Ken’s
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(group member since Jan 21, 2020)
Ken’s
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from the The Obscure Reading Group group.
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Darrin, are you back home from Korea?

But if you're ready and the moment is calling, jump in! We'll cheer you on (and I'll get to see your reaction).

"Liza did not utter a word during the controversy between Lavretsky and Panshin, but she followed it closely and was entirely on Lavretsky's side. Politics interested her very little ; but the high-handed tone of the worldly government official (he had never let himself go like that before) repelled her; his contempt for Russia deeply offended her. It had never occurred to Liza that she was a patriot; but she was spiritually at home with Russian people; the Russian cast of mind delighted her; she would spend hours unselfconsciously talking to the village elder from her mother's estate whenever he came into town, and she talked to him as an equal, without any lordly condescension. Lavretsky felt all of this: he would not have spoken simply to counter Panshin's argument; he spoke only for Liza. They said nothing to each other, even their eyes met only occasionally; but they both understood that they had come closely together that evening, understood that they liked and disliked the same things. They differed only on one matter; but Liza secretly hoped to bring him to God."
1. Liza'sa apolitical patriotism reminds me of present-day generalizations about Russians. I prefer to separate the majority of peace-loving Russians from their jingoistic leader and his oligarchical sycophants. When I see organizations like the Wimbledon officials banning Russians and Belarusians from playing in that upcoming tournament, it bothers me because it misses the point and punishes people who may be as anti-Putin (but unable to say so) as most Westerners are. It's one thing if a tennis player shoots his or her mouth off in pro-war, anti-Ukrainian ways, otherwise, what point is there in the broad-brushing of Russians (like Liza) in general?
2. We see here, in Liza's ability to speak to the working class, that she is not just any member of the gentry, but one who sees people as people. To me it signals she ACTS like a Christian (if a Christian is defined as one who tries to act like Jesus did in depictions from the New Testament), vs. just talks the talk. Contrast this to America today where so many right-wing "Christians" have become more politically preoccupied than they are religiously preoccupied. Many support Donald Trump, a "man," if you put his words and actions besides Jesus Christ's, who would be the polar opposite of JS's example. In short, they are worshiping the golden calf of political power despite consequences for the poor, the neglected, the unrepresented. Cheers for Liza.
3. That said, we get a drawback. Why does Liza insist on bringing Lavretsky to God? Wouldn't Lavretsky's actions/words, if they were close to the Gospel's examples, be good enough for her? Why does he have to commit to the religion to satisfy her? To me, this is part of the reason she chooses to "marry God" via the convent instead of marrying a man. She succumbs to the human need to pledge allegiance, confusing faith with the true importance of good works. She ascribes to God the human weakness of insisting on subservience and verbal commitments vs. seeing God as above that sort of thing, as one who looks at a man's body of work as an imperfect human (the way He -- or She -- would judge a human who lived in parts of the world where ideas of Christianity had never reached).
This is why I have ambivalent feelings about Liza the character and think she doesn't fully know herself, either. Why? Because, based on Lavretsky's final visit at the convent, I'm not convinced she's fully happy.

Would it matter if the chapter went missing, really?


Then there's the simplicity thing. Ask Thoreau. Or shave with Occam's razor if you want. Simplicity is an appealing and affordable balm and if men can reach for it first and foremost, they will.
Finally there is the restorative aspect of nature. We don't need psychologists to tell us that we feel better is we take a long walk in the woods or along the shore, or that we renew our spirits when we unplug, stop following world news, and spend a few weeks in parts more remote.
If there is a heaven, it's here, right under our noses, ours to enjoy -- believer or atheist -- in this short microsecond of time we have between the two eternities that engulf our lifespan.
Which is why the character of Liza doesn't much speak to me. She seems invested in the long shot bet of an afterlife. I could say she gave up happiness here, but who am I to say? As was pointed out in this discussion, Liza's decision is a willful ACT and Turgenev leaves evidence that she may (or may not) be happy with her decision. Based on the reunion with Lavretsky at the convent, my impression was... mutual unhappiness.
There's that theme again, right, Nick?


This is a distinct possibility. Can we assume the censors would prevent Turgenev from even making such a suggestion at the time of this novel's publication?
Also, wasn't there a reference to the child looking like Lavretsky in some respect? Maybe I'm imagining. It would have been made by another character, but if the character is Varvara herself, you've got the most unreliable of unreliable narrators (or speakers, in this case).

Sorry about that. The above reference to divorce was what I wanted to address. That was your note.

Ken, I think the French influence on Turgenev's story is very..."
Cherisa -- Yes, the French influence is BIG with Turgenev, but Tolstoy as well. Think of all that French in War & Peace. The noble class in Russia was a Francophile one, and knowing the French language was de rigueur (see?).
A couple times in HOTG, I saw the noun form of a Voltaire follower. Voltairean, was it? Don't see that one very often, at least not anymore. Voltaire and Rousseau were oil and water.
And speaking of arguments, we have to get to the big argument Lavretsky has with his old friend Mikhalevich in Chapter XXV. It's too late (for me, anyway) to jump in that pool today, though.

Thanks for that research, Cindy. I think it's interesting that Turgenev doesn't even address divorce (unless I missed it), perhaps assuming that his readers, both in Russia (Russian Orthodox Church) and Europe (Roman Catholic Church) would understand it as a non-option.
But hey, was not Henry VIII a superfluous man, too? He got it done.
Speaking of The Diary of a Superfluous Man and Other Stories, I'm not sure Lavretsky is a neat fit, at least compared to, say, Pechorin, in Lermontov's wonderful book A Hero of Our Time.
Devil may care, reckless, drinking, gambling, lazing about, getting into duels when NOT lazing about, Levretsky doesn't exactly check all those boxes.
But he is very much, to address Sara's question about Turgenev and his views on the gentry, a lost soul with lots of time and money on his hands. In that sense, there's a bit of Oblomov's wu wei in play (that being the ancient Chinese concept of "inaction" or "inexertion" -- the gentle art of working hard at getting nothing done -- perfect fodder for monkey minds and romance).

Note how Panshin enjoys ridiculing or ignoring or doing the old passive-aggressive on the old guy, a teacher who genuinely cares about music and who literally blossoms when Lavretsky pays attention to and shows interest in his artistic efforts.
Panshin could never love Liza because, quite frankly, he was too much in love with himself. I thought it was brilliant that Turgenev ended Panshin as a bachelor -- a young man who could marry most anyone due to his position in society, looks, money, etc., but who let it all go because he was busy cavorting with another man's wife (albeit estranged wife). Thus, he ages, apparently satisfied with his permanent mistress (and really, can anyone imagine Varvara being satisfied with one lover -- one can cheat on a lover as well as a husband, after all).
Was there no divorce in 19th-century Russia?
Finally, a negative about Liza. It annoyed me when she used the high footing of religion to tell Lavretsky what he MUST do vis-a-vis his returned wife and daughter. She made him promise. In essence, she boxed him in to permanent unhappiness because, apparently, that's what Jesus would do (forgetting that none of us is Jesus, try as we might...).

I think I liked that the protagonist was middle-aged and overweight. Hollywood casting (and modern sensibilities) would not be pleased, but for me, it's a dose of reality.
What killed me about Panshin was, after Liza finally said "no" to his proposal, he went back inside and played cards with Marya. You'd think that was a trial he went through to get the girl, but no. Unless you're of the mind that he's so egotistical he thinks he can eventually change her mind because what eligible young lady, after all, could resist him? (In my school days, I knew a lot of "Panshins.")

I haven't seen it, but isn't there an old Mel Gibson movie with Scottish he-man warriors in kilts? I think it's based on an actual Scottish hero (whose name has left my mind Scot-free).

Ditto on Sara's insight re: entering a monastery. Doing something that will affect the REST OF YOUR LIFE and doing it AGAINST THE WILL OF EVERYONE (and I do mean everyone in the family) certainly qualifies as a type of bravery.
What I liked best about Liza is how often Turgenev showed the wheels turning without always coming right out and saying what they were turning about.

But wait! In 19th century Russia, no less, Levretsky's dad, Ivan Petrovich, was up to the same shenanigans:
"'Above all I want to make a man of him, un homme,' he told Glafira Petrovna, 'and not only a man, but a Spartan.' Ivan Petrovich began putting his intention into effect by dressing his son in a Scottish outfit:the twelve-year-old lad began to go about with bare legs and a cock's feather in his bonnet; the Swedish lady was replaced by a young Swiss who had studied gymnastics to perfection; music, as an occupation unworthy of a man, was banished altogether; the natural sciences, international law, mathematics, carpentry, as Jean-Jacques Rousseau had advised, and heraldry for the cultivation of chivalrous feelings -- these were what the man-to-be had to concern himself with; he was woken at four o'clock in the morning, at once doused with cold water and made to run round a high pole on a string; he ate one meal a day consisting of one dish, rode on horseback, and shot from a cross-bow; at every suitable opportunity he would give himself lessons in strength of will, on the example of his parent, and each evening he would enter in a special book an account of the past day and his impressions; while Ivan Petrovich, for his part, would write him edifying dithyrambs in French in which he called him mon fils and addressed him as vous...
"When Fedya was sixteen, Ivan Petrovich considered it his duty, in good time, to instill in him a contempt for the female sex -- and the young Spartan, timid at heart, with the first down on his cheeks, full of sap, strength and new blood, made an attempt to appear indifferent, cold, and rude."
The more things change, the more they stay the same. (Right now, in fact, I'm off to lift two dumbbells. I've named them "Ivan" and "Petrovich.")
On a more serious note, I think mention of Rousseau speaks to the European influence Turgenev felt upon leaving Russia, a country that experienced waves of would-be "revolutions" trying to be ignited by intellectuals under the influence of the Enlightenment.