Konstantin Dmitrich Levin, or Levin, is one of the main characters in Tolstoy's Anna Karenina. He's a bit of an oddball, eschewing the balls and high society of Petersburg and Moscow to live in the country. There is a part in the novel where Levin has an especially irksome conversation with his half-brother who visits him, so Levin decides to let out a little steam and go mow wheat with the muzhiks, the peasants, remembering how he liked the physical exertion. Tolstoy describes Levin joining an old man and a young lad in the line of muzhiks --
"What do you say to my home-brew, eh? Good, eh?" said he, winking. And truly Levin had never drunk any liquor so good as this warm water with green bits floating in it, and a taste of rust from the tin dipper. And immediately after this came the delicious, slow saunter, with his hand on the scythe, during which he could wipe away the streaming sweat, take deep breaths of air, and look about at the long string of mowers and at what was happening around in the forest and the country. The longer Levin mowed, the oftener he felt the moments of unconsciousness in which it seemed not his hands that swung the scythe, but the scythe mowing of itself, a body full of life and consciousness of its own, and as though by magic, without thinking of it, the work turned out regular and well-finished of itself. These were the most blissful moments.Levin kept between them. In the very heat of the day the mowing did not seem such hard work to him. The perspiration with which he was drenched cooled him, while the sun, that burned his back, his head, and his arms, bare to the elbow, gave a vigor and dogged energy to his labor; and more and more often now came those moments of unconsciousness, when it was possible not to think what one was doing. The scythe cut of itself. These were happy moments. Still more delightful were the moments when they reached the stream where the rows ended, and the old man rubbed his scythe with the wet, thick grass, rinsed its blade in the fresh water of the stream, ladled out a little in a tin dipper, and offered Levin a drink.
What is striking in this passage by Tolstoy is the description of "unconsciousness" - as rendered by the translator. We might call this getting into the zone of focussed attention so that you lose yourself as the agent of activity. On first read, the passage is completely understandable. On second read, i wondered about Tolstoy or the translator trying to describe a consciousness of an unconsciousness which the act of writing makes necessary. I'm not sure if I'm being clear.
I know what you mean, and it would be ironic if Tolstoy wasn't so ardent a champion of single-entendre meaning. I think you're on point when you say that the act of writing or describing the scene would make necessary describing a consciousness of an unconsciousness.On first read, the passage is completely understandable. On second read, i wondered about Tolstoy or the translator trying to describe a consciousness of an unconsciousness which the act of writing makes necessary.