Unlike me, then.
I did try to read Anna Karenina, but not only do I still feel the same hatred towards the "lying narration" (more about it in the topic I linked) as in War and Peace, I also hated Anna herself. I can't say I remember all that much about it, though, so I don't really have the arguments I'd need to justify my position. Also, I was reading it all in Russian, and the English translations apparently replace some particular word choices that feel morally wrong to me, so the English translations might actually be better.
I've read a much bigger part of War and Peace than of Anna Karenina, so when I discuss War and Peace I do have some arguments, as you can see in the linked topic.
ERROR: Signature not loadedI still have no idea what your "ethical" opposition to Tolstoy actually is.
I'll hide your name inside a word and paint your eyes with false perception.The English translation makes it harder to talk about, but let me use an example I've already used in the other topic:
The word in bold wasn't there in the Russian original, making this translator's choice a Woolseyism of epic proportions. The proper translation of the word that was there originally is "attractive".
Now read this phrase again, but with this word changed into what it really was:
Attractive. look. of fear.
Third person limited is often colored by how a character perceives the world around him/her, but here there are only three characters in the scene and this phrase doesn't work for any of them. (more about it in the other topic)
So this is not a character saying this, this IS really the author saying this.
Now if you don't see why I hate an author that (in my perception at least) finds human suffering attractive... I'm afraid I'm not going to be able to explain much.
edited 10th Nov '12 6:54:49 AM by Muzozavr
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I think that you're assuming too much. Just because something doesn't fit a character to you doesn't mean that the author didn't think that one of the characters would have thought that way. It happens.
There's also the issue of a possible shift in denotation with regard to the word in question. War and Peace was published in 1869; you're reading it in the 2000s. A word can change implication depending upon the era quite easily. Consider the use of "cute" in English or, more dramatically, "nice."
But really, even if the word has undergone no change in meaning whatsoever in over a century-and-a-half, it still strikes me as a very sideways way of describing someone trying to use an appearance of attractive vulnerability to get another person to do what they want. Maybe you don't read that into that particular character; maybe you don't think that the other characters would think of that character in that way. But again, that does not change the fact that Tolstoy more than likely thought differently of his characters than you do.
I'll hide your name inside a word and paint your eyes with false perception.P.S. To further clarify why I find the notion of Tolstoy having some kind of weird psychosexual preoccupation with the terror of others a touch absurd: The man was a strident pacifist and a utopian Christian anarchist who honestly believed that free people would, by nature, be good to one another. While certainly a bit of an egotist, he was very firm in these ideals, and generally appalled by human suffering.
I'll hide your name inside a word and paint your eyes with false perception.Not "cute", not "nice". Those words have their Russian equivalents that, as far as I know, are old enough to appear in the book, but they don't. With one of those words it could have been Woobie appeal. It probably was planned to be Woobie appeal. But the way it gets described in the original shifts the focus away from "I pity her" and much closer to "I like it when she's scared".
(Actually, in Russian I wouldn't even like to see the equivalent of "nice" in that phrase. The closest match we have for "cute" is fine, though)
As for the characters: there are Andrew, Pierre and Lise, who can that description "belong" to? It doesn't make any sense for the kinder Pierre, it doesn't make sense for the tactless, but well-intentioned Andrew, and it doesn't make sense for Lise either. If Lise perceives reality this way, that would make this action into conscious manipulation, but she never manipulates anyone else ever in the book. So either it really is the author's perception (as I stated) or there is some serious OOC going on.
As for your last post — yeah, but did he practice what he preached? I don't think so... I'm pretty sure that he didn't even believe half of what he said.
edited 11th Nov '12 9:50:57 AM by Muzozavr
ERROR: Signature not loadedThe quoted passage sounds like a literary way of referring to the unfortunate concept of moe- seeing vulnerability as attractive. I do agree that it is phrased in a somewhat disturbing manner.
So, definitely sexist, but it seems kind of a stretch to interpret it as an overall view of suffering as attractive, unless there are other story elements that relate to that viewpoint (note, I agree that the way the line is phrased implies omniscient author view of a character).
Edit- could you cite where that line is from in the book?
edited 11th Nov '12 10:05:26 AM by Jordan
HodorSo, definitely sexist, but it seems kind of a stretch to interpret it as an overall view of suffering as attractive, unless there are other story elements that relate to that viewpoint
Joking aside, here is the full quote below, much longer than what I put in the previous topic. The phrase is in bold. Mentally replace "winning" with "attractive" and read.
"When are you starting?" he asked.
"Oh, don't speak of his going, don't! I won't hear it spoken of," said the princess in the same petulantly playful tone in which she had spoken to Hippolyte in the drawing room and which was so plainly ill-suited to the family circle of which Pierre was almost a member."Today when I remembered that all these delightful associations must be broken off . . . and then you know, Andre . . ." (she looked significantly at her husband)"I'm afraid, I'm afraid!" she whispered, and a shudder ran down her back.
Her husband looked at her as if surprised to notice that someone besides Pierre and himself was in the room, and addressed her in a tone of frigid politeness.
"What is it you are afraid of, Lise? I don't understand," said he.
"There, what egotists men all are: all, all egotists! Just for a whim of his own, goodness only knows why, he leaves me and locks me up alone in the country."
"With my father and sister, remember," said Prince Andrew gently.
"Alone all the same, without my friends . . . . And he expects me not to be afraid."
Her tone was now querulous and her lip drawn up, giving her not a joyful, but an animal, squirrel-like expression. She paused as if she felt it indecorous to speak of her pregnancy before Pierre, though the gist of the matter lay in that.
"I still can't understand what you are afraid of," said Prince Andrew slowly, not taking his eyes off his wife.
The princess blushed, and raised her arms with a gesture of despair.
"No, Andrew, I must say you have changed. Oh, how you have . . ."
"Your doctor tells you to go to bed earlier," said Prince Andrew."You had better go."
The princess said nothing, but suddenly her short downy lip quivered. Prince Andrew rose, shrugged his shoulders, and walked about the room.
Pierre looked over his spectacles with naive surprise, now at him and now at her, moved as if about to rise too, but changed his mind.
"Why should I mind Monsieur Pierre being here?" exclaimed the little princess suddenly, her pretty face all at once distorted by a tearful grimace. "I have long wanted to ask you, Andrew, why you have changed so to me? What have I done to you? You are going to the war and have no pity for me. Why is it?"
"Lise!" was all Prince Andrew said. But that one word expressed an entreaty, a threat, and above all conviction that she would herself regret her words. But she went on hurriedly:
"You treat me like an invalid or a child. I see it all! Did you behave like that six months ago?"
"Lise, I beg you to desist," said Prince Andrew still more emphatically.
Pierre, who had been growing more and more agitated as he listened to all this, rose and approached the princess. He seemed unable to bear the sight of tears and was ready to cry himself.
"Calm yourself, Princess! It seems so to you because... I assure you I myself have experienced... and so... because... No, excuse me! An outsider is out of place here... No, don't distress yourself...
Good-by!"
Prince Andrew caught him by the hand.
"No, wait, Pierre! The princess is too kind to wish to deprive me of the pleasure of spending the evening with you."
"No, he thinks only of himself," muttered the princess without restraining her angry tears.
"Lise!" said Prince Andrew dryly, raising his voice to the pitch which indicates that patience is exhausted.
Suddenly the angry, squirrel-like expression of the princess' pretty face changed into a winning and piteous look of fear. Her beautiful eyes glanced askance at her husband's face, and her own assumed the timid, deprecating expression of a dog when it rapidly but feebly wags its drooping tail.
"Mon Dieu, mon Dieu!" she muttered, and lifting her dress with one hand she went up to her husband and kissed him on the forehead.
"Good night, Lise," said he, rising and courteously kissing her hand as he would have done to a stranger.
(She's also pregnant at the time, BTW)
edited 11th Nov '12 10:36:05 AM by Muzozavr
ERROR: Signature not loadedCute, nice and pretty are three words in the English language that have undergone dramatic semantic shifts in the past few centuries. The first began as a contraction of the word "acute," then came to mean ""cunning" in the 19th century, but eventually came to mean "charming;" the second has gone through more evolutions than the UK has had PMs in the same time period, meaning everything from "stupid" to "precise" to "ingenuous" to "cool;" and finally, the last managed from Shakespeare's time to our own to transform in meaning from "courageous and skilled in battle" to "primly attractive."
My point is, you are a modern Russian speaker, not a mid-19th century Russian speaker. Assuming that a word will lose no nuance in 150+ years is, to my etymologically-inclined mind, a bit fatuous.
edited 11th Nov '12 7:36:41 PM by JHM
I'll hide your name inside a word and paint your eyes with false perception.Well, I just looked at the Vladimir Dal dictionary (which WAS made in the 19th century) and although I couldn't find the adjective, the verb is there and means pretty much the same thing as it does now. So if the verb hasn't changed, I don't see any reason for the adjective to have changed.
Also, it's not just one phrase... I would've forgiven him if it was one phrase. The "gut feeling" that something's wrong started with the first few pages, way before this scene ever happened. When I got to that phrase I was like "Oh, THAT'S one part of the reason why I hate this overhyped garbage so much. My gut feelings make more sense now."
It's just that, for the most part, he's way too good at lying and way too subtle for me to dialectically catch him. I can "sense" wrongness all I want, but that phrase was the only part where it was out in the open enough for me to blast away at it. There are characterization flaws that I could use for a review, but nothing that could show just how much... wrongness there is.
Let me put it this way: a human being is fine, right? But a ZOMBIE is Uncanny Valley.
Zombies are well-defined by now, so it might be a bit hard, but imagine trying to explain the difference between a zombie and a human (and why a zombie is upsetting) to an alien that doesn't know the difference — or even to another human being who, for some reason, cannot see the difference. Yeah, go try to define a human being, remember the story about Plato, Diogenes and a plucked chicken?
For the most part, we aren't philosophers enough to define what a great book actually is. We only know examples of great books, examples that have rightfully become classics for generations to come. Well, to me, War and Peace is the zombie equivalent of a great book, and its ethics feel like the ethical equivalent of Uncanny Valley. But since I lack the philosophical background needed to define my terms properly and tear this sucker apart I'm now in a position similar to the one I described above.
(P.S. Just to give you an idea on how accurate my gut feelings tend to be: when I started reading Turgenev's "Fathers and Sons" (which was absolutely AWESOME, BTW) I thought "It's as if someone took Tolstoy's style and cleaned up all the awfulness. Tolstoy probably read Turgenev's books and learned from him a whole damn lot. Turgenev was before and used this style for a genuinely good book". Then I find out that when Tolstoy was only beginning his writing, Turgenev took Tolstoy under his wing and taught him in person! Later on a series of events happened that made them hate each other's guts and almost caused a duel, so they separated away, maintaining respect to each other as writers, but not as human beings. So that means I was perfectly right, and how. Such things tend to happen to my "gut feelings" a lot. They're usually right. I can't use that as an argument, of course, but you get my point.)
edited 12th Nov '12 4:23:44 AM by Muzozavr
ERROR: Signature not loadedI have not yet read either Love and Peace nor Anna Karenina (as Mr. Tolstoy grew to hate both of them, at least Karenina), but my admiration for this man runs as deep as your hatred seems to do. As such, I think I should try to defend old Tolstoy even if I'll fail horribly at it:
First: Are you sure this is not just an example of the overtly flowery prose style of the era? And even if not, I fail to see how describing something as attractive means he must morally agree with it. This is the guy who provided the quote for Beauty Equals Goodness after all.
Second: You say that you find the line to be OOC for the characters present, but if what I've heard is correct Pierre is not much more then a stand in for the author himself.
Third: You say: "did he practice what he preached? I don't think so... ". How not? Sure he was amoral in his youth (this was also when his relationship with your hero Turgenev was at it's worst, by Turgenev's death in 1883 he once again considered Tolstoy a friend), but if anyone would want to be first in line to tell you that it would be Tolstoy himself. His only failure late in life was not giving up his estate and this was done out of consideration for his children and his wife.
Forth: How is Tolstoy over-rated? Sure he is well known and to some degree well read, but from what I can understand he and his ideas are far from well liked.
Sixth: Seeing stylistic lines is not such a great feat when approaching texts in their own language you know...
My own gut-feeling is telling me that you are just doing to Tolstoy what Tolstoy himself did to poor Shakespeare. You could not enjoy it and instead subconsciously decided to nit-pic to find any reason to hate it, not matter how obscure and far-fetched.
First: Are you sure this is not just an example of the overtly flowery prose style of the era? And even if not, I fail to see how describing something as attractive means he must morally agree with it. This is the guy who provided the quote for Beauty Equals Goodness after all.
Consideration for his wife? This is coming from sources that I haven't verified, but...
One of Tolstoy's "principles", at least initially, was that anti-pregnancy methods are not to be used. So his wife brought him like... 15 kids or so? So the doctors told him that it took a huge toll on her and every next pregnancy could be the last. So what did he do? Did he step over his rules for the greater good? Did he decide to stop having sex with her altogether? No. He didn't do anything to change the situation. He kept risking her life for the sake of a stupid rule.
Now this may not be real, since, after all, this is from an unverified source. I really need to read some of Tolstoy's diaries, eventually, for the sake of arguments. I don't want to put myself through this, but I fear I'll have to...
(And here's one thing I love about TV Tropes, by the way — you guys can actually listen to someone's arguments, no matter how weird they may seem, and reply to me with arguments. You don't dismiss.)
So maybe it's the "I'm fine with people disagreeing, but can't you at least LISTEN to me!" feeling combined with my deep-rooted hatred for the books themselves. Maybe I'm being overly bitter. Also, although I completely hate the books and the writer, I wouldn't act so vocally about it — if I didn't need to scream just to be heard. Now this is TV Tropes, so I probably did not need to be so vocal, but I'm too used to it by now, I guess... and as long as I still believe that I'm correct, I won't back away.
edited 12th Nov '12 4:58:35 PM by Muzozavr
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My problem with what you're saying here is that you are projecting some kind of moral judgement on a work—and by extension, people who agree with a work—rather than simply saying, "I almost agree with this, but those differences make me dislike it greatly." Which would probably be a lot more acceptable to most people than tacitly calling them horrible for liking something that you don't.
In other words, calm down, please.
Heh.
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Well, if he didn't have classical status, I probably would... It's like "And that is considered classic Russian literature? HOW?!"
That Chekhov's quote is amazing.
I'm not really projecting moral judgement on the people who like it — god knows I used to buy into some stupid stuff, considering it "the real thing". I mean that's what lying exists for, to make people believe something they otherwise wouldn't! So Tolstoy is just a very successful liar.
It's like "Why did he receive classical status, which makes more and more people that would have otherwise thought differently buy into this?!"
Usually, when someone cannot see the lies and moral problems of a given work, he/she will see something else — and that "something else" tends to be A WHOLE LOT BETTER and even SMARTER than the work itself.
I've read quite a few of those "interpretations" that make me go "how did he ever extract this from the text? The text says pretty much the opposite!" and "this is pure awesome and I wish to see the book rewritten according to this interpretation" at the same time.
So I'm not passing any moral/intelligence judgement on the people who like the work. Only on the work itself.
edited 14th Nov '12 3:06:29 AM by Muzozavr
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Actually, you are judging people. "I used to believe in some stupid stuff," for instance, is quite insulting. Granted, I don't think too highly of buying wholesale into the ideology of any work, and there are some works that put forward ideals that I strongly disagree with (Ayn Rand's output, etc.).
Here's the problem: You seem to be preoccupied with your image of the author and see it as inseparable from the ethical quality of the work; furthermore, you seem to see that second quality as inseparable in turn from the literary quality of the work.
Maybe I'm getting too philosophical here, but I think it's kind of ridiculous to think that your own ethical disagreements with a work make it unworthy of recognition as a landmark. I know people that despise Moby-Dick and find Shakespeare tiresome, but very few of them would go so far as to call them undeserving of classic status. To the contrary, most would admit that they have many admirable qualities and great historical importance, but then emphasise that this does not make a work enjoyable to them or something that they agree with.
I might also add that a lot of your arguments are interesting, but they speak more to the position that the book is wonkily written than that it is "immoral," at least to my view. And that's a perfectly acceptable argument to me.
edited 14th Nov '12 3:20:47 AM by JHM
I'll hide your name inside a word and paint your eyes with false perception.The only thing I'm thinking of is "why is nobody seeing this?" Actually, that is a judgement, in a way. But it's not a question of morals or intelligence, it's a question of cultural blind spots. The question that baffles me is that why our culture has this as a blind spot.
(And that doesn't make me "better" than someone else — most people can see at least one cultural blind spot, but few to none can see them all.)
It was vice-versa. I started with being completely disengaged from the work in the literary sense, then I got to that "attractive look of fear" phrase and was disgusted ethically with the author, then I found some really strange OOC moments (suggesting me that the author doesn't understand people AT ALL) and then my image of the author formed.
There's a difference between "classical status" and "historical landmark". In this case, I'd be fine with the second, it is a landmark. But I'm not fine with the first. I'm not fine with the amount of sheer hype that this thing gets to this day.
Also, there are works that I find boring, but which don't tick me off like that. If sheer boredom was the only problem I had with Tolstoy, I'd let it all slide under "it's just not my cup of tea".
If the problematic parts were all wildly different from each other, then yes, I'd just call the book poorly written and stop there. But it's not quite like that. The problematic bits are systematically linked with each other, which makes me believe that they are a result of poor intention, not poor writing.
Imagine there's a series of goals that you have to hit with a dart. "Checkmarks of a great book".
The bad writers are all over the place. The merely good ones are hit and miss, but mostly hit. The great ones strike with pin-point accuracy.
And now imagine that you see every goal slightly missed every single time, by the same distance. So every dart is exactly 3.9mm away from its respective goal.
That doesn't suggest poor shooting skills. That suggests vision problems.
Well, to me, Tolstoy is that shooter with vision problems. So what could his vision problems be in the literary sense? He doesn't understand people (that's apparent from how consistently inconsistent the characters are) and his moral preaching, whenever it's too close to the surface, resembles something akin to that "attractive look of fear" phrase, only a bit more subtle, perhaps... yep, ethical worldview issues.
That's why I think this book was based on an internally consistent, yet slightly skewed ethical system.
And later on, he actually tried to cover that "attractive look of fear" phrase, almost like a liar who doesn't want to get caught. So that's part of the reason why I also think he's lying to mask his issues and show something more "proper" to the world. Such a journalistic approach to writing a book also disgusts me. If he was more honest, I wouldn't be that enraged.
I've read most of Nabokov's "The Luzhin Defense" recently, and there are parts that I find ethically questionable, but the writer is honest. It's all right there, opened up for everyone to see. When you read it, you can judge what you read by yourself. That's OK. But Tolstoy tries to mask the problematic portions with a truckload of honey and preaching. That's not OK.
edited 14th Nov '12 4:19:12 AM by Muzozavr
ERROR: Signature not loadedOne of Tolstoy's "principles", at least initially, was that anti-pregnancy methods are not to be used. So his wife brought him like... 15 kids or so? So the doctors told him that it took a huge toll on her and every next pregnancy could be the last. So what did he do? Did he step over his rules for the greater good? Did he decide to stop having sex with her altogether? No. He didn't do anything to change the situation. He kept risking her life for the sake of a stupid rule.
Also I can't resist shearing this quote form Tolstoy's "Shakespeare and the Drama", as I believe you will find his frustration quite relatable:
edited 14th Nov '12 6:33:18 PM by painocus
Re: "an attractive and piteous look of fear":
I've never read Anna Karenina, so I'm not familiar with the context of that quote. However, I can envision circumstances where seeing someone frightened could be attractive. Namely, if their fear is a startled overreaction to something minor, it could be kinda cute in an Adorkable sort of way.
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I will reply to that in greater detail when I finally wake up properly, just want to mention that, as I've said before, I haven't yet verified those sources and should check more thoroughly. And yes, reading his thoughts on Shakespeare is strangely amusing, even though I actually like Shakespeare. I couldn't read the originals due to the language being too archaic for me to understand (English isn't my native language, after all, Russian is) but in the Russian translations I've read several of his plays and King Lear is probably my favorite play of what I've read.
Is the "long" version of the quote that I've given not enough to understand the context? Plus, it's from War And Peace, not from Anna Karenina. If you read the quote closely, you'll see that the Adorkable trope never happens. Also, in this particular case, there's a world of difference between "cute" and "attractive". Don't conflate the two, please.
Imagine there's a series of goals that you have to hit with a dart. "Checkmarks of a great book".
The bad writers are all over the place. The merely good ones are hit and miss, but mostly hit. The great ones strike with pin-point accuracy.
And now imagine that you see every goal slightly missed every single time, by the same distance. So every dart is exactly 3.9mm away from its respective goal.
That doesn't suggest poor shooting skills. That suggests vision problems.

This topic is made so that me and Bloodsquirrel (and others who want to debate about War And Peace) stop cluttering the "If you could design the English Curriculum" thread with off-topic.
The debate started here: http://www.tvtropes.org/pmwiki/posts.php?discussion=12957245240A56962800&page=21#510
Right now I'm waiting for Bloodsquirrel (or someone else) to reply to me. For those, who haven't seen the debate and are curious, know that my opinion about the book (and the writer himself) is overwhelming, venomous hatred. Epic hatred.
For Bloodsquirrel: if I ever get down to making some wall-of-text long review of War And Peace (a hateful review, of course) will it be OK if I list you as an indirect co-author? Had it not been for your intelligent and well-written posts arguing for the book, I'd never be able to put half of my arguments against the book into words.
And, of course, if someone else just wants to discuss all things Tolstoy and ignore our debate, feel free to do so. That's the other half of what this topic is for. ;)
edited 27th Oct '12 7:34:22 AM by Muzozavr
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