Oblomov – Ivan Goncharov

I can think of no other novel with a hero defined by his indolence, and a plot driven by non-acts of complete laziness. Oblomov doesn’t leave his flat for the first 170 pages, and by the end of the novel he has lost everything thanks to sheer inactivity. The tragicomedy works because somehow we end the story still liking him, our sympathy outweighing his apathy.

By the way, my mum gave me this book with a twinkle in her eye when I was a teenager, and I’ve finally got around to reading it 20 years later. Make of that what you will.