Jeg overvejer at sætte romanen Oblomov på min læseliste. Spørgsmålet er om den er mere sørgelig end komisk.
It’s about (you guessed it) a guy named Oblomov, and he can’t seem to pull himself out of bed. The entire novel, in fact, is about Oblomov either not being able to get out of bed, not being able to put on his slippers, daydreaming about his childhood (in bed), and not being able to leave the house because he can’t seem to correctly place a comma within the first sentence of a letter he’s started writing (he gives up after two minutes of trying).
It takes the first several chapters for the protagonist to get out of bed and put on his slippers. When he finally does it, he plops back down.