Oblomov / Обломов. Книга для чтения на английском языке

The author summons, as though for trial, the weak but vicious statesman and а whole swarm of corrupt officials who deceive him; and every type of fallen woman is closely scrutinized – Frenchwomen, German, Finnish – and everything, everything is so remarkably, so thrillingly true to life… I’ve heard extracts from it – the author is a great man! He reminds one of Dante and Shakespeare…»

«Good Lord!» cried Oblomov in surprise, sitting up. «Going a bit too far, aren’t you?»

Penkin suddenly fell silent, realizing that he had really gone too far.

В«Read it and judge for yourselfВ», he said, but with no enthusiasm this time.

«No, Penkin, I won’t read it».

«Why not? It’s creating a sensation, people are talking about it».

В«Let them! Some people have nothing to do but talk. It is their vocation in life, you knowВ».

В«But why not read it, just out of curiosity?В»

В«Oh, what is there to be curious about?В» said Oblomov.

«I don’t know why they keep on writing – just to amuse themselves, I suppose».

«To amuse themselves! Why, it’s all so true to life! So laughably true! Just like living portraits. Whoever it is – a merchant, a civil servant, an army officer, a policeman – it’s as if the writers caught them alive!»

«But in that case why all this bother? Just for the fun of picking up some man and presenting him as true to life? As a matter of fact, there is no life in anything they do – no true understanding of it, no true sympathy, nothing of what one can call real humanity.

Mere vanity – that’s what it is. They describe thieves and fallen women just as though they had caught them in the street and taken them to prison. What you feel in their stories is not „invisible tears“, but visible, coarse laughter and spitefulness».

«What more do you want? That’s excellent.

You’ve said it yourself. Burning spite, bitter war on vice, contemptuous laughter at fallen human beings – everything’s there!»

«No, no, not everything», Oblomov cried, suddenly working himself up into a passion. «Depict a thief, a prostitute, a defrauded fool, but don’t forget that they, too, are human beings. Where’s your feeling of humanity? You want to write with your head only!» Oblomov almost hissed.