Reviews

Wow, this gets self-consciously sad. Even if this IS told from a child's perspective (obviously) (red flag for me), it was interesting to see the beginning of Tolstoy's life. There was some deep-rooted emotion here that you can tell shaped him throughout his life, like the mother chapter and the grandmother chapter. The guilt he feels being apart of bullying a poor kid in order to appeal to his classmates is relatable for anyone, but shoutout my mans for ditching the friend that "held power over him" after his first "thou" with a girl. 🙂 Also, bruh, his mother's last letter before her death when he was little followed by him looking over her body and flashing back to all of their happy moments. FAM.... Tolstoy for real my favorite pure writer probably. dude just throws beautiful prose out there no matter the situation.

There are also some stellar quotes:

However vivid be one’s recollection of the past, any attempt to recall the features of a beloved being shows them to one’s vision as through a mist of tears—dim and blurred. Those tears are the tears of the imagination.

In my opinion, it is in the smile of a face that the essence of what we call beauty lies. If the smile heightens the charm of the face, then the face is a beautiful one. If the smile does not alter the face, then the face is an ordinary one. But if the smile spoils the face, then the face is an ugly one indeed.

Somehow I seemed to remember something which had never been.

Happy, happy, never-returning time of childhood! How can we help loving and dwelling upon its recollections? They cheer and elevate the soul, and become to one a source of higher joys.

Do in after life the freshness and light-heartedness, the craving for love and for strength of faith, ever return which we experience in our childhood’s years? What better time is there in our lives than when the two best of virtues—innocent gaiety and a boundless yearning for affection—are our sole objects of pursuit?

Those who have experienced what embarrassment is know that it is a feeling which grows in direct proportion to delay, while decision decreases in similar measure. In other words the longer the condition lasts, the more invincible does it become, and the smaller does the power of decision come to be.

“You know, Nicolinka, nobody will ever love you for your face alone, so you must try all the more to be a good and clever boy.”

Why grieve and weep over imagined evils?

It is strange how, when a child, I always longed to be like grown-up people, and yet how I have often longed, since childhood’s days, for those days to come back to me!

I deprived myself of the pure delight of a fresh, childish instinct for the absurd purpose of trying to resemble grown-up people.

The sufferings of shy people proceed only from the doubts which they feel concerning the opinions of their fellows. No sooner are those opinions expressed (whether flattering or the reverse) than the agony disappears.

I have grown accustomed to no longer relying, so far as the children are concerned, upon your gains at play, nor yet—excuse me for saying so—upon your income. Therefore your losses cause me as little anxiety as your gains give me pleasure.

My soul can never lack its love for you; and I know that that love will exist for ever, since such a feeling could never have been awakened if it were not to be eternal. I shall no longer be with you, yet I firmly believe that my love will cleave to you always, and from that thought I glean such comfort that I await the approach of death calmly and without fear.

Such of those present as were strangers I found intolerable. In fact, the phrases of condolence with which they addressed Papa (such, for instance, as that “she is better off now” “she was too good for this world,” and so on) awakened in me something like fury. What right had they to weep over or to talk about her?

Mamma was no longer with us, but our life went on as usual. We went to bed and got up at the same times and in the same rooms; breakfast, luncheon, and supper continued to be at their usual hours; everything remained standing in its accustomed place; nothing in the house or in our mode of life was altered: only, she was not there.

Yet it seemed to me as though such a misfortune ought to have changed everything.

Vanity is a sentiment so entirely at variance with genuine grief, yet a sentiment so inherent in human nature, that even the most poignant sorrow does not always drive it wholly forth.

Vanity mingled with grief shows itself in a desire to be recognised as unhappy or resigned; and this ignoble desire—an aspiration which, for all that we may not acknowledge it is rarely absent, even in cases of the utmost affliction—takes off greatly from the force, the dignity, and the sincerity of grief.

Only those who can love strongly can experience an overwhelming grief. Yet their very need of loving sometimes serves to throw off their grief from them and to save them. The moral nature of man is more tenacious of life than the physical, and grief never kills.

“Did Providence unite me to those two beings solely in order to make me regret them my life long?”

enabditouri_'s review against another edition

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emotional reflective fast-paced

Plot- or character-driven? A mix
Strong character development? It's complicated
Loveable characters? It's complicated
Diverse cast of characters? No
Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes

3.75

annabergb's review against another edition

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3.0

3.5
Briefly explained; this is a novel about a Russian boy growing up in a wealthy family where Tolstoy describes Nikolenkas emotions and thoughts revolving around new ideas and people. The story itself was kind of flat in my opinion, but it's only the first part in the trilogy and overall the novel made me want to continue reading.

yanina's review against another edition

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3.0

Tengo la extraña sensación de que este libro (y me pasó lo mismo con Viaje a Armenia , de Mandelstham) no me gustó tanto como debería haberlo hecho. O tal vez creí que tooodo lo que escribió un autor tan respetado como Tolstoi iba a ser indiscutible para mí.

Ante todo, me parece el error estuvo en haberlo leído después de haber espiado vidas demasiado difíciles, como la de Gorki o Babel. En Infancia casi todo es de color rosa, el niño del relato pertenece a una familia de la nobleza rusa que se occidentaliza a sí misma hablando francés o alemán y que, a pesar de mencionar tener dificultades económicas, al principio no sufre mayores contrariedades. Al final del relato sí suceden cosas lamentables que no voy a contar. Es bastante ameno de leer y está narrado desde el punto de vista de un adulto que se recuerda como niño y evoca esa etapa de su vida, mostrando la relación con su familia, sus criados, sus amigos y una niña que está insoportablemente idealizada. Yo me quejaba de la demonización de Pearl en La letra escarlata , pero tampoco hay que exagerar con lo contrario…

La edición que tengo está plagada de diminutivos que me exasperaron, así que no sé si Tolstoi los usó o el traductor se tomó la libertad de reducir el tamaño de casi todo lo que se describía ahí. Como este libro es parte de una trilogía, espero poder leer las continuaciones y darle una mejor calificación en conjunto.

mayeeta's review against another edition

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4.0

my first tolstoy and i was not disappointed!!
really excited to continue this little memoir series and tackle tolstoys bigger works in the future

gegedobruna's review against another edition

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emotional lighthearted sad slow-paced

Plot- or character-driven? Character
Strong character development? Yes
Loveable characters? Yes
Diverse cast of characters? N/A

3.75

luvdass's review against another edition

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3.0

A descriptive encounter. First Tolstoy experience. I started it with a nostalgic presupposition, but cultural differences mingled with character detailing made the narrative mundane. Having said that, the book has some pretty good quotable lines and drastic moments to read about.

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