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A review by lilliangrey
Fathers and Sons by Ivan Turgenev
reflective
sad
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
3.75
A Russian novel that isn't difficult to read? Oh my prayers have been answered.
A very interesting concept provided in this book - a loss between generations due to a difference in personal philosophy. I could not pick a side, despite myself having a personal quarrel with nihilists (but I won't delve into it now), as I understood why someone of that time period may have had nihilist tendencies; it was not the most glamourous of places (mid 19th century Russia). However, I could not help but feel unspeakably sorry for the father-son dynamic, I could not reconcile the two drifiting so far apart as the father fails to accept what his son is becoming. It made me hate Bazarov and yet I do not think that hate is the appropriate word. I felt perhaps there were layers to him which he tried to conceal, and in the end I was left wondering if he was truly a nihilist at all. There was a lot to juggle in this book, conceptually, and like always with Russian literature I was left in a liminal space where I could not muster the energy to reflect, and yet that was all that I could do.
A very interesting concept provided in this book - a loss between generations due to a difference in personal philosophy. I could not pick a side, despite myself having a personal quarrel with nihilists (but I won't delve into it now), as I understood why someone of that time period may have had nihilist tendencies; it was not the most glamourous of places (mid 19th century Russia). However, I could not help but feel unspeakably sorry for the father-son dynamic, I could not reconcile the two drifiting so far apart as the father fails to accept what his son is becoming. It made me hate Bazarov and yet I do not think that hate is the appropriate word. I felt perhaps there were layers to him which he tried to conceal, and in the end I was left wondering if he was truly a nihilist at all. There was a lot to juggle in this book, conceptually, and like always with Russian literature I was left in a liminal space where I could not muster the energy to reflect, and yet that was all that I could do.