatımda okuduğum en müthiş eserlerden birisi.
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April 28, 2025My one-book-leads-to-another shelf gets a lot of use. The motivation to read a book I've delayed reading, maybe for years, always gets a kickstart when I see it referred to in another book. In this case, the book title wasn't mentioned, just the author's name. Yes, Hervé Le Tellier mentioned the writer Ivan Goncharov in L'Anomalie, and since Goncharov's most famous novel, 'Oblomov', had been lying about in my house for years, sometimes by the bed, sometimes on a table beside the sofa, regularly dust-laden and most definitely the worse for wear, I thought it time to discover just what 'Oblomov' was about.
Well, it's about a man who lies about on his bed or on his sofa and whose clothes are dust-laden and very much the worse for wear. What was it Oscar Wilde said about life imitating art?
Well, it's about a man who lies about on his bed or on his sofa and whose clothes are dust-laden and very much the worse for wear. What was it Oscar Wilde said about life imitating art?
April 25, 2024
داستان درباره نجیب زاده ای به اسم ایلیا ایلیچ آبلوموف هست که از کودکی در ناز و نعمت و توجه فراوان پرورش یافته و بعد از اتمام تحصیلات،کار اداری رو در پیش میگیره اما بعد از چندین سال کار رو رها می کنه و جز خانه نشینی و لمیدن و گذران زندگی از عایدی ملکی روستایی کاری انجام نمیده. آندره دوست دوران تحصیل آبلوموف سعی در کمک کردن به اون داره و هر کاری از دستش برمیاد انجام میده تا آبلوموف رو از خمودگی و بی حالی خارج کنه اما موفق نمیشه...
کتاب آبلوموف سعی داره رخوت زندگی اشرافی ملاکین قرن نوزدهم روسیه رو با شخصیت نمادین آبلوموف به تصویر بکشه.
در نقدهایی که در رابطه با این اثر خوندم و در متن کتاب به پدیده ای به نام آبلومویسم اشاره شده که شخصیت ایلیا ایلیچ به اون دچار هست. در واقع آبلومویسم نوعی بی حالی، ضعف نفس، خمودگی و تنبلی هست که شخص به اون دچار میشه و از انجام کارهای روزمره و حتی رسیدگی به امور مالی خود عاجز میمونه.
آبلوموف در عین تنبلی و بی حالی شخصیتی بسیار مهربان و ساده داره که به راحتی گول میخوره و برای اینکه کارها رو از سر خودش باز کنه حاضره اداره امور زندگیش رو به دست هرکسی بسپاره و قطعا این افراد دلسوز نیستند و سرش کلاه میگذارند.
با اینکه شخصیت اصلی کتاب آدمی تنبل و بی حوصله هست ولی از خوندن کتاب احساس خستگی نمیکنید و توضیحات اضافی و توصیفات کامل کتاب اصلا آزار دهنده نیست و درک بهتری از شخصیتها میده فقط احتمالا مثل من از دست شخصیت ایلیا ایلیچ آبلوموف خیلی حرص می خورید.
شاید بد نباشه که این کتاب رو به تنبلها پیشنهاد بدم تا با شیوه زندگی دیگر تنبل ها در قرن های گذشته آشنا بشن.
ترجمه آقای حبیبی هم که نیازی به تعریف نداره.👌
کتاب آبلوموف سعی داره رخوت زندگی اشرافی ملاکین قرن نوزدهم روسیه رو با شخصیت نمادین آبلوموف به تصویر بکشه.
در نقدهایی که در رابطه با این اثر خوندم و در متن کتاب به پدیده ای به نام آبلومویسم اشاره شده که شخصیت ایلیا ایلیچ به اون دچار هست. در واقع آبلومویسم نوعی بی حالی، ضعف نفس، خمودگی و تنبلی هست که شخص به اون دچار میشه و از انجام کارهای روزمره و حتی رسیدگی به امور مالی خود عاجز میمونه.
آبلوموف در عین تنبلی و بی حالی شخصیتی بسیار مهربان و ساده داره که به راحتی گول میخوره و برای اینکه کارها رو از سر خودش باز کنه حاضره اداره امور زندگیش رو به دست هرکسی بسپاره و قطعا این افراد دلسوز نیستند و سرش کلاه میگذارند.
با اینکه شخصیت اصلی کتاب آدمی تنبل و بی حوصله هست ولی از خوندن کتاب احساس خستگی نمیکنید و توضیحات اضافی و توصیفات کامل کتاب اصلا آزار دهنده نیست و درک بهتری از شخصیتها میده فقط احتمالا مثل من از دست شخصیت ایلیا ایلیچ آبلوموف خیلی حرص می خورید.
شاید بد نباشه که این کتاب رو به تنبلها پیشنهاد بدم تا با شیوه زندگی دیگر تنبل ها در قرن های گذشته آشنا بشن.
ترجمه آقای حبیبی هم که نیازی به تعریف نداره.👌
October 10, 2023
oh, to be young and pretty in love and lie around all day long in the warm embrace of your undiagnosed clinical depression back in the XIXth century Russia!! good soup, good ship😍
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