A Review of 'Fathers and Children,' by Turgenev

 

After a long hiatus, I am back reviewing selections of our Baltimore Book Club. July's choice for our group of five avid readers is "Fathers and Children," by Ivan Turgenev. Our discussion will take place on July 12; I being retired, however, couldn't resist reading the novel the first chance I got.

 

Rereading the novel, that is, I recall having read the novel a half century or so, ago; I remember very little of it except that the title was "Fathers and Sons." One of the themes of the novel is the rapid generational changes that were taking place in Russia at the time, (liberation of the serfs, new political movements, etc.) This classic novel was first published in 1862; the recent translation I read is excellent. I am not sure about the title, which has been known to English-speaking readers as 'Fathers and Sons,’ for generations. It’s a little bit like renaming “War and Peace” “War and The End of Hostilities.” (If the name change was done due to political correctness, I object: it is folly, I think, to try to change the past, rather than learning from it. The novel was written during patriarchal times; among the novel’s main characters, are two fathers and sons, not daughters. But this is a minor point—what’s in a name?)

 

Turgenev is a master of characterization, which he accomplishes with great economy.  One of the main characters is one of the two sons, Bazarov, a young man with charisma and intellectual heft.  I view him as a Rousseau-inspired character. Rousseau believed that human beings were good, even noble, at their core. It is society that is the problem. Once the evils of society are eliminated, human nobility will shine through like sunrise after a pitch-black night. A new and just society will arise. This view is contrasted by the philosophy of Thomas Hobbes, who asserted that humanity is  fallen and without strong moral leadership, chaos results. This is a version of one of my favorite proverbs: Homo homini lupus—Man is wolf to man.

 

Bazarov characterizes himself as a nihilist; he denies the worth of everything until a new order is achieved.  We now know the result of this mindless idealism: the catastrophic history of the Soviet Union. (Stalin’s chief of agriculture, Lysenko, for instance, asserted such things as keeping seeds in a cold environment would result in plants resistant to cold.  The suffering caused by such beliefs might pale in comparison to Stalin’s terror, nevertheless a lot of damage was done due to neglect of genetic heredity.)

 

That Bazarov’s rejection of norms might have partially resulted from shame felt due to the ignorance of his parents—his mother was especially superstitious--is likely. But  Turgenev never states this, he shows this, and we must infer our interpretations.

 

That Bazarov is not as independent as he believes is shown by his passionate declaration of love to a very independent and strange woman, who seems more inspired by Eugene Onegin than, say, Schiller’s Maria Stuart.

 

The rejected and very bitter young man cuts his finger during an autopsy. An immediate cauterization would be the emergency procedure that might save his life, but this is not done.  When he tells his father three days later, the panicked old man wants to cauterize the wound immediately. Bazarov replies, “This should have been done sooner. By now, actually, even the caustic is a waste of time. If I’m infected, it is too late.” (page 196).

 

Basarov is of course correct; he is  indeed infected and dies of sepsis a few days later. That he did not seek treatment previously is a strong indication that he desired to end his life. (This is even more certain than the fact that the desperately depressed Tschaikowsky drank unboiled water during a cholera epidemic, which led to his death a few days later. It was common knowledge that such behavior was suicidal.)

 

No mention of suicide! We must infer it; once again, Turgenev shows and does not tell.

 

Nor does the author make any political comments. For instance, the nervous and rather incompetent Kirsanov has difficulties with the peasants and mismanages his estate. (Kirsanov, the father of Arkady, along with his son are the first ‘father and son’ duo of the book; Bazarov and his father being the second.) This wouldn’t have happened in an earlier age, during which hierarchies were unassailable. Once Arkady frees himself from Bazarov’s influence, the estates flourish once again. Management skill is now essential, not ancestral position.

This is one of the greatest novels I’ve ever read. The characters are convincingly and memorably drawn. More important than this, however, is the author’s objectivity; Turgenev doesn’t take sides.  It’s as if the novel had been written by the Zeitgeist, whose Eye in  the Sky had no desire beyond relaying what it sees.  Turgenev, of course, was politically astute; keeping himself out of the picture, I believe, added greatly to the effectiveness of its images. A great read!