Russian 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."
The sloth is a slow moving animal, which lives in South America. But Oblomov was an inert being, sitting in his bed in Russia.
He was a land owner who could afford to live life without going across the river, attending parties or doing anything. Things change from one point, when he meets a woman that shakes the foundations of his life.
Old habits die hard it is said, but the correct enunciation would be Habits die hard. So it takes a lot of effort on the part of Olga. There are funny passages and the book is a very enjoyable read, with meaningful messages.
The fact that a boyar can be so lazy is comical, but apart from the sympathy which we may feel for Oblomov, we can’t help but think that with people like him there would be no progress.
‘The issue of progress is more complex: are we better off with a fast expansion of travel, trade and economical activity which may jeopardize the climate of the planet?
Or we would need more Oblomovos? They have such a small carbon footprint; they have hardly any impact on the environment and on…anything.
Oblomov seems to be stupid sometimes- he is taken for a fool and money are stolen from his properties, but his reactions are rather gentle.
It is amazing to read about so many great, tender and kind souls in the Russian Literature and yet to find Russia pillaging another country, even in the 21st century.
How can a nation which has given the world Tolstoy, Turgenev, Dostoyevsky, Chekhov, Tchaikovsky, Korsakov and so many more- be so senseless when it comes to invading Georgia, Ukraine, or Poland, Romania, the Baltics in the past?
Oblomov would have been better than Putin. Fewer things would get done, but less war and fewer dead people.
With the help of his best friend Oblomov escapes being turned into a bankrupt noble and finds some romantic fulfillment as well.
Positive emotions and optimism win, even in Russian novels where the mood is quite often grim, the winters are long, Napoleon and Hitler found out the hard way.
When reading Russian novels, short stories or plays, the movies of Mikhalkov come to mind: Burned by The Sun and Unfinished Piece for Mechanical Piano…
This is a very good work, which I had the chance to listen to in a BBC adaptation with the excellent Toby Jones, who had a wonderful performance as Truman Capote, in a lesser known film than the masterpiece Capote, for which Philip Seymour Hoffman won an Oscar.
I love the beautiful friendship between Oblomov and Stolz. Their story of mutual understanding is very well written. I love when I come across a book where two friends do not envy each other at all. This is a book where things erupt slowly, but effectively. At first I thought that nothing was happening, but that was the magic of it. One's dwelling on life sometimes must be equally exhausting as if fighting the life's battles.