Customer Reviews

Eugene Onegin: A Novel in Verse (Oxford World's Classics)

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I have read four translations of this novel and James Falen's is my favorite one. He has translated Pushkin's classic in a fun, witty way which doesn't take too much away from the original Russian version (which I have also read). Granted, something is always lost in a translation, but it certainly doesn't take away from the humor and wit of this translation. If you are interested in a literal, as-close-to-the-original-as-possible translation, then I highly suggest Nabokov's translation, which (in my opinion) is somewhat dry and boring, but extremely accurate. It is all a matter of taste...what the reader wants. If you want accuracy, you will have to sacrifice some of the fun. If you want the fun, you will have to sacrifice some of the accuracy. I prefer the fun, therefore I preferred this version of Onegin.

Eugene Onegin was Pushkin's favorite among all his works, and although it seems to take a back seat to some of the great late-19th century Russian novels among western readers, Russians themselves tend to prize it above all other works of their country's literature. In case you're not familiar with the story, it deals mainly with two of the title character's ill-fated relationships: one with his friend and neighbor Vladimir Lensky, which ends tragically due to a very unnecessary rivalry over Olga Larin; and the other with Olga's sister Tatyana, which never comes to fruition because Eugene initially rejects her, only to fall in love with her later. Interwoven among all this, Pushkin himself periodically appears to invoke his muse or to digress on such seemingly unrelated topics as his penchant for women's feet.

The work can't possibly be praised enough in a single review, and I won't try to do so; suffice it to say that Eugene's provincial boredom, Tatyana's passion, and Vladimir's poetic romanticism are all splendidly drawn, and many of Pushkin's digressions have justly become proverbs in his native land. Presumably much of the reason that the novel doesn't receive quite so much attention in the non-Russian speaking world is that, due to its verse structure (it consists of 14-line stanzas in iambic tetrameter with a consistent ababccddeffegg rhyme scheme), it's very hard to translate while still retaining both the meaning and the delightfully spirited rhythm of the original. Vladimir Nabokov asserted very emphatically back in the 1960s that any faithful translation would have to almost completely sacrifice the original's lyric quality, and Nabokov's translation is notoriously dull, if extremely adherent to Pushkin's exact meaning. Not speaking Russian, I haven't read the original, nor have I read any other translations than the one I'm reviewing, so I can't say for sure how it compares, but I can say that Falen's translation is extremely good. It adheres, for all intents and purposes, exactly to Pushkin's meter, and does so without any particularly awkward diction, resulting in an end-product that must at least approach the beauty of the Russian version. Some others seem to agree with me: in the preface to his own recent (1999) translation of Onegin, Douglas Hofstadter praises Falen's translation so highly that he has to spend a section explaining why he bothered with a translation when Falen had already done it so perfectly. While most bilingual readers would probably state that to call Falen's (or anybody else's) translation "perfect" would be a stretch, it is still a delightful work, and hopefully other English-speaking readers will acquire, as I have, a better appreciation of the beauty of Pushkin's greatest work as a result of it.

James Falen has offered his version of the Russian classic, and has captured both the meaning and the verse. The stanzas flow effortlessly in Falen's hands, it may very well be the best translation yet. Of course, Nabokov is not around to cast his judgement on it. He panned every other translation that had been printed and penned his own in prose, so as not to stray too far from original meaning. But, even he said it was no more than a crib, as what Puskin had achieved in Eugene Onegin was a restructuring of the Russian language, giving it a beauty few had thought it possessed.

Orlando Figes similarly noted that Onegin was the first truly Russian lyrical novel. Pushkin had forsaken the standard French and sought to find the words expressive enough to convey the contradictory nature of the Russian soul. The novel in verse ebbs and flows as Pushkin takes you from St. Petersburg to Moscow to the Russian countryside, weaving a charming tale with many fascinating asides. The texture is so rich and the characters so enduring that this lyrical novel has attained mythological status in Russian literature. No understanding of the subject is complete without having read Eugene Onegin.

But, if language is essential to understanding Onegin then any translation will ultimately come up short. However, Falen has shown great respect for the novel and its language, unlike Douglass Hofstadter's juvenile attempt to translate it. Falen offers copious endnotes and a fascinating introduction. He tips his hat to Nabokov and the others who have translated this novel in the past. The language Falen uses is modern, giving Onegin a freshness lacking in other translations.

I'm a Russian Language and Literature major in Yonsei Univ. in Korea. Having lived in Moscow for around 3 years, I'd heard there a lot about Pushkin and read many of his famous works. The most prestigious of his, however, must be "Onegin." It's a great mixture of verse and prose in its form. If possible, try to read this in Russian, as well. This long poetical prose was written for 8 years and the ending rhyme perfectly matches for the entire line until the very end. Compared to others, it is definitely a conspicuous and brilliant one. "Onegin" can be the author himself or yourself. The love between Onegin and TaTyana is neither the cheap kind of love that often appears in any books nor the tragic one that is intended to squeze your tears. As a literature, this book covers not only love between passionate youth, but also a large range of literary works in it, which can tell us about the contemporary literature current and its atmosphere. Calling Onegin "My friend", Pushkin, the author, shows the probability and likelihood of the work. Finally, I'm just sorry that the title has been changed into English. The original name must be "Yevgeni Onegin(¬¦¬Ó¬Ô¬Ö¬ß¬Ú¬Û ¬°¬ß¬Ö¬Ô¬Ú¬ß)." If you are a literature major or intersted in it, I'd like to recommand you read this. You can't help but loving the two lovers and may reread it, especially the two correspondences through a long period of time. Only with readng this book, you'll also learn a huge area of the contemporary literature of the 19th century from the books mentioned in "Onegin" that take part as its subtext. Enjoy yourself!

James Falen's translation of Pushkin's classic glows with wit, lyricism, and vitality. For those who don't know a word of Russian but would still like to experience 'Onegin' in all its cleverness, melancholy, humor, and heartache, Falen's rendering of Pushkin is a gift. In Falen's hands, Pushkin's astute observations of society and human nature, as well as his lovely images, come across as dignified and lyrical with a sparkling light touch. Makes you wonder what a treasure the original Russian version must be!

Falen did as good a job as possibly could be done, I believe - and
Nabokov would have eaten him alive for it all the same. And I begin to
see the reason.

Poetry can be defined in many ways, most of them are
wrong. What ever your college teacher is telling you, it is not about
ideas and opinions. Collapsible soapboxes have nothing to do with
art. But language, sensitivity, sensual quality, lucidity of image and
thought, fantasy, and diction have everything to do with it. Poetry is
sensual thought. It doesn't preach, it doesn't pontificate, it has no
message. Poetry is a mode of perception and representation, the
highest form to interface with the world as it presents itself to the
poet. In the beginning was the word, and the word became flesh through
the poet; in the beginning was a dream, in the beginning was magic,
and if the poet has what it takes, it comes across as magic.

Eugene
Onegin is a novel in verses. A number of well developed characters
interact and give the narrator an opportunity to add his own little
observations as well. As a story, things develop with grace and
plausibility. The big problem is the means of transmission. I have no
Russian, so I have to take for granted, that there is a very good
reason for the way Pushkin is idolized in his country. From what I
hear, his poetry has a light and graceful touch and a natural
unobtrusive bent that seemingly effortless follows every turn and
angle of mood and perception.

Falen decided to recreate Pushkin's
stanza and the rhyme scheme, which in itself is laudable for a work
where the form of presentation is so all important. Falen's knack for
sniffing out suitable rhymes is admirable. But I would hold a bet,
that from a purely statistical point of view, the number of rhymes in
Russian must outweigh the translation by a ratio of 1:3 at least. The
English translator is limited in his choices, and there is nothing
anybody can do about. For short poems this doesn't pose a serious
problem. But the longer a narrative poem, the more likely will the
original's carefully crafted counterpoint of rhyme words translate to
a mindless and purely ornamental jingle, that is comical at best, or
just plain annoying, because it diverts the reader's attention from
what the author has to say, or even worse, simply drowns in noise the
subtler touches.

In a good poem, rhyme words are semantic anchor
points, which toss on the ball to their resounding companions. For a
poem in English this means, there has to be a sufficient distance
between the echoing pairings, a minimal length of the line is required
to avoid humor where it is not intended and it has to be assisted by
numerous enjambments to suppress the ding dong even further. A good
rhyme is semantically justified and at the same time
unobtrusive. Unfortunately Falen decided to imitate Pushkin's short
trimeters, which in an English translation rises the noise level of
the rhyming even further. It also makes the enjambments unrecognizable
because it draws all the attention to the line's endings.

I don't
know what in Russian is doing the trick, but I do know it doesnÕt work
for a long poem in English. Falen's effort is certainly the best
performance, today's money can buy - I doff my hat in respect - yet
over long stretches, what had been intended to be a melancholy and
mildly witty narrative with wide open vistas and sensual perceptions
of great beauty, comes across as something of a burlesque dance,
breathlessly speeding along, like the high kicking cancan in a
vaudeville show. And this, certainly, does Pushkin no justice.

I think this book/poem should be made manditory in every institution worldwide. I told everyone who was willing to listen and the rest that this was fantastic. I rang people while reading it to quote lines. It made me laugh and cry and was continuously brilliant. My every praise goes out to the translator.
When i had finished (by the way i read the whole thing in two sittings)i started flipping to random pages and found myself practically reading the whole thing all over again.
I do not speak Russian but have read many Russian books and this really does stand out as being amazing.

If you are thinking of reading this book you needn't think twice about it.

The translation is literally excellent and there is nothing to add.

Despite that I should say, that this is the only translation of the Pushkin's major work into the modern American (and not a conventionally academic English) language. The novel's famous measure and stanza (developed by Pushkin especially for that purpose) is commonly considered impossible to render in another language, especially the one, which is tremendously different in terms of morphology and syntax.

I have read several translations of Eugine Onegin into English, but all of them just had nothing in common with the original's vividness and agility of style, let alone the diversity of meanings and metaphoric richness, which could have only be rendered by someone no less gifted, than Pushking was himself. And James Falen is unconditionally the one.

My congratulations, admiration and gratitude to the translator!

The book narrates beautifully the tragic love story between Tatyana and the cold, indifferent Eugene Onegin. It portrays the disenchantments, pain and suffering often caused by a one-way love, here represented by Tatyana's devotion and care for Onegin. Through Pushkin's rich descriptions, the intensity of the girl's passion is conveyed to the reader, as well as the pain and misery of his rejection and indifference to her confessions.

Coming to this, I was already familiar with Pushkin -- both from his short story "Queen of Spades" (and Tchaikovsky's operatic version), and from other allusions to him in later Russian writers. Pushkin has for Russians the same sort of significance that Shakespeare has for English speakers. Everyone, from Gogol and Dostoevsky, to Pasternak and Solzhenitsyn, has riffed on him. And although the "Queen of Spades" hinted at why he holds place of pride in Russian letters, "Onegin" only offers additional proof of his genius.

Without giving away too much, the story itself has a nice, circular design to it. One of Pushkin's chief virtues must be his voice itself -- which, as I am not a Russian speaker, I guess to be a sort of cheeky, and Byronic, one,(nb: Pushkin is obviously familiar with, and indebted to, Byron, particularly in this work). This James Falen translation is particularly meritorious -- it preserves Pushkin's "Onegin octave" verse form, and iambic tetrameter. Falen's translation is gorgeous, musical, and in remarkably clear, grammatically sound English.

Aside from its story, "Onegin" may be thought of as commenting on, and narrating the death of the long poem as a viable literary form, and the rise of the novel. For instance, consider that the death of Lensky coincides with the narrator's own growing dissatisfaction with verse, and preference for prose. Pushkin's own dissatisfaction proved to be prophetic -- after "Onegin", epic verse has practically vanished, as a form. The longest poem (that I am aware of) which is of more recent vintage than "Onegin" is by another Russian, but in English: Nabokov's "Pale Fire."

Ultimately, we witness the passing of an entire world in "Onegin," that of late-eighteenth century (and early nineteenth) Russia -- with its duels, its music, its ballrooms, its manners. It is about to be supplanted by the grittier, dimmer psychological world of Dostoevsky, or the bright, hard-edged realism of Tolstoy.