74th book of 2021. Artist for this review is Ukrainian-born Russian painter Ilya Repin (1844-1930). If you are interested, do explore his touchingly personal portraits of Tolstoy (I've included one in the review too).

When you look at the Google definition of a nihilist it gives this quote below the definition itself, "It is impossible to argue against a nihilist." Bazarov is the nihilist in the middle of this Russian tale from 1862. The opening premise of the novel is one that appeals to me: a student, Arkady, returning home from his education with his (bizarre?) intelligent friend, Bazarov, who believes in (nothing?) science but not, never, in the arts. At its core, Turgenev was pitting the younger generation against the older.


"Preparation for the Examination"—1864

'He is a nihilist,' repeated Arkady.
'A nihilist,' said Nikolai Petrovich. 'That comes from the Latin nihil—nothing, I imagine; the term must signify a man who... who recognises nothing?'
'Say—who respects nothing,' put in Pavel Petrovich, and set to work with the butter again.
'Who looks at everything critically,' observed Arkady.
'Isn't that exactly the same thing?' asked Pavel Petrovich.
'No, it's not the same thing. A nihilist is a person who does not take any principle for granted, however much that principle may be revered.'

Similarly, my brother is home from his own studies, having just finished his degree. The plan was not to come home but he is currently without anywhere to live up north in M., and whilst he looks for a place, he is back at home. I told him about nihilists and he declared, simply and proudly, "I'm a nihilist." Perhaps not true. But the most fascinating thing about the novel is not the fact that Bazarov is a nihilist, but the fact that it portrays the younger generation as they were then, and still as they are now: forever growing, changing. It reminds me of S. once telling me he listened to punk music as a teenager simply because his parents couldn't understand why he loved such dreadful music; the reason they didn't understand it drove him to adore it.


"Leo Tolstoy in his Study"—1891 (Tolstoy has nothing to do with the novel but I could not resist including one of the portraits, and it reminds me of Bazarov asking not to be disturbed as he works in his room.)

Bazarov's discussion with Arkady's "old-fashioned" uncle makes for the most compelling part of the novel. When Pavel Petrovich asks Bazarov what he does, what the nihilists do then, he says,

'This is what we do. Not so very long ago we were saying that our officials took bribes, that we had no roads, no trade, no impartial court of justice...'
'Oh, I see, you are accusers—that, I think, is the right name. Well, I too should agree with many of your criticisms, but...'
'Then we realised that just to keep on and on talking about our social diseases was a waste of time, and merely led to a trivial doctrinaire attitude. We saw that our clever men, our so-called progressives and reformers never accomplished anything, that we were concerning ourselves with a lot of nonsense, discussing art, unconscious creative work, parliamentarianism, the bar, and the devil knows what, while all the time the real question was getting daily bread to eat, when the most vulgar superstitions are stifling us, when our industrial enterprises come to grief solely for want of honest men at the top, when even the emancipations of the serfs—the emancipation the government is making such a fuss about—is not likely to be to our advantage, since those peasants of ours are only too glad to rob even themselves to drink themselves silly at the gin-shop.'
'So,' Pavel Petrovich interrupted him—'so you were convinced of all this and decided not to do anything serious yourselves.'
'And decided not to do anything serious,' Bazarov repeated grimly.

But even Bazarov succumbs to his feelings and is derailed slightly by the stirring of love. Arkady also falls in love. The novel moves away from their grande discussions and into a tale of love and friendship and at the end, of tragedy. Though it seems a rather cold novel with Bazarov's cold philosophies and temperaments, it has moments of profound beauty. That Russian feeling of great despair but also great hope. Turgenev is a wonderful writer and proves to me all the more that I must read more and more Russian fiction from the 19thC. Despite all the talk about nihilism, this quote was my favourite quote from the novel, which moved me quite a bit. I'll just end with it.

'Tell me, why is it that even when we are enjoying music, for instance, or a beautiful evening, or a conversation in agreeable company, it all seems no more than a hint of some infinite felicity existing apart somewhere, rather than actual happiness—such, I mean, as we ourselves can really possess? Why is it? Or perhaps you never felt like that?'