(In response to Nikolai Chernyshevsky's What is to Be Done?. Since I was unclear on the photocopy situation, I accidentally picked up and read Chapter 1 before realizing it was actually more or less the same as in the book I had borrowed, and from which I had been assigned Chapter 5 to read. So I'm only posting notes from Chapter 5.)
Chapter 1
The book begins with story that soon turns focus to Vera Pavlovna and her life in a domostroj-style household run by the brutal hand of her mother, Marya.
Chapter 5
Chernyshevsky here suddenly fills out an entire back-story (hence the title, "New People, and the Finale") for most of the chapter before connecting it up with Vera Pavlovna's situation, now much evolved from what we read about it in the first chapter. Pólozof, a self-made millionaire, and his only child, Kátya, have a very good relationship, but she is withering away despite her youth, and no doctor can figure out why. Then Kirsánof, an upstart doctor that "the Big Wigs of the Petersburg medical world" have started inviting to their consultations, is asked to examine her, and he intuitively determines that she is dying of forbidden love. He cannot, by his principles, act on this knowledge either towards her or her father, without earning her trust and having her agree without coercion. He manages to get her to trust him enough to speak to Pólozof about it, but in the process there's an interesting repetition of the sentence, "The sick girl said not a word," which I take to represent her voicelessness in her state of oppression, especially given that her not-saying-a-word is so constantly true as to be leading to her own physical death.
In any case, he then faces a similar situation, in which he must earn Pólozof's trust, with the goal of giving Kátya the freedom to find out for herself that the man she has fallen in love with is actually a scoundrel not worthy of her. Kirsánof is a puzzle to Pólozof, since he seems to be taking both his and his daughter's "side" at the same time. In reality, Kirsánof has hopes for the freedom of both of them, and so is for their good and does indeed believe and sympathize with them both. He sees that Kátya is dying for lack of freedom, despite her youth and her absolute love and respect for her father. He also sees that Pólozof really does love her, and is restricting her relationship with Sólovtsof (who has wooed her by letter since being given the cold shoulder by Kátya, acting on her father's words) because he really would be terrible for her in marriage. By earning the trust of them both, he asks Pólozof to refrain from interfering and trust that Kátya will come to a reasonable conclusion in time. While at first vehemently opposed to it, just like with Kátya he eventually comes around to accepting the proposal. Sólovtsof and Kátya are quickly engaged, and Kátya is elated at first, but eventually asks Kirsánof his opinion of Sólovtsof, to which he replies that he doesn't want to taint her opinion, and that she must have free choice, just as her father has faithfully been giving her. She sets out to prove to herself that there are no flaws in Sólovtsof, but with Kirsánof's help in steering the conversation to family life, money, and other key topics, she realizes that Sólovtsof could not actually love her well, and calls off the engagement. Sólovtsof reacts by accusing her father of interfering, which because of his disciplined faithfulness to Kirsánof's proposal, she knows is the furthest from the truth, and she completely ends all relations with Sólovtsof, and her health is additionally restored. Chernyshevsky uses this conclusion to demonstrate both that free choice is the only way to arrive at the truth, and that women can reason thusly on par with men, and therefore must be allowed to do so.
The freedom of mind he gives to Katerina then allows her to consider the world in much more profound and broad ways. She gradually comes to question the meaning of her wealth, and why her "helping the poor" doesn't achieve true social justice, but is only temporary aid. It is this that allows her to truly be a human being of good character, able to console her father when he loses his millions, and actually be happy about it since it means both she and Pólozof will be treated honestly and not in view of their estate. She is now free of the falsehood of high society, but because this gives her particular hope for true love, Chernyshevsky leaves her in some sense at a level below Vera in development, having an imagination but not for things beyond what is presented to her.
Enter Charles Beaumont ("Charlie Beemont"), a Canadian who grew up in Russia and has spent enough time in the United States to be somewhat revered. Charles, working for a London company interested in buying the last factory remaining of Pólozof's, appears to want to get to know Vera, who is now married to Kirsánof, and has become good friends with Katerina. I never quite did get the purpose of all this--he does not, in the end, go after Vera (even though she may be in an open relationship, although that's not clear, since Kirsánof himself remarked earlier in the chapter that he loved somebody and could never tell her), but ends up good friends with Kátya, and then they get married. Perhaps it was an excuse to come over and chat with her at first. In any case, their marriage is one that's freely chosen--in the context of a "surprisingly cool" friendship between Kátya and Charlie, wherein even once it's clear near the end that they're talking about themselves, they still talk in the third person to give their conversation a feeling of distanced objectivity--and it seems significant that even though he asks for her hand in a roundabout sort of way, his words, "I do," are those that conclude the conversation. In any case, their marriage is prompt and then the final part of the story is a description of the utopia that Kátya, Vera, Charlie, and Kirsánof enjoy together living in adjacent apartments. Their parties are of such gaiety and their life of such health and happiness (and shalom, in a grander sense) that one can only hope one's own relationships would go as well as theirs.
All this, Chernyshevsky is saying, is the product of freedom for men and women, even in the context of love that was restrictive by default (as in the case between Kátya and her father) and especially of hatred (as with Vera and her mother.) This is so entirely revolutionary amidst domostroj culture that I'm surprised it wasn't more risky to publish. Even in our own, supposedly "free" culture, many of my friends' parenting styles had either a much more restrictive feel about them, or went off the other end of the spectrum, never having any restrictions even when situations might have necessitated them. Kirsánof and Vera's level-headed guidance through free choice seems a much better environment in which to learn for oneself about the world. This raises some interesting questions for me personally, since I have seen a range of these tactics play out in different people's lives, and recognize that sometimes barriers are actually needed, but that they should be seen only as tools to create an environment in which one can learn a lesson. In some sense it's ironic that this is exactly what Kirsánof even does with the freedom he arranges for Kátya: it doesn't work at first, she becomes engaged to a man who will not treat her well. It's his careful tact that guides her, although still in her freedom, to see the truth before it's too late. Just freedom or just barriers alone will never lead to the healthy, fulfilled image Chernyshevsky hopes for his readers. It's actually the continual attention, the staying-with and actively engaging care that will make use of either barriers or freedom to the advantage of the person for whom one cares--and it will be an advantage they are fully aware of and appreciate, since they will have had to help construct it themselves.
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