Reviews

"There is a sweetness in being the sole source, the autocratic and irresponsible cause of the greatest joy and profoundest pain to another" *** A psychological inquiry into a 16-year-old boy's—quite literally, experience of first love. Feelings of infatuation, jealousy, and borderline obsession are all captured perfectly in this short novel. It also gives readers a glimpse of courtship and its significance to Russian society. Contrary to the stereotypical submissive woman, Princess Zinaïda is bold and relentless. She doesn't think twice about leading her suitors on and manipulating the young boy. I like how Turgenev sustained the tense atmosphere throughout; he sprinkles in some noteworthy reflections, but overall, there was an unsettling feeling as I didn't know how the events would turn out.

Retrata muito bem a perspectiva de um primeiro amor que ao mesmo tempo enche a vida de alegria, mas também subjuga à pessoa amada. Por ser curto às vezes senti falta de explorar mais esses contrastes de sentimentos, mas valeu a leitura.

finished half of this book in one sitting, took a few weeks' break, and finished the rest in another sitting. a sharp contrast to exceedingly lengthy and vast russian literature classics (cough anna karenina cough), there's a deftness in the writing that captures with a certain eloquence and precision the growth and emotions of the protagonist. characters are also rendered in a particularly sharp way which works perfectly with the brevity of this book. from the perspective of a 16 year old boy who falls in love with an older girl, turgenev subverts the idea of "first love" with a twist midway that turns the story on its head. (a review i particularly like: https://emorywheel.com/classic-books-...)

3.5

“Her presence seared me like a flame… but what did I care what kind of fire this was in which I burned and melted, when it was bliss to burn and melt?” such a sweet, beautifully written story :,) the sensation of that first love in the heart of the young, the admiration and adoration along with the angst and the dramatics was perfectly captured by the author. made me feel extremely nostalgic for something i never had

I did not want to know whether I was loved, and I did not want to acknowledge to myself that I was not. I gave myself up to fruitless speculation, and was always looking for secluded places. I became particularly fond of the ruined greenhouse. I used to climb, I remember, on to the high wall, settle myself on it and sit there, a youth afflicted by such misery, solitude and grief that I would be overcome with self-pity. How I reveled in these melancholy feelings - how I adored them. I am in love with Turgenev's prose - so simple yet so captivating <3

3.25/5 *Read for class. I liked it enough to read it fast and actually enjoy it, but I don't usually appreciate stories about love that causes me to feel pity. He was pityful in his love, and I felt sorry for him and resented her for acting the way she was. It reminded me of "Smoke" a little bit, one of the few Turgenev's novels I didn't really like that much. But this one was shorter and thus didn't bother me that much.

I was not expecting a lot from this book because Turgenev has always been overshadowed by Dostoevsky and Tolstoy when this period of Russian literature comes up. But this was an amazing read. It was short (I read it in one commuting trip), but it really affected me with its powerful depiction of innocent love teamed up with overwhelming passion and a desire to be a martyr to the whims of the one you love. This book begins with a few older gentlement sitting around a fireplace. The host asks them to share the story of their first love. One says he has a great story but that he'll have to write it first. He does, and when they reconvene, we get the story. At first I wondered why this literary device was used. It only last a few pages, and it seemed to be superfluous. However, as I put myself in the perspective of the men sitting listening that night, I was haunted. Furthermore, when we realize that this story has stuck with the narrator and has influenced his perspective not only on love but also on life and death, the setting of where and when this is told take on more importance. This story is packed with powerful images and scenes that will stay with me. While sometimes brutal, they seem all too real, even in our own pedestrian lives. The sixteen year-old boy has fallen in love for the first time. The twenty-one year-old girl is independent and powerful and somewhat cruel to all of her suitors, yet they cannot get away from her. Some of them are proud and think she will choose them, but they young boy and the doctor know that they are ensnared. They realize that it is almost pathetic, but they have no other desire to stay away. The scenes with the suitors are enlightening and very interesting, but the story really picks up when we come to understand that she too is involved in a love where she is being dominated by her passions and by her secret lover. The last chapter's glance at life and death and love's role in it all is profound and haunting--one of those endings that sticks.

First Love is a novella by Ivan Turgenev about a young man’s first love- a minor princess who turns out to be his father’s mistress. Honestly, it’s just kind of okay. It’s not as good as the previous Turgenev book I’ve read, Fathers and Children, but it’s not bad either. It’s mostly middling. It’s a little depressing in that Russian literature way, but nothing too much. It’s rather short and an easy way to pass the time if nothing else. A sad story, good but not really my jam. Your mileage may vary.















Highlights


I have met her; I know her. God, what happiness!

What has come of it all - of all that I had hoped for? And now when the shades of evening are beginning to close in upon my life, what have I left that is fresher, dearer to me, than the memories of that brief storm that came and went so swiftly one morning in the spring?

And here am I...what did I hope - what did I expect? What rich promise did the future seem to hold out to me, when with scarcely a sigh - only a bleak sense of utter desolation - I took my leave from the brief phantom, risen fora fleeting instant, of my first love?

On the morning of the very day on which he had the stroke, he had beguna letter to me, written in French. 'My son' he wrote, 'beware of the love of women; beware of that ecstasy - that slow poison.'

Oh, gentle feelings, soft sounds, the goodness and the gradual stilling of a soul that has been moved; the melting happiness of the first tender, touching joys of love - where are you? Where are you?

My blood was in a ferment within me, my heart was full of longing, Sweetly and foolishly; I was all expectancy and wonder; I was tremulous and waiting;

To sacrifice oneself is the height of bliss-for some people

Oh, gentle feelings, soft sounds, the goodness and the gradual stilling of a soul that has been moved; the melting happiness of the first tender, touching joys of love- where are you? Where are you?