You need to sign in or sign up before continuing.
Take a photo of a barcode or cover
3.99 AVERAGE
3.99 AVERAGE
În locuinţa sa din strada Gorohovaia, într-una dintre acele clădiri mari, cu locuitori câţi ar încăpea numai bine într-o capitală de judeţ, stătea într-o dimineaţă, culcat în pat, Ilia Ilici Oblomov.
Era un om de vreo treizeci şi doi-treizeci şi trei de ani, de statură mijlocie, cu o înfăţişare plăcută şi ochii de un cenuşiu închis, dar fără nicio expresie hotărâtă, fără nicio urmă de adâncă gândire întipărită în trăsături. Gândul îi rătăcea în voie pe faţă, ca pasărea în văzduh, îi flutura în ochi, se oprea o clipă pe buzele întredeschise, se ascundea în creţurile frunţii, apoi pierea cu desăvârşire, şi atunci tot chipul i se lumina, învăluit de o molcomă nepăsare. Această nepăsare trecea apoi din obraz în tot trupul, până şi în cutele halatului.
Uneori, o umbră de oboseală ori de urât îi întuneca privirea, dar nici urâtul, nici oboseala nu izbuteau să-i alunge nicio clipă de pe faţă blândeţea ce-i caracteriza nu numai chipul, ci tot sufletul – un suflet luminos şi deschis, care se străvedea în ochii şi în zâmbetul său, în orice mişcare a capului, a mâinii… Un observator superficial şi rece, aruncând numai în treacăt o privire asupra lui Oblomov, ar fi spus: „Ce om bun şi simplu trebuie să fie!” Dimpotrivă, unul mai profund şi mai înţelegător l-ar fi privit mai îndelung şi s-ar fi îndepărtat cu un zâmbet pe buze, cufundat în cugetări.
Era un om de vreo treizeci şi doi-treizeci şi trei de ani, de statură mijlocie, cu o înfăţişare plăcută şi ochii de un cenuşiu închis, dar fără nicio expresie hotărâtă, fără nicio urmă de adâncă gândire întipărită în trăsături. Gândul îi rătăcea în voie pe faţă, ca pasărea în văzduh, îi flutura în ochi, se oprea o clipă pe buzele întredeschise, se ascundea în creţurile frunţii, apoi pierea cu desăvârşire, şi atunci tot chipul i se lumina, învăluit de o molcomă nepăsare. Această nepăsare trecea apoi din obraz în tot trupul, până şi în cutele halatului.
Uneori, o umbră de oboseală ori de urât îi întuneca privirea, dar nici urâtul, nici oboseala nu izbuteau să-i alunge nicio clipă de pe faţă blândeţea ce-i caracteriza nu numai chipul, ci tot sufletul – un suflet luminos şi deschis, care se străvedea în ochii şi în zâmbetul său, în orice mişcare a capului, a mâinii… Un observator superficial şi rece, aruncând numai în treacăt o privire asupra lui Oblomov, ar fi spus: „Ce om bun şi simplu trebuie să fie!” Dimpotrivă, unul mai profund şi mai înţelegător l-ar fi privit mai îndelung şi s-ar fi îndepărtat cu un zâmbet pe buze, cufundat în cugetări.
challenging
emotional
sad
slow-paced
emotional
funny
reflective
sad
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
Not a terrible book, but it really drags in spots. I had to stop reading it for a bit a read something else because it was becoming too painful to get through. Would have benefited from being much shorter.
dark
funny
reflective
Surprisingly great. Perhaps the most thorough examination of love that I've ever read, on par with Tolstoy's deconstruction of the family. I had the occasional issue with the text shifting to a new scene, with a new character in focus, too rapidly and confusingly for me to keep up, but it's a minor problem. The beginning is funny, but I probably would have enjoyed it more had it not followed my reading of A Confederacy of Dunces so closely (the two works are nothing alike, mind you, but the main characters are remarkably similar starting out).
I think everyone who's read this brick and loved it has the same problem: how to recommend a story when the protagonist doesn't leave his bed for the first hundred and a half pages and almost nothing happens when he does?
The book has a burn so slow you're just staring at embers that peter out to ash at the end, and yet you're satisfied. It's a story where the protagonist is strangely likeable but an utterly lazy prat. A novel where every minor character is given pages and pages of backstory, where a simple dream sequence is a short story in itself. There's nothing in here where I can say 'oh, this bit was bloody fantastic, wait for that scene'.
Why you should read Oblomov, is that it's an amazingly early but very well demonstrated example of what we would now call social anxiety, catastrophising and enabling.
The titular Oblomov is the epitome of idleness. He dreams of grandeur but refuses to leave his bed unless literally pulled, he's surrounded by people who leech from him, allow him to continue his endless days of lounging, or who prod him to better himself but never quite push him enough. Oblomov remains sympathetic rather than hateful because we now recognise the underlying mental problems, namely the paralysis of anxiety and the horrible iron grip of a brain telling you all will go wrong if you so much as move. It's also very funny at times, never afraid to sardonically and viciously prod at anybody and everybody, and just as brilliant at ripping your heart out, trampling all over it and ramming it back in your ribcage.
The old 'you just need to read it' defense always sounds a cop out, but for Oblomov it's 100% true. There is no way to describe why this book is both so brilliant and yet so heart breaking, because its the prose and atmosphere that pulls you in and has you rooting for what should be the least sympathetic or deserving character in all literature.
Oblomov is wonderful, horrible, strange, long, sad and captivating, and everyone should at least give it a chance (though I won't think any less of you if you give up a quarter in).
Don't read too much into my username. It's simply loving homage and nothing to do with the fact I'm partially soldered to my computer chair.
The book has a burn so slow you're just staring at embers that peter out to ash at the end, and yet you're satisfied. It's a story where the protagonist is strangely likeable but an utterly lazy prat. A novel where every minor character is given pages and pages of backstory, where a simple dream sequence is a short story in itself. There's nothing in here where I can say 'oh, this bit was bloody fantastic, wait for that scene'.
Why you should read Oblomov, is that it's an amazingly early but very well demonstrated example of what we would now call social anxiety, catastrophising and enabling.
The titular Oblomov is the epitome of idleness. He dreams of grandeur but refuses to leave his bed unless literally pulled, he's surrounded by people who leech from him, allow him to continue his endless days of lounging, or who prod him to better himself but never quite push him enough. Oblomov remains sympathetic rather than hateful because we now recognise the underlying mental problems, namely the paralysis of anxiety and the horrible iron grip of a brain telling you all will go wrong if you so much as move. It's also very funny at times, never afraid to sardonically and viciously prod at anybody and everybody, and just as brilliant at ripping your heart out, trampling all over it and ramming it back in your ribcage.
The old 'you just need to read it' defense always sounds a cop out, but for Oblomov it's 100% true. There is no way to describe why this book is both so brilliant and yet so heart breaking, because its the prose and atmosphere that pulls you in and has you rooting for what should be the least sympathetic or deserving character in all literature.
Oblomov is wonderful, horrible, strange, long, sad and captivating, and everyone should at least give it a chance (though I won't think any less of you if you give up a quarter in).
Don't read too much into my username. It's simply loving homage and nothing to do with the fact I'm partially soldered to my computer chair.
Ivan Goncharov's eponymous novel Oblomov sheds light on a thirty-two-year-old Russian man living in St Petersburg, owner of an estate in the Russian countryside, who has become so apathetic to the world surrounding him that he ends up being unable to do anything including living his own life. Through this fictional satire, Goncharov aims at portraying the eventless and effortless lives of mid-19th century Russian aristocracy which appeared somewhat plagued by ennui, lack of purpose and, sometimes, a lack of skills.
"Don't come near - don't come near, I won't shake hands - you're straight from the cold street!" Goncharov, I. Oblomov, London, Penguin Classics, Part One, p.39
During the entire first part of the novel, Goncharov's satirical tone is palpable. Ilya Ilych Oblomov is described as a man who, after quitting his job as a public servant to supposedly work on a plan to save his estate from ruin, has let himself fall into idleness, preferring the comfort of his poorly-managed flat than participating to activities most dear to the Russian upper-class society such as socializing. In his effort to stay home and not go anywhere, Oblomov finds himself being the one receiving guests, one after the other, without getting a single moment of peace. To add to his discomfort, he must write two letters: one to his bailiff and the other to the owner of his flat. One problem, Oblomov has as good a memory as a goldfish and keeps on forgetting to write the letters but also bathe and wear proper clothes until his most faithful friend Andrey Stolz comes into the picture and drags him out of his apartment.
"Having done with the cares of business, Oblomov liked to withdraw into himself and live in the world of his own creation. He was not acquainted with the joys of lofty thoughts; he was not unfamiliar with human sorrows. Sometimes he wept bitterly in his heart of hearts over calamities of mankind and experienced secret and nameless sufferings and anguish and a yearning for something far away, for the world, perhaps [...]." Goncharov, I. Oblomov, London, Penguin Classics, Part One, p.72
Though the satirical element was extremely present in part one of the novel, it gradually morphed into something different from part two to part four. Indeed, as I was reading Oblomov, I realized that despite Goncharov's attempts to make fun of Oblomov's laziness, his tone rapidly changed and took a much sadder turn when Oblomov finally opens up to his best friend Stolz. Suddenly, Goncharov's novel is no longer about idleness, it becomes a novel about a man who suffers from severe depression.
"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 [...]" Goncharov, I. Oblomov, London, Penguin Classics, Part Two, p.183
Oblomov is overwhelmed by feelings of sadness and hopelessness. He does not see a future for himself and he does not care to have one though he is haunted by the idea of death whom he sees through his devoted servant Zakhar ("Oh, you'll be the death of me, Zakhar!" p.227). He feels worthless and blames himself for the things he does and for the ones he does not do. He feels guilty for not being as useful to society as anybody else and for lacking purpose in life. He sleeps too much and sometimes not enough when possessed by his anxieties. Not even his love for the spirited Olga and his friendship with Stolz can make him change and we can only only watch him as he sinks more and more into apathy to the point of no return.
"I am worthy of your friendship, God knows, but I'm not worth your trouble." Goncharov, I. Oblomov, London, Penguin Classics, Part Four, p.474
Goncharov may not be as famous as Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, or Chekhov but he certainly deserves to have a place amongst them. Oblomov is a beautiful heart-wrenching masterpiece that can be a difficult read especially if you have experienced mental illness or are experiencing mental illness.
"Don't come near - don't come near, I won't shake hands - you're straight from the cold street!" Goncharov, I. Oblomov, London, Penguin Classics, Part One, p.39
During the entire first part of the novel, Goncharov's satirical tone is palpable. Ilya Ilych Oblomov is described as a man who, after quitting his job as a public servant to supposedly work on a plan to save his estate from ruin, has let himself fall into idleness, preferring the comfort of his poorly-managed flat than participating to activities most dear to the Russian upper-class society such as socializing. In his effort to stay home and not go anywhere, Oblomov finds himself being the one receiving guests, one after the other, without getting a single moment of peace. To add to his discomfort, he must write two letters: one to his bailiff and the other to the owner of his flat. One problem, Oblomov has as good a memory as a goldfish and keeps on forgetting to write the letters but also bathe and wear proper clothes until his most faithful friend Andrey Stolz comes into the picture and drags him out of his apartment.
"Having done with the cares of business, Oblomov liked to withdraw into himself and live in the world of his own creation. He was not acquainted with the joys of lofty thoughts; he was not unfamiliar with human sorrows. Sometimes he wept bitterly in his heart of hearts over calamities of mankind and experienced secret and nameless sufferings and anguish and a yearning for something far away, for the world, perhaps [...]." Goncharov, I. Oblomov, London, Penguin Classics, Part One, p.72
Though the satirical element was extremely present in part one of the novel, it gradually morphed into something different from part two to part four. Indeed, as I was reading Oblomov, I realized that despite Goncharov's attempts to make fun of Oblomov's laziness, his tone rapidly changed and took a much sadder turn when Oblomov finally opens up to his best friend Stolz. Suddenly, Goncharov's novel is no longer about idleness, it becomes a novel about a man who suffers from severe depression.
"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 [...]" Goncharov, I. Oblomov, London, Penguin Classics, Part Two, p.183
Oblomov is overwhelmed by feelings of sadness and hopelessness. He does not see a future for himself and he does not care to have one though he is haunted by the idea of death whom he sees through his devoted servant Zakhar ("Oh, you'll be the death of me, Zakhar!" p.227). He feels worthless and blames himself for the things he does and for the ones he does not do. He feels guilty for not being as useful to society as anybody else and for lacking purpose in life. He sleeps too much and sometimes not enough when possessed by his anxieties. Not even his love for the spirited Olga and his friendship with Stolz can make him change and we can only only watch him as he sinks more and more into apathy to the point of no return.
"I am worthy of your friendship, God knows, but I'm not worth your trouble." Goncharov, I. Oblomov, London, Penguin Classics, Part Four, p.474
Goncharov may not be as famous as Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, or Chekhov but he certainly deserves to have a place amongst them. Oblomov is a beautiful heart-wrenching masterpiece that can be a difficult read especially if you have experienced mental illness or are experiencing mental illness.
reflective
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes