I'm currently reading the short story "King Lear of the Steppes" by Ivan Turgenev. It originally appeared in 1870, and was translated into Finnish in 1886. The translation is in parts quite dated, but the strength of the story, or rather the naturalness of the telling, and the inevitability of what happens, hits the reader. I haven't read much Turgenev; perhaps I should.
(Posting title is from the poem The Threshold by Ivan Turgenev.)
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