A Russian Schoolboy

A Family Trilogy #3

by Sergei Aksakov, Сергей Аксаков

Eight-year-old Sergei lived an idyllic family life in the country, but in the winter of 1799, a terrible calamity occurred: he was sent to boarding school. This memoir beautifully recounts his life as he grows to early manhood.

Though describing a childhood far away and long ago, Sergei Aksakov-an intimate of Nikolai Gogol's-makes us see and feel the young boy's life. The English writer John Bayley describes Aksakov's writing this way: "One of [his] secrets is that he seems to co-exist equally with himself when young and when old, and never to call attention . . . to the difference between them."

Thanks to Aksakov's twofold vision, A Russian Schoolboy pleases both young and old readers, making it a perfect cross-over title.

In his realistic prose, Sergei Aksakov (17911859) captured the idyllic outdoor pursuits of his youth. He wrote two other books based on his life, A Russian Gentleman and Years of Childhood. Nikolai Gogol, a friend and correspondent of Aksakov and regarded by many as the father of modern Russian realism, once wrote to Aksakov, "Your birds and fishes are more real than my men and women."

Genres: Russia, Russian Literature, Literature

300 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1852

About the author

Acclaimed for his realistic prose, Sergei Timofeyevich Aksakov (Russian: Сергей Аксаков) captured the essence of Russian life in his trilogy of reminiscences—A Russian Gentleman, Years of Childhood, and A Russian Schoolboy. He also wrote literary sketches, and appreciations of hunting and fishing. Nikolai Gogol, a friend and correspondent, once wrote to Aksakov: "Your birds and fishes are more real than my men and women."

Reviews

[Vit Babenco · Rating 5 out of 5]

A Russian Schoolboy is a story of learning and growing up. 
One winter Seryozha and his family visit their friends in the big city…

In the middle of winter in the year 1799, when I was eight years old, we travelled to Kazan, the chief town of the Government. The frost was intense; and it was a long time before we could find out the lodgings we had taken beforehand.

The father’s friend wholeheartedly advises to send the boy to the grammar-school in the city… The next winter Seryozha becomes a pupil… A new place – a new way of life… The boy, badly missing his mother, literally falls ill… But at last the mother manages to have a last rendezvous…

When I ran into the room, I saw her, looking pale and thin, wrapped up in a warm cloak, and sitting beside a newly lighted stove, as the room was very cold. The first moment of our meeting it is impossible for me to describe; but never in after life did I experience a thrill of happiness to compare with that. For some minutes we were silent and only wept for joy.

His attachment to home and family turned him into an outsider… The boy is lonely… He has no friends…

As a matter of course, I at once became an object of ridicule to my companions: I was a nincompoop, a cry-baby, and a milksop who was always “blubbing for his mammy.”

In the early spring, lack of freedom, loneliness and melancholy ends up in a severe nervous breakdown so the boy is taken to the hospital… His mother despite the weather and all the obstacles hurries to her son… To recover his health he is allowed to return home for a year… In the country he revives…

The first days were days of unthinking and unresting activity. My earliest visit was paid to my pigeons and the two hawks which had lived through the winter. Then I ran round to every dear and familiar spot, and there were plenty of them.

After the rest, on returning to the school he leaves his morbid infantility behind and has now  fewer fears so his studying becomes less onerous…

The course of a few months dispersed the last traces of home-sickness and longing for the freedom of the country: by degrees I became accustomed to school-life, made some real friends among the boys, and became fond of the school. This change of feeling was largely due to the fact that I did not live in the school and only went there for lessons.

Even if we have no wish to grow up and get older, we must.

[Nick · Rating 4 out of 5]

A very well written story describing the authors early life from around the age of eight to his university days. He describes the devastating effect of leaving his mother for boarding school, where he appeared to suffer an extreme form of separation anxiety, his emerging intellectual talents, and his growing maturity. This was 4.5 stars for me, I thought it was very good and cannot understand why there are currently only two reviews!

[Illiterate · Rating 3 out of 5]

In which our hero finally grows away from his mother with her suffocating, and fundamentally selfish, love.

[Trounin · Rating 3 out of 5]

Писать мемуары трудно. Нужно показать истинного или подложного себя, в том числе представить настоящими или выдуманными знакомых тебе людей. Много хуже, если являешься в меру известной широким кругам личностью. Прежде Аксаков будто бы писал выдуманную историю. Теперь же решил выйти из тени. Хотя все прекрасно понимали, что изменились только имена, тогда как Багров-внук просто поменял фамилию. То объясняется ещё и тем, как Аксаков подходил к изложению событий. Снова ключевым моментом становится страсть Сергея к ужению рыбы. Приходится мириться с данной особенностью сего автора. Не мог он обойти столь сильно интересующее его увлечение.

(c) Trounin

[Vincent Hernot · Rating 3 out of 5]

One of those nostalgic, rose-tinted?, warm and glowing memoir, focused on early childhood and suffused with smells, sights, fragments of memory, noises, faces...
It's unashamedly nostalgic, evocative and well, peaceful?
Nice snippets of the past, or of a past.
But if you want that, honestly, just go read 'Speak, memory', although of course, it would be madness to compare the two.