MihaElla 's Reviews > Oblomov

Life, and life only, and of course life does not follow logic, it has its own strange ways, keeps telling us in all the possible ways that there is a (big) difference between the male mind and the female mind, and their functioning is different, same as true polars. Although spiritually they are exactly the same, physiologically they are poles apart, and function in different ways. [for example, man is more physical and more extrovert than woman; the woman is more psychological and more introvert. Or, when a man and a woman are in deep, loving embrace, the woman immediately closes her eyes. He remains more or less an outsider, a spectator. He is more interested in watching than in being in it. The woman is more concerned with her inner being, what is happening there. Hence, for women their real interest is in their inner processes. These differences are so great that they make for different life-styles]

One thing that struck me greatly was to find out that men are happier being married than not because when they are not married they simply feel lonely. So, even if the marriage is miserable, it is better than to be lonely; at least there is something to keep you occupied. Misery also keeps you occupied and man always wants to remain occupied — something on the outside so that he need not go in, so he can keep his eyes open. On the other side, the woman is not so interested in the outside, so when a woman is unmarried she feels more alone than lonely. And she can enjoy her aloneness better than a man because she is more inner-directed — she is more selfish, but in a very positive meaning, she is self-centered. The man is other-centered; he is constantly thinking of others. The woman is thinking more about herself. At the most, she remains interested in the neighborhood — who is fooling around with whom. Hence, she can remain alone in a more healthy way than man; he feels very lonely. He has to know what is happening in the whole world. Even in his aloneness he will create some imaginary beings — God, angels — and imaginary problems: How many angels can stand on the point of a needle? And he will be really into the problem; he will waste his whole life counting the angels, and he will argue to no end! The woman simply laughs (well, I do laugh too 😉). The woman deep down knows boys are just boys — let them talk! They call it philosophy, theology — they are very skillful in giving great names to things. So, paradoxically the woman can be more happy alone than married, because she can make herself rooted without the man; the man is not such a great need. [and yes, there is a great need to be a mother in a woman, but there is no great need to be a wife.] She can be more independent than the man — she IS more independent. And, just because the woman is more independent, down the ages man has tried to make her dependent in other ways — economically, socially. Naturally, she is more independent and that hurts the man (his ego), so he has tried to make her dependent in some way (artificial dependence). Economically she has been paralyzed, she has to depend on man. This is a consolation for man: if he depends on her, she also depends on him. It is a compensation and a consolation. Politically, socially, she has been thrown out of the society (btw, nowadays even the company I am working for realized that it’s high time they should allow more women to take places in the middle and higher management…well, at least some change of perspective in the communication style…). Well, something that made me ponder over is that, perhaps, that’s why she looks more beautiful — her beauty has roots in her physiological balance.
Eventually, each man and each woman needs a great education about it — that they are different; their physiologies are different, their psychologies are different, and they have to understand each other’s psychology, each other’s physiology. They have to be taught. And, as the author clearly emphasized, ”Love is a most difficult school of life!”

Once upon a time I was a Stolz, but days and years passed by, many of them it seems so far, and I have realized that I am inclining towards growing into an Oblomov sort of type (I even bought myself a dressing-gown, of course not of Persian cloth, but Romanian made, still pretty comfortable, cosy and with a home-feel). My ‘Oblomov’ attitude is there for sure 2 days out of 7 - I feel, think and act as an original Oblomov. The other 5 days I am still perfectly adapted to Stolz model. I guess it’s in my nature too, I might be more masculine or male-oriented, although apparently and technically I am built to represent a feminine form and shape. Well, that can be misleading too, cannot it? 😉

I felt so much for Oblomov, he made me cry. Goodness! I didn’t know I could cry for such a male type. But I did. He truly didn’t deserve to waste his life like he did. What a pity!! I appreciated his inner struggle and intention to clear out the mental confusion. Despite his failure. Still that was so much worth it. ”Why am I like this? Oblomov asked himself almost with tears, hiding his head under the blanket again. Why?… But what am I? Oblomov- and nothing more!”

I do ask myself, too: Why am I like this? What am I? And, I do keep asking myself (well not so often, because my free time is less and less nowadays), but still I am not fully satisfied with the current answers. But again, I am so much “fragmented” – same like our darling hero, with dove-like tenderness, Oblomov. He is truly representing a fragmented man, like his name stands for.



Well, man – weak creature that he is, feels bewildered, and tries to find in his imagination, if mind cannot support or serve, the key to his own being and to the mysteries that encompass him. And, perhaps it was the everlasting quiet of a sleepy and stagnant life and the absence of movement and of any real terrors, adventures, and dangers that made man create amidst the real life another fantastic one where he might find amusement and true scope for his idle imagination or an explanation of ordinary events and the causes of the events outside the events themselves…

Oblomov is being justified. In his house/home, in the countryside, everything there was imbued with the same primitive laziness, simplicity of customs, peace, and inertia. The child’s heart and mind had been filled with the scenes, pictures, and habits of that life long before he set eyes on his first book. And who can tell when the development of a child’s intellect begins? How can one trace the birth of the first ideas and impressions in a child’s mind? Perhaps when a child begins to talk, or even before it can talk or walk, but only gazes at everything with that dumb, intent look that seems blank to grown-ups, it already catches and perceives the meaning and the connexions of the events of his life, but is not able to tell it to himself or to others.

Later on, in his mature years, he does have an explanation, too.
“…of course, I dreamed, whispered hopes of the future, made plans, developed ideas and-feelings, too. It all died, and was never repeated again! And where did it all disappear to? Why has it become extinguished? I can’t understand! There were no storms or shocks in my life; I never lost anything; there is no load on my conscience: it is clear as glass; no blow has killed ambition in me, and goodness only knows why everything has been utterly wasted!”

The only paragraph that puts a final conclusion is this one, which I keep returning once in a while, too:
“The trouble is that no devastating or redeeming fires have ever burnt in my life. It never was like a morning which gradually fills with light and colour and then turns, like other people’s, into a blazing, hot day, when everything seethes and shimmers in the bright noonday sun, and then gradually grows paler and more subdued, fading naturally into the evening twilight. NO! MY life began by Flickering out. It may sound strange but it is so. From the very first moment I became conscious of myself, I felt that I was already flickering out. I began to flicker out over the writing of official papers at the office; I went on flickering out when I read truths in books which I did not know how to apply in life, when I sat with friends listening to rumours, gossip, jeering, spiteful, cold, and empty chatter, and watching friendships kept up by meetings that were without aim or affection; I was flickering out and wasting my energies with Minna on whom I spent more than half of my income, imagining that I loved her; I was flickering out at parties- on reception days, where I was welcomed with open arms as a fairly eligible young man; I was flickering out and wasting my life and mind on trifles moving from town to some country house, and from the country house to Gorokhovaya, etc etc … and life in general by lazy and comfortable somnolence like the rest… Even ambition- what was it wasted on? To order clothes at a famous tailor’s? To get an invitation to a famous house? To shake hands with Prince P.? And ambition is the salt of life! Where has it gone to? Either I have not understood this sort of life or it is utterly worthless; but I did not know of a better one. No one showed it to me. You (his childhood and youth long life friend Stolz) appeared and disappeared like a bright and swiftly moving comet, and I forgot it all and went on flickering out…. “...

The End: A masterpiece of a book! A must read!