Home of the Gentry • Ivan Turgenev

Since reading War and Peace, I’ve indulged in one or two light romances. At the same time, Tolstoy’s hefty masterpiece rekindled my appetite for more novels from that era and from Russian pens, so I rather quickly found my way back to the Russians. This turned into a small Manesse–Russians marathon, and I read numerous novels by Russian authors published by Manesse Verlag. Some, unfortunately, are already out of print, but Home of the Gentry by Ivan Turgenev, which I’d like to introduce here, has only just been newly released.

In the fall preview, Home of the Gentry immediately caught my eye. Since Manesse gave its well-known Classics of World Literature series a new design last year (I blogged about it), this is the second book in the new look to make it onto my shelves. And the design is simply very successful, as you can see from the photos in this post. Together with my current affinity for the great Russian authors, it was clear I had to have this book.

I’ve already read a thing or two by Turgenev, and for me he falls into the Tolstoy category: with the typical Russian backdrop and flair, he writes pleasantly readable and profound novels. I love the way these authors (Gogol foremost among them) write about the beautiful Russian landscape—the steppe, the atmospheric little birch groves, and the solitary wooden homesteads that fit into the scenery in an archaic, picturesque way, as if they had always been there. The reader encounters just such an estate when accompanying Fyodor to sleepy, neglected Vasilievskoye.

Fyodor stands at the center of the novel, which appeared in 1858. In his early thirties, he returns to Russia after a longer stay abroad. His marriage has failed, so in his old homeland he seeks out the old traditions and a secluded life in nature. On the country estate of relatives he meets Lisa, and what must happen, happens.

As far as the plot goes, the novel is rather conventional—nothing novel or surprising. The magic truly lies in the overall composition: the characters, the landscape and nature, the way the figures encounter one another, all combined with straightforward, clear prose. It all reads very smoothly, and Turgenev’s sentences quickly carried me along and spirited me away.

Turgenev writes in a direct manner, depicting his figures unflinchingly and presenting them in true realist fashion with all their traits, hiding nothing from the reader. I found that very pleasant to read because—much as with later, more naturalistically tinged authors—it’s up to the reader to reflect and locate, within the characters, the reasons for their actions. He also keeps inserting asides, recounting the development and family backgrounds of individual figures. It’s a device I’ve often encountered and one that always skirts the limits. Balzac does this intensively and will often calmly state that a brief explanation of a person is necessary to understand the story—and then write a hundred pages of a completely new story within the novel. But Balzac always brings it back around; in A Start in Life he does this several times, and it works—culminating in a brilliant grand clash. In Home of the Gentry it works quite well, too, and remains moderate in scope; but you do have to pay attention, especially early on, since several Russian names appear (across multiple generations), which in a few places definitely requires some concentration. Overall, though, I found the reading quite relaxing and not at all comparable to, say, War and Peace, where far more characters make their entrance.

I found the protagonists consistently believable, and you can sense that Turgenev had real people—and probably himself—as models. As a reader you get an excellent impression of their personalities and a clear sense of how each character ticks. In this context I also found the arc of tension and the ending very successful. A more abrupt ending with fewer explanations and you’d have a Maupassant finale; more expansive and detailed and you’d have a Tolstoy finale. The Turgenev finale sits somewhere pleasantly in between.

The titular estate isn’t mentioned all that often and doesn’t seem to play such a major role on the surface. More precisely, there are two estates whose interplay reflects the characters beautifully and serves as a metaphor for their personalities. I found the aforementioned Vasilievskoye wonderfully depicted—lying lonely between the Russian steppe and little woods, in a Sleeping Beauty slumber from which Fyodor then awakens it. Thus this harmonious, solitary patch of land mirrors Fyodor’s soul, with Turgenev deftly weaving in both his upbringing and childhood as well as the more recent events of the novel.

In the end, though, Turgenev sounds the same note as Tolstoy and praises Rousseau’s “back to nature.” The ideal is a wisely managed agricultural estate where the noble landowner looks after his freed peasants, tends and cares for them, and enables them, fitting their lower station, to lead a simple and good life—while the landowner and his wife themselves lead a virtuous, as selfless as possible, and religious life. That was apparently a trend at the time and always reads rather picturesquely in novels.

As hinted above, I like this edition very much. The jacket design looks chic and, with the leaves and simultaneously wintry-looking branches, fits perfectly. The color combination is excellently chosen. The yellow looks truly beautiful, and the case has a fine texture that feels great in the hand, nicely concealing the lack of a cloth binding while still looking premium. The yellow and this shade of green contrast wonderfully; it’s a color pairing you could adopt for a website without hesitation—it harmonizes beautifully. I find the colored sewn binding, done in the same green as the jacket, very stylish—that really appeals to me. There are far too few colored sewn bindings. It looks superb, as does the endpaper, which picks up the jacket’s textures in a strong yellow, and the pale-yellow ribbon bookmark. In short: the book design is very well executed.

I found the afterword very informative; you learn a bit about Turgenev’s life, which sounds rather adventurous. He followed his muse, a married French opera diva, and at times lived with her and her husband. He apparently led a quite lively life—enough to fill a book in its own right. But that was no different, for example, with Tolstoy or Pushkin. The book also includes copious notes. Overall, this little volume is at least on a par with the Hanser classics, which likewise come with generous supplemental material.

Conclusion: With Home of the Gentry, Ivan Turgenev has written a wonderful novel—a story with typically Russian atmosphere, excellently drawn characters, and a plot that feels very authentic. Anyone who likes Tolstoy will enjoy this book as well. Manesse has produced a very fine edition here; the colors alone delighted me. But the numerous notes and the overall presentation are firmly in premium territory, too. A terrific book that motivates me to continue devoting myself to the Russians in the near future.

Book information: Home of the Gentry • Ivan Turgenev • Manesse • 384 pages • ISBN 9783717524489