Russian Literature Journal: Turgenev to Tolstoy Analyzed

Bezhin Meadow — Ivan Turgenev

"I finally reached the corner of the woods… but there was no road there at all… an empty field was visible."

What an absolutely perfect representation of the Russian soul — empty fields, no roads, unmet expectations, broad and unkempt forests, night closing in, overgrown paths. It seems as if the narrator is not merely describing a Russian meadow, but the particularly gloomy way Russians tend to look at life.

"Bezhin Meadow" is, like most of Turgenev's works, simple and straightforward, without any frills — yet full of symbolism and rather complex meaning. It is a chronicle of a journey, though not necessarily a planned one; it is contemplated with the wisdom of children, of everyday life, and of the things we tend to take for granted. The story reads as a litany of landscape descriptions. Those landscapes seem to represent the various aspects of human psychology, all relating to the noble nature of the peasants: their honesty, hard work, and ability to arrive at meaning without any unneeded philosophizing.

Nature in this story is unspoiled — it is perfect even when the consequences of its actions are unpleasant (thunderstorm, strong wind, and the like). It is in the balance of these various landscapes that human psychology is mirrored: wants, needs, desires, contentment, mysteriousness, anger, shock, awe, and friendship. The individual is in conflict with nature in the sense of trying to reshape, redefine, and remaster what is already perfect. The process of trying to change nature is what causes human misery and scorn — the attempt to make nature fit society is one of the ways in which nature can never truly be harnessed. The reader is then left with a decision: once lost, and standing on the precipice of the abyss, plunge forward as in life, not knowing what will be around the next corner, feeling lost and usually alone — or find the safe and comfortable path that may, in fact, lead nowhere.

Crocodile — Fyodor Dostoevsky

"They are right…. The principles of economics before everything…. In our age of industrial crisis it is not easy to rip open the belly of a crocodile without economic compensation…"

Clearly at odds with "new socialism" and the concept of economic value promoted by the monarchical state (this story was written in 1865, prior to the revolution), Dostoevsky makes one feel that the entire nature of value and materialism is circumspect — part of nothing but slapstick humor.

The story is told by a narrator recounting an ostensibly true account of his friend Ivan, who is swallowed alive by a crocodile. Ivan finds the inside of the beast rather pleasant, and despite his wife's pleas, not enough money can be raised to persuade the owner of the crocodile — a German — to part with the animal. Ivan's wife eventually divorces him, but Ivan carries on his work as a civil servant from inside the creature.

It seems no accident that the owner of the crocodile is German, and so capitalistically greedy that a human life is not worth the value of an exotic beast. It is also ironic that Ivan's wife grows so impatient that she divorces him rather than seeking another solution to his dilemma. The crocodile itself likely represents society — dangerous, brooding, and yet somewhat pliable from the inside. Once captured, the individual is subsumed and must carry on as best they can, regardless of circumstance.

The story is a great example of the way in which wry irony can use humor to mirror social commentary. None of the characters are particularly noble or exemplary. It is society as a monolith — the individual as a cog — that Dostoevsky seems to say has an economic value, though no one quite knows what that value might be.

The Nose and The Overcoat — Nikolai Gogol

"Naturally, these events greatly pleased also gentlemen… even their own daily quarrels…."

"The Nose" is a satirical story about a St. Petersburg official whose nose disappears one day, takes on a life of its own, and goes on adventures. Notably, the Russian word for nose is нос (nos), and reversed it becomes сон (son), meaning "dream" — perhaps a way of comparing and contrasting the ridiculous nature of the story, even as every character believes it and searches for a rational explanation. Gogol may have been playing off the old maxim, "It's as plain as the nose on your face," suggesting that something is perfectly obvious yet no one sees it. The story reads somewhat like a retelling of "The Emperor's New Clothes."

The story really reads as though it should be a dream — and indeed, another version apparently ended with the protagonist Kovalyov waking up. Instead, we are presented with magical realism in which we cannot trust our own senses. The very idea of a person losing their nose implies that they will find it difficult to rise in society. Perhaps Gogol also wants us to feel, again, that man versus society means we as individuals are helpless unless we are fully intact — one minor flaw and we are finished. It is also possible that Gogol was having fun with his reader and with the seriousness with which people take "literary" things. It is likely that some of the words carry dual meanings in Russian, or at least suggestive meanings, that make the irony of the story more coherent.

"To tell the truth, he found it at first rather hard to get used to these privations…. His whole existence had in a sense become fuller…. As though someone else was with him…. And it was the man in his new overcoat."

Dostoevsky is said to have remarked of Gogol's "The Overcoat": "We all come from Gogol's Overcoat." The story concerns a poor civil servant named Akaky Bashmachkin who lives a dour life in St. Petersburg. Dedicated to his job, he considers it vitally important that he personally hand-copy every document. In reality, the younger clerks tease him mercilessly, and his old and tattered overcoat becomes the butt of their jokes about his inflated sense of self-importance. Finally, Akaky takes the coat to be repaired — but the tailor, Petrovich, declares it must be burned; it has no value whatsoever. Saving every penny and redirecting his zeal for handwork toward a zeal for thrift, Akaky gradually saves enough to purchase new materials. Finally the coat is made, and when he arrives at the office in it, a small celebration takes place. On his way home that evening, however, he is assaulted and robbed. The coat goes missing.

Akaky is beside himself, inquiring at every apartment and office about his possession. Eventually he seems to give up all hope, and dies in a feverish state, cursing the bureaucracy that caused him to lose something so precious. Akaky's ghost is thereafter reported haunting the periphery of the city, while another ghost — taller and bearing a resemblance to the man who robbed him — also appears.

Akaky is certainly distant from society and from his fellow man. He is an individual living entirely within his own world: individualistic thoughts, an air of self-importance, yet no real power beyond influence. He is confused whenever the routine changes even slightly — he cannot fathom a life that is less than completely regimented and organized. That he invests so much emotional power in something as lifeless as a coat is telling. Once the symbol of his connection to the world is gone — in reality little more than a piece of cloth sewn together — so too, it seems, is life itself.