اعطي هذا الكتاب 5 نجمات لما قدمه ديستويفيسكي من تصوير رائع لحياة هذا الإنسان المسكين المغلوب علي أمره في هذا العصر
فهذا الإنسان كما قال ديستويفيسكي موجود في كل مكان
حولنا دائماً نراه كثيراً كضحية لعصر أصبح الإنسان فيه مثل الألة التي لا شعور فيها ولا إحساس
هذا الإنسان المسكين الذي يرسل لنا مذكراته من تحت الأرض
مثله كمثل الحشرات تحيا تحت اقدامنا تهرب من مكان لمكان بلا انتماء ولا أمان ولا هدف
فقط حياتها في الهروب
حتي الهروب من الأفكار والأحلام وحتي محاولة الهروب من تحقيق الأحلام أو تحقيق
أي سعادة في الحياة
فلم يعد هناك هدف ولا أمل ولا خوف من شئ أو علي شئ
هذا الإنسان المسكين الذي تعب من الاقنعة التي حوله
من الإنسانية المزيفة
تعب من إنسان يدعو إلي السلام بيد ويحارب باليد الأخري
فحاول هذا المسكين أن يكون حشرة ولكنه لم يستطع
وحاول أن يكون مثلهم إنساناً فلم يستطع
فأصبح الإنسان الحشرة الذي
لا يعلم كيف يهبط إلي مستوي الإنسان
وكيف يرتفع إلي مستوي الحشرة
!!!!!!!!
فعلي الأقل الحشرة خُلقت حشرة .. عاشت حشرة .. وستستمر حشرة .. وستموت حشرة .. وليس بيديها ألا تكون حشرة !
فلقد خُلقت هكذا .. وستظل هكذا .. مُسيرة لما خلقت له .. تقوم بدورها ..
ولن تنحط أكثر من ذلك ..
أما الإنسان .. فلقد خُلق إنسان ..
ولكن .. هل بقي إنساناً ؟؟
.....!!

I found Dostoevsky's Notes from Underground to be quite a different work from his other works. Dostoevsky's writing style adopted in this novella and the dominating existentialism has much to contribute to this difference.

The novella is of two parts. The first part consists of a bitter rambling of an unnamed narrator who is called the "underground man" (he is understood to be a retired civil servant living in St. Petersburg). This bitter rambling extends to Petersburg society and civilization, and even to laws of nature, and the underground man criticizes how these concepts dictate human action and behaviour. Dostoevsky's existentialist views are expressed in this part of the story. Existentialists believed and advocated independent choice of will of people and the freedom to exercise that will. They were of the view that without submitting to any outside force humans should be governed by their beliefs and desires.

The second part of the novella consists of the story proper. This part describes certain events that took place in the life of the underground man. This is where the readers gain a good understanding of his character. He is bitter and contemptuous and seems to be suffering from some sort of complex. His thoughts are so contradictory signifying his mental instability. At the same time, there is also a cunning and cruel nature. He seems to be taking immense pleasure at crushing who are helpless when he is unable to fight off his betters. This part of the story displays Dostoevsky's love for exploring human psychology.

The underground man is an anti-hero. He is not a character to be liked, nor pitied. This is my first Dostoevsky experience with such a character. And to be quite honest, I read all his thoughts and actions with utter disgust. This is one of the reasons I love Dostoevsky. He brings strong emotions out of the readers.

What stands out Dostoevsky is, of course, his writing. With the use of both monologue (first part) and descriptive (second part) forms, he writes this novella in a clever and engaging way. This was not a pleasant reading experience. The content was quite disturbing. But even then Dostoevsky manages to exercise humour to lighten the unpleasantness and unburden your mind.

Dostoevsky's creativity continually amazes me. The more I read him, the more I'm in awe of his ingenuity. This was not an easy read for me. My sensitive self was rebelling against the vile behaviour of the underground man. But yet something held me on. That is no doubt the skill of a great master. And no one can doubt that of Dostoevsky.

More of reviews can be found at http://piyangiejay.com/

«در عمل می‌دانی دلم واقعا چه می‌خواهد؟ این که تو و امثال تو به درک واصل شوید! من آرامش می‌خواهم. بله، حاضرم کل دنیا را به یک پول سیاه بدهم تا راحتم بگذارند و آرامشم حفظ شود. مثلا اگر قرار باشد دنیا خداب شود، ولی من چایم را بخورم، می‌گویم به درک! بگذار خراب شود، در عوض همیشه بتوانم با آرامش چایم را بخورم.»

۵ تا ستاره که داریم هزار تا هم خودم اضافه کنم که بشه امتیازم به این گوهر گران‌بها.

موقع خوندن کتاب یه حس اضطراب و استرسی داشتم، انگار یکی وارد حریم شخصی‌م شده، انگار یه نفر دیگه هم افکار شوم و ضد و نقیض من می‌خونده و می‌نوشته ولی یکم که گذشت یه حسی بود مثل این‌که اون آدمک وحشتناک مخوف درون ذهنم دیگه تنها نیست و این خیلی حالم بهتر کرد :)

پ.ن: انقدر حرف دارم و احساسم بعد تموم کردنش پیچیدست که مغزم قفل کرده چی بنویسم. (امیدوارم برگردم و ویرایشش کنم)

پایان: دهم تیرماه سال ۱۴۰۲

O Homem Desconstruído


Dai ao homem todos os bens terrestres! Dai-lhe tal fartura que ele nada mais tenha a fazer que não seja dormir, comer pão de ló e cuidar da continuação da História Universal — pois mesmo neste caso, mesmo afogado em felicidade, o homem, unicamente por ingratidão há-de cometer alguma ignomínia...

Será por ingratidão, ou por não lhe ser consentido estagnar?! ..
Porque a sua natureza o contraria, não o autorizando a instalar-se, a ficar por ali a enfartar-se e afogar-se em pequenos prazeres?!
Porque o seu ADN o impele a prosseguir pois ainda há muito por explorar e descobrir?!
Não será a ignomínia um estado transitório? Um daqueles passos à retaguarda que determina dois em frente?...

Nestes “Cadernos do Subterrâneo” Dostoiévski vai filosofando sobre a humanidade duma forma simultaneamente destrutiva e divertida que nos impele a filosofar com ele!...

البشر يعجبون بالنرجيسيين لماذا لانهم الوحيدون الذين فهموا الحياة والحياة فهمتهم فاصبحوا في انسجام تام. الطيبون مثيرون للشفقة
لكن هل المادية ونظام الغابة حقق السعادة. لا الانسان في عالم مادي بحثا عن السلطة والمال والقوة لن يشعر ابدا بالسعادة وهو فارغ من الداخل
الشيطان ولد معك ليس شيئا خارقا اذا انسجمت معه اختبارك هو ان لا تنسجم لكي تكون انسان ان تكون لديك روح تجرك الى السماء والا فانت لاشيء يذكر كل جريك سينتهي تحت التراب سلطتك ومالك وقوتك وابناءك كلهم سينتهون
لعبة الشطرنج ستنتهي هذا اذا لم تنتهي بعاصفة تقلب القطع قبل ان تنتهي انت

هل الحياة المادية حققت السعادة للانسان. السعادة التي يحلم بها. او كما قال شوبنهاور اذا كان لديك الخيار بين ان تكون ذكيا خبيثا اوطيبا غبيا يا ترى ماذا
ستختار

النفاق والخداع والتمثيل والتدافع للحصول على القوة والسلطة كما يفعل رجال الاعمال رجال السياسة او الطيبة والتعاطف وترك الناس يتدافعون والانعزال

يا ترى هل الله موجود وماذا لو لم يكن الله موجودا فان كل شيء مباح القوي ياكل الضعيف والذكي ياكل الغبي وليس هناك اي حساب. لكن ماذا عن الروح. الروح ذلك الشيء الذي لا نراه ولا يعترف به العلم لكن نحس به. ايعقل ان يكون كل هذا بلا معنى سوى عبث وفوضى

لا اعرف حقا هل انا مريض او ان الكوكب مريض

كم احسد الاسوياء او ربما كم احتقرهم. كنت اتمنى لو كنت رجل اعمال او رجل سياسة اكذب ببراعة اتبع اهدافي اينما كانت ولا ارى امامي وادوس على كل شخص يقف في طريقي لكن لا انا متردد مريض افكر كثيرا واتحرك قليلا. ان التفكير يعرقل حركتي

لا اعرف حقا ما الاسوء هل العذاب الدنيوي او العذاب السرمدي

انا ضائع لا اعرف من انا مريض ربما وليس لدي دواء. هل ادفع وادوس او انعزل في قبوي افكر هل اكذب او اصدق. وهل حقا انا صادق ربما انا كاذب حتى في صدقي

Să cercetăm succint povestirea lui Dostoievski. Presupun - am această naivitate - că toată lumea știe deja faptele. În esență, „însemnările” prezintă confesiunea unui ins măcinat, mai presus de orice, de singurătate și mizantropie. Deși spune despre el că are un suflet nobil, omul din subterană jignește fără motiv o femeie naivă. Dacă femeia n-ar fi naivă, s-ar feri, poate, s-o jignească.

„Eroul” se caracterizează printr-o completă inabilitate socială. Vrea să fie iubit, admirat, glorificat pentru unicitatea lui, vrea să atragă atenția etc. Lipsa prețuirii generale, indiferența celorlalți îl împing către gesturi prostești. Vrea ca lumea să se poarte după regulile prescrise de propria lui voință. Nu bănuiește faptul că oamenii reali sînt mai complicați, mai obscuri decît personajele din cărți, mai liberi. Că oamenii sînt vii și, în măsura în care sînt vii, reacționează imprevizibil. Citez: „Mă obișnuisem să gîndesc și să imaginez totul cum scrie la carte, ca și cum toată lumea ar fi exact așa cum am făurit-o eu în visele mele” (p.164).

După o reuniune ratată cu colegii, omul din subterană merge la un așa-zis „magazin de modă” (un bordel, de fapt). Nu are un scop precis. Vrea să-și descarce sufletul și, în același timp, să insulte pe cineva. Hazardul îl ajută să-l găsească. Acolo ține un discurs elevat unei fete naive, deși la propriu nu-i pasă de ea. Bineînțeles, nu este cîtuși de puțin sincer, folosește fraze stereotipe, care nu-i aparțin și în care nici el nu crede. Liza însăși observă falsitatea predicii: „Dumneata vorbești ca din carte”. Ipocritul răspunde: „Nu, Liza, să nu crezi că vorbesc ca din carte, cînd și mie mi-e scîrbă să repet ce-au spus alții” (pp.131-132).

Îi prezice fetei că va ajunge rău, că o așteaptă un sfîrșit jalnic. Cînd va muri, groparii „or să astupe cît pot de repede groapa cu lut vînăt și-or să se ducă la crîșmă”. Liza îl crede pe cuvînt, izbucnește în plîns, se căiește. Purtarea ei îl surprinde, fiindcă viața însăși îl ia întotdeauna prin surprindere:

„Știam că vorbesc dens, stereotip, chiar livresc, într-un cuvînt, nu mă pricepeam să vorbesc altfel decît 'ca din carte'. Dar asta nu mă deranja: știam doar, presimțeam că mă va înțelege și că, poate, stilul livresc va fi de folos intenției mele. Dar acum, obținînd efectul scontat, mă speriasem” (p.138). Dacă a avut o intenție, naratorul n-a bănuit nici o clipă că discursul lui va avea ecou, că fata va fi cuprinsă de remușcări. Cînd se despart, îi lasă adresa, deși speră din tot sufletul că fata n-o să-l caute, că fata nu va veni.

Din păcate, în chip neașteptat, Liza îi face o vizită, fiindcă vrea pur și simplu să-l vadă, fiindcă a crezut în vorbele lui și s-a lăsat amăgită: vrea să părăsească bordelul. El nu este capabil să priceapă cu limpezime motivul venirii fetei (sau nu vrea), îi este rușine de el însuși, de sărăcia lui, de banalitatea lui, și se comportă în chipul cel mai odios. O jignește dinadins: îi dă bani. Apoi o îndeamnă fățiș să plece. Liza lasă banii pe masă și fuge. El își dă seama prea tîrziu cît de murdar s-a purtat.

Livresc înseamnă, așadar, fals, calculat, inoportun: „Această cruzime era atît de simulată, atît de cerebrală, atît de plăsmuită, livrescă, încît eu însumi..., cuprins de rușine..., m-am repezit pe urmele ei... Plecase” (p.169).

Din prea multă sensibilitate și gîndire, omul livresc se comportă ca un ticălos.

A novelette Notes from Underground is a conspicuous harbinger of existential novel.
It is like a warning to the future society of hypocritical and conforming featureless worms into which the world is gradually turning these days.

And now I am living out my life in my corner, taunting myself with the spiteful and utterly futile consolation that it is even impossible for an intelligent man seriously to become anything, and only fools become something. Yes, sir, an intelligent man of the nineteenth century must be and is morally obliged to be primarily a characterless being; and a man of character, an active figure – primarily a limited being.

A miserable rattrap turns into a confessional and the protagonist begins his confession to himself… Or in the modern terms the space under the floorboards is a sort of couch and the wretched hero is both a patient and a psychoanalyst…
This confession is a personal revolt but it is a rebellion of a bedbug against its aimless existence: a mutiny against those who have more to do than to suck blood…

جميعنا أربعينيو هذا القبو أيها العزيز دوستويفسكي ..
جميعنا على اختلاف توجهاتنا ننتمي إلى قبوك أنت .


إنني على قلة ما قرأته لدوستويفسكي غارقة في شخصياته العزيزة غرقاً لا خلاص منه ، فبعد حالم الليالي البيضاء و الأمير الأبله ميشكين ، أجدني الآن أمام رجل القبو هذا و قتامة عالمه النفسي .


إن إنسان القبو قادرٌ على أن يمكث صامتاّ في قبوه أربعين سنة ، و لكنّه اذا خرج من جحره انطلق خارجاً من صمته و أخذ يتكلم .. و يتكلم .. و يتكلم .

فعمّ يحدثنا رجل القبو هذا ؟
إنّه يخطّ في مرارة و احتقار رسالة من نفسه إلى نفسه لكنها تمر بالعالم أجمع .
ساخطاّ على مجتمع السطح و التفاهات ، حاقداً على أرباب المصالح و أعداء الفكر ، هاجياّ نظريات المنفعة و المذاهب المادية .
و ما نقمته على الوعي إلا لأنّه بالوعي أدرك صفاقة الحياة الواقعية و وجهها الدميم .


منذ ذلك الحين كانت نفسي تحمل في ذاتها قبوها ..

من خلال رصف ذكرياته على الورق ، يصف لنا هذا الإنسان البائس القبو النفسي الذي كان يقبع فيه منذ عشرينيات سنينه :
العزلة الهائلة التي عمادها ظروف اجتماعية و مادية و نفسية .
الوحدة التي يسبغها غياب الإنسجام الفكري مع محيط مكسو بالسطحية .
المزايا الفكرية التي لا تنال الحظوة في مجتمع معجون بالمظاهر .
الخوف ، الخجل ، اليأس .. و كل ما يترك ندباته على روح إنسان حسّاس و معذّب .


أيّ الأمرين أفضل؟ أسعادة مُبتذلة أم آلام رفيعة ؟

لم تكن كل مآرب دوستويفسكي هي هجاء المجتمع المادي السائد آنذاك ، فالعمق النفسي و الفكري الذي أصابه في عمله هذا ما كان إلا لاستخراج مغزى أهم و هو ضرورة التمسك بالإيمان و القيم الروحية السامية في مواجهة مذاهب المنفعة و المادية التي اجتاحت الإنسان و قوّضت دواخله .

لكن المعنيين بنشر هذه الرواية أجازوا لنفسهم اقتصاص هذا الجزء ، حارمين إيانا حبة الكرز التي تزين هذه الكعكة الشهية .

و هو ما جاء على لسان دوستويفسكي برسالة إلى أخيه ميشيل :
ربما كان الاستغناء عن نشر الفصل السابق على الأخير برمته ( و هو أهم الفصول لإنه يتضمن الفكرة الرئيسية ) خيراً من عرضه على هذا النحو جملاً مفككة متناقضة ! إن هؤلاء الرقباء الخنازير قد أجازوا نشر الفقرات التي أستهزئ فيها بكل شيء حتى لقد يشتمل ظاهرها على زندقة و تجديف ، فلمّا انتهيت من كل ذلك إلى ضرورة الإيمان بالمسيح أوقفوني عن الكلام ! .. )

یادداشت‌های زیرزمینی، بیش از این که یک رمان باشد، یک تحلیل شخصیت روان‌شناسانه است. اگرچه داستایوفسکی در اینجا شانس رویارویی با فروید را به طور مطلق از دست داده است، نثر او با اندیشه‌های فروید، پیوند خواهرانه برقرار می‌کند‫.

یادداشت‌های زیرزمینی، البته مصداق بارزی از رمان کلاسیک است. یعنی از آن دست رمان‌هایی است که نویسنده سعی می‌کند با تحلیل شخصیت و توصیف حالات فیزیکی، مخاطب را به مرز جنون برساند. در یادداشت‌های زیرزمینی، داستایوفسکی بیش از صد حالت مختلف را برای چهره و رفتار شخصیت‌ها تشریح کرده است. توصیفاتی کسالت‌بار، خسته‌کننده و ناامید کننده. در روزگار مدرن، می‌توان روزانه پنج مرتبه خدا را سپاس گفت که دوره‌ی رمان کلاسیک به لطف نوشته‌های ولف و جویس، به سرانجام رسیده است‫.

درمجموع، یادداشت‌های زیرزمینی اثری دمده و کهن�� است. خواندنش هم لذت‌بخش نیست. نکته‌ی دیگر این است که فلسفه‌ای که داستایوفسکی قصد چیدن یا بافتن آن را دارد، نه به اندازه کافی اگزیستانس و نه به اندازه لازم ابزورد است. یک حالت بینابینی است. من وجود دارم و رنج می‌کشم. اما زیاد هم پوچ نیستم. هرچه باشد با بهره‌گیری از تخیل و خیال‌بافی، توانسته‌ام خودم را چهل سال در یک زیرزمین حبس کنم. خودم را آگاهانه دچار تنهایی کرده‌ام. و آگاهانه دست به هیچ کاری نزده‌ام. و این اقدامی شجاعانه است. در فلسفه داستایوفسکی، ترس، رنج، تنهایی و آزادی، مفاهیم عمده هستند. فلسفه‌ای که مساله‌ی بحران انسان مدرن را تشریح می‌کند اما راه حلی ارائه نمی‌دهد‫.

"I am a sick man . . . I am a wicked man." Despite the double tap of that first line, I was not prepared for the pain and power of this book. The translator's introduction described the "underground man" as "one of the most remarkable characters in literature, one who has been placed among the bearers of modern consciousness." I was prepared for irony, satire, indictment, parody. I wasn't prepared to sink into the heart of a character so deeply sick in spirit, weakly wicked, spiteful - utterly despicable - a character with no redeeming characteristics whatsoever - except his astute observations of himself and society. A man who treated everyone in the meanest, most hateful ways. Whose apologies - if he ever made them - were insincere and self-serving. Who had no friends at all - for good reason. Who constantly fantasized about being noble and heroic and courageous, but acted cowardly. And who, at every moment, was painfully aware of how despicable and pathetic he was, and somehow unable to get himself to be or do otherwise. Even the humor - the black comedy of self-parody - was excruciating. The book made me want to vomit. Yet, unlike other Dostoevsky characters, the man was not a murderer, child molester, adulterer, drunkard, didn't take bribes - couldn't even get into a bar fight to save his life (although he tried, comically.) He was just a loveless jerk who drove away anyone who might try to befriend him.

Alas - the points Dostoevsky was trying to make about the social theories of his time still apply today, 150 years later - maybe more so. Rationality - which was supposed to solve humanity's problems - is fine as far as it goes - but - "right or wrong," said the underground man, "it's very pleasant to break something from time to time." Rationality is only one twentieth part of what makes up a human being - but we want to be fully human. When pressed too hard into rationality, we rebel - even sometimes against our own volition. That point might seem banal or dated - except for the persistence of a strange blind faith in human rationality.

What about the notion of whether the narrator "had to be that way?" The character himself railed against social determinism. (i'm not sure biological determinism was a concept yet.) Yet Dostoevsky also presented him as a man of his times, perhaps even common type found among intelligent, critical, but somewhat timid loners. As I sank deeper into his character, I kept hearing those old, brave, excruciating words of wisdom written by Paul: "Why do I do the things I hate - and the good that I want to do, I do not do?"

Then it got even more 21st century, tapping into the sense of powerlessness and unreality of life in society. Being human, after all, can be forgiven. (Or maybe it can't, anymore, said the underground man. If you're determined by your environment - if there is no sin to be forgiven - you're just stuck with being an unredeemable jerk, right?) But we aren't even human any more. We have become so accustomed to living in our heads, in ideas, in books (movies? TV? video games? the internet? political and commercial propaganda?) - we no longer know how to live our own real lives. The unnamed narrator explained: "I've felt ashamed all the while I've been writing this story . . . Because, for example, to tell long stories of how I defaulted on my life through moral corruption in a corner . . . by God, a novel needs a hero, and here there are purposely collected all the features for an anti-hero . . . all this will produce a most unpleasant impression, because we've all grown unaccustomed to life, we're all lame, each of us more or less. We've even grown so unaccustomed that at times we feel a sort of loathing for real "living life" . . . and we all agree in ourselves that it's better from a book. . . . Leave us to ourselves, without a book, and we'll immediately get confused, lost - we won't know what to join, what to hold to, what to love and what to hate, what to respect and what to despise. It's a burden for us even to be men -- men with real, our own bodies and blood." I wanted to say "Thank God I'm not like that!" But instead found myself saying "Oh God, I hope I'm not like that! Am I like that?! How can a reader deny it entirely?"

After thinking about the book for several hours, I went to church and encountered a hymn about meeting Christ in everyone who is broken and humiliated. Oh Fyodor, how I love you! Am I supposed to meet Christ in this unlovable, despised and rejected Man from Underground?! Am I supposed to meet myself in him?!

Re-read January 2024 After re-reading, well, perhaps I understand this book even less than I did the first time around (?!) this book with its despicable, or maybe deplorable, narrator with whom, if we are honest, we can at least to some tiny degree relate .... Yet I had a new insight. I read a different translation this time, by David Magarshack, that begins "I am a sick man, I am a spiteful man . . ." -- The word "spiteful" seems more appropriate than "wicked" -- he was a man dominated by spite, to his own detriment. And who can't remember having done something out of spite, even to one's own detriment and in defiance of reason?

But my new insight came after reading the final section, with Lisa, which seems to have made a much stronger impression on me this time. Here Lisa, despite whatever horrific past she hinted at escaping from, in the home of her parents, still knows how to love. The underground man, in contrast, is a man utterly without love, and unable to love even when love is offered. When love is gone from human relationships, Dostoevsky seems to say, all that remains is power - the desire to dominate, or the humiliation of being dominated by another. A hell on earth, in other words.

آقایان! خانمها! گوش کنید! شما یکی از دشوارترین، دراماتیک‌ترین و غیر قابل هضم‌ترین رمانها را در دست دارید

رمان مشمئز کننده و عذاب آور است و به نوعی مازوخیسم درونیست که در اوایل کتاب من رو یادِ سارتر انداخت،اما
داستایِفسکی،داستایِفسکی است
این را هرگز یادتان نرود.

بعد از این کتاب،بهترین کتابهای داستایِفسکی به نوعی شخصیت هایش وام گرفته از این داستان است.

یادداشتها،خودتان را با خودتان روبرو می‌کند.
از رمانی نفرت انگیز تا عشقی غیر منتظره...

goddamnit he didn't lie, what an evil creature