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A review by millennial_dandy
Village of Stepanchikovo and Its Inhabitants: From the Notes of an Unknown by Fyodor Dostoevsky
4.0
Imagine the most craven and insignificant of social outcasts, utterly useless to man or beast, utterly vile, but inordinately vain, and without a single personal virtue to justify his cankered vanity." (p.33)
Dostoevsky's second attempt at novelized social satire and comedy, 'The Village of Stepanchikovo' could easily be described as Dickensian in its wit and the characterization of its principle villain, Foma Fomich Opiskin. Indeed, in the introduction, translator Ignat Avsey notes that Opiskin could be considered the 'spiritual progeny' of Uriah Heap and Mr. Pecksniff (p.14).
In other words, if you like Dickens, you'll enjoy this novel. If you do not like Dickens, this may not by the Dostoevsky for you. I'd also throw Shakespeare into the mix as being someone similar in terms of the type of comedy this is and the characters that play it out.
Also in the introduction, Avsey also quotes Dostoevsky as claiming to have had the characters of Opiskin and the story's protagonist, Colonel Rostanev, in mind for five years before actually completing the project. This is quite believable to anyone who has read 'Uncle's Dream,' which, though in a lot of ways completely different from 'Stepanchikovo' could be considered the first attempt at this genre (and, I'd argue, much less successful).
As seems to have been simply de rigueur in the 19th century novel, the story is loaded with at least three too many characters who exist only to populate the world and serve no narrative purpose whatsoever. Alas.
The characters that actually matter fall neatly into two categories: straight man or funny man. All of the straight men, including the narrator, are honestly pretty interchangeable, and with the exception of our virtuous love interest, Nastenka, they each take their turn as the butt of the joke, or watching on in horror as someone else is. Though that being said, in a moment of self-awareness, the narrator, Sergey, comments: "It's as if all the freaks of the neighborhood have conspired to meet here,' I thought to myself, not suspecting that by coming among them myself, I only added to their number." (p.85)
And make no mistake: he's right: every funny man in Stepanchikovo is a freak, and the king of them all is the man of the hour: Foma Fomich Opiskin.
My god, what a great villain.
We're a good third of the way into the novel before we actually meet him, but his presence looms over everything. He's despised and feared by everyone, and is built up to be at once menacing and pathetic to such a degree that by the time we do meet him you're at the edge of your seat like 'I've got to meet this guy; I've got to see if this is for real or if everyone's just exaggerating.' But no, no, he's exactly what you want: he's this hilarious, deeply campy, 90s Disney-villain-esque little man who by sheer force of malevolent will has this entire estate in a stranglehold.
After being ground under the boot of the estate's previous master, Foma Fomich realized that the first one to cry wins and just...ran with it, completely bulldozing over the new head of household, who is the most mild-mannered, easily manipulated person ever, and gaslighting him into believing that he, Foma, is the biggest victim and martyr there ever has been. Mad 'woe is me' energy.
But then on the flip side, now that everyone is scared to death of accidentally insulting him, Foma gives himself license to mercilessly insult and humiliate not only Rostanev, but also anyone else he pleases under the guise of trying to help them recognize their own overinflated egos (though his is by far the biggest) and help them achieve spiritual purity. Or, to put a finer point on it: "A base nature subjected to tyranny will always tyrannize others as soon as it has secured its own release." (p.35)
And it's just...it really works; every scene with him in it is incredibly funny. No matter what outrageous thing he says or does, he always manages to get away with it, and all this with increasing absurdity that leaves the narrator increasingly incredulous.
Clearly, part of the satire is the trap of social propriety that leaves everyone at Foma's mercy: it would be simply boorish to kick Foma out or condemn him publicly, and so he trundles along, allowed to get away with fashioning himself at once as a tragic hero, ground under the wheels of fate and doomed to serving under his spiritual and intellectual inferiors, and as this king of the castle who is owed the finest of everything (all on the grounds of contrition from his wrongdoers, of course).
Like, seriously, he'll just say the most out of pocket things constantly. For instance, at one point (one of many points really) there's a gathering of some local so-and-sos, and when Rostanev, the actual head of household and owner of the estate, tries to participate in the conversation being ruled over by Foma, Foma says this:
"Colonel," [Foma] said, "may I ask you -- with all due respect, of course -- to let us finish our discussion in peace and not interrupt. You have nothing to contribute to our discussion, nothing! So please do not disturb our agreeable literary discussion. Go about your own business, drink tea, but... leave literature alone. It'll be to it's advantage entirely, I can assure you." (p.112)
In developing both Foma and Rostanev, Dostoevsky says he wanted to present two "wholly Russian" characters, characters, he claimed, had until then been "poorly represented" in Russian literature. (p.18) For the uninitiated, it's probable that he's referring here to the concept of 'загадочная русская душа' (mysterious Russian soul) coined by another author, Gogol, in conjunction with Gogol's famous novel 'Dead Souls.' What does that mean, you might ask. Well, as per Dostoevsky: "the most basic, most rudimentary spiritual need of the Russian people is the need for suffering, ever-present and unquenchable, everywhere and in everything." (Russian Talk: Culture and Conversation during Perestroika)
If you subscribe to the philosophy that says comedy and tragedy are intertwined (laughter through tears, if you will) then things begin to make sense.
Foma presents himself as the picture of eternal suffering, but he ostensibly isn't; he is the spreader of misery and suffering, particularly to Rostanev, who, only in defending the honor of someone else, is able to attempt standing up to him, though he is ultimately outfoxed. In the end, the idea is that Rostanev, who, though meek and a bit stupid, is a good person needs Foma around -- he can't actually get rid of the thorn in his side; it's a part of himself somehow. And Dostoevsky doesn't pretend there isn't absurdity to that: Sergey (the narrator) tries many times to get his uncle to kick Foma out, or at the very least rebuke him. But Rostanev cannot, and there is where the comedy and tragedy intersect.
It's not all doom and gloom, though. For once, Dostoevsky did something interesting with his quintessential saintly, beautiful-but-she-doesn't-know-it girlie. She doesn't get paired up with the person you'd expect, much less in the fashion you'd expect, and he lets her get in a few zingers, principally against Sergey, who thinks he's coming to Stepanchikovo to marry her.
There's a bit more small-town intrigue involving marriage plots and other behind the scenes shenanigans, but the thing you’re really going to remember about this novel is Foma.
I had a great time in Stepanchikovo, and though there was nothing especially groundbreaking about the satirical elements, and yeah, ok, some of the scenes of everyone sitting around talking in the salon were a bit repetitive, it was a fun romp with a criminally underrated mad-lad, drama queen villain at the center of it.
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It doesn't really fit anywhere else, but I felt like adding in just one more instance of the brand of theatricality Foma brings to the table:
"Oh where is my innocence?" Foma rejoined, as though in feverish delirium. [...] And, spreading out his arms, Foma turned to each person in turn as though his innocence were hidden in somebody's pocket." (p.215)
Dostoevsky's second attempt at novelized social satire and comedy, 'The Village of Stepanchikovo' could easily be described as Dickensian in its wit and the characterization of its principle villain, Foma Fomich Opiskin. Indeed, in the introduction, translator Ignat Avsey notes that Opiskin could be considered the 'spiritual progeny' of Uriah Heap and Mr. Pecksniff (p.14).
In other words, if you like Dickens, you'll enjoy this novel. If you do not like Dickens, this may not by the Dostoevsky for you. I'd also throw Shakespeare into the mix as being someone similar in terms of the type of comedy this is and the characters that play it out.
Also in the introduction, Avsey also quotes Dostoevsky as claiming to have had the characters of Opiskin and the story's protagonist, Colonel Rostanev, in mind for five years before actually completing the project. This is quite believable to anyone who has read 'Uncle's Dream,' which, though in a lot of ways completely different from 'Stepanchikovo' could be considered the first attempt at this genre (and, I'd argue, much less successful).
As seems to have been simply de rigueur in the 19th century novel, the story is loaded with at least three too many characters who exist only to populate the world and serve no narrative purpose whatsoever. Alas.
The characters that actually matter fall neatly into two categories: straight man or funny man. All of the straight men, including the narrator, are honestly pretty interchangeable, and with the exception of our virtuous love interest, Nastenka, they each take their turn as the butt of the joke, or watching on in horror as someone else is. Though that being said, in a moment of self-awareness, the narrator, Sergey, comments: "It's as if all the freaks of the neighborhood have conspired to meet here,' I thought to myself, not suspecting that by coming among them myself, I only added to their number." (p.85)
And make no mistake: he's right: every funny man in Stepanchikovo is a freak, and the king of them all is the man of the hour: Foma Fomich Opiskin.
My god, what a great villain.
We're a good third of the way into the novel before we actually meet him, but his presence looms over everything. He's despised and feared by everyone, and is built up to be at once menacing and pathetic to such a degree that by the time we do meet him you're at the edge of your seat like 'I've got to meet this guy; I've got to see if this is for real or if everyone's just exaggerating.' But no, no, he's exactly what you want: he's this hilarious, deeply campy, 90s Disney-villain-esque little man who by sheer force of malevolent will has this entire estate in a stranglehold.
After being ground under the boot of the estate's previous master, Foma Fomich realized that the first one to cry wins and just...ran with it, completely bulldozing over the new head of household, who is the most mild-mannered, easily manipulated person ever, and gaslighting him into believing that he, Foma, is the biggest victim and martyr there ever has been. Mad 'woe is me' energy.
But then on the flip side, now that everyone is scared to death of accidentally insulting him, Foma gives himself license to mercilessly insult and humiliate not only Rostanev, but also anyone else he pleases under the guise of trying to help them recognize their own overinflated egos (though his is by far the biggest) and help them achieve spiritual purity. Or, to put a finer point on it: "A base nature subjected to tyranny will always tyrannize others as soon as it has secured its own release." (p.35)
And it's just...it really works; every scene with him in it is incredibly funny. No matter what outrageous thing he says or does, he always manages to get away with it, and all this with increasing absurdity that leaves the narrator increasingly incredulous.
Clearly, part of the satire is the trap of social propriety that leaves everyone at Foma's mercy: it would be simply boorish to kick Foma out or condemn him publicly, and so he trundles along, allowed to get away with fashioning himself at once as a tragic hero, ground under the wheels of fate and doomed to serving under his spiritual and intellectual inferiors, and as this king of the castle who is owed the finest of everything (all on the grounds of contrition from his wrongdoers, of course).
Like, seriously, he'll just say the most out of pocket things constantly. For instance, at one point (one of many points really) there's a gathering of some local so-and-sos, and when Rostanev, the actual head of household and owner of the estate, tries to participate in the conversation being ruled over by Foma, Foma says this:
"Colonel," [Foma] said, "may I ask you -- with all due respect, of course -- to let us finish our discussion in peace and not interrupt. You have nothing to contribute to our discussion, nothing! So please do not disturb our agreeable literary discussion. Go about your own business, drink tea, but... leave literature alone. It'll be to it's advantage entirely, I can assure you." (p.112)
In developing both Foma and Rostanev, Dostoevsky says he wanted to present two "wholly Russian" characters, characters, he claimed, had until then been "poorly represented" in Russian literature. (p.18) For the uninitiated, it's probable that he's referring here to the concept of 'загадочная русская душа' (mysterious Russian soul) coined by another author, Gogol, in conjunction with Gogol's famous novel 'Dead Souls.' What does that mean, you might ask. Well, as per Dostoevsky: "the most basic, most rudimentary spiritual need of the Russian people is the need for suffering, ever-present and unquenchable, everywhere and in everything." (Russian Talk: Culture and Conversation during Perestroika)
If you subscribe to the philosophy that says comedy and tragedy are intertwined (laughter through tears, if you will) then things begin to make sense.
Foma presents himself as the picture of eternal suffering, but he ostensibly isn't; he is the spreader of misery and suffering, particularly to Rostanev, who, only in defending the honor of someone else, is able to attempt standing up to him, though he is ultimately outfoxed. In the end, the idea is that Rostanev, who, though meek and a bit stupid, is a good person needs Foma around -- he can't actually get rid of the thorn in his side; it's a part of himself somehow. And Dostoevsky doesn't pretend there isn't absurdity to that: Sergey (the narrator) tries many times to get his uncle to kick Foma out, or at the very least rebuke him. But Rostanev cannot, and there is where the comedy and tragedy intersect.
It's not all doom and gloom, though. For once, Dostoevsky did something interesting with his quintessential saintly, beautiful-but-she-doesn't-know-it girlie. She doesn't get paired up with the person you'd expect, much less in the fashion you'd expect, and he lets her get in a few zingers, principally against Sergey, who thinks he's coming to Stepanchikovo to marry her.
There's a bit more small-town intrigue involving marriage plots and other behind the scenes shenanigans, but the thing you’re really going to remember about this novel is Foma.
I had a great time in Stepanchikovo, and though there was nothing especially groundbreaking about the satirical elements, and yeah, ok, some of the scenes of everyone sitting around talking in the salon were a bit repetitive, it was a fun romp with a criminally underrated mad-lad, drama queen villain at the center of it.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It doesn't really fit anywhere else, but I felt like adding in just one more instance of the brand of theatricality Foma brings to the table:
"Oh where is my innocence?" Foma rejoined, as though in feverish delirium. [...] And, spreading out his arms, Foma turned to each person in turn as though his innocence were hidden in somebody's pocket." (p.215)