“Trying to untie the string and going to the window, to the light (all her windows were closed, despite the stuffiness), she left him completely for a few seconds and turned her back to him. He unbuttoned his coat and freed the axe from the loop but did not quite take it out yet; he just held it in his right hand under the coat. His hands were terribly weak; he felt them growing more and more numb and stiff every moment. He was afraid he would let go and drop the axe…suddenly his head seemed to spin…”
-tFyodor Dostoevsky, Crime and Punishment

(My raging, Raskolnikov-like conscious could not rest without warning you of potential spoilers ahead!)

The problem with being a high school student with average intelligence is that you can get fairly good grades with fairly minimal effort. It is an invitation to cut corners and utilize only one half your ass. This happened to me in English class. I'd sit back, take good notes, and bluff my way through various tests (this was back in the day before Google, when my family only had an AOL dial-up connection and all the answers, right and wrong, were on the internet). For these sins, I am now fated to read the classics long after I was supposed to read them.

On the plus side, coming to the classics on my own volition has given me a better appreciation than having to read them with a figurative gun to the head. This has allowed me to enjoy certain works to a higher degree.

However, I don't think any number of years will allow me to appreciate or enjoy or even suffer Fyodor Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment.

First published in 1866, Crime and Punishment is the excruciatingly-detailed psycho-epic about the murder of a pawn shop owner (and her sister). The murderer is named Raskolnikov. He is a former student living in a wretched little closet apartment. He is utterly unlikable: smug, arrogant, temperamental, condescending and self-delusional. Today, we would recognize this person as having a serious mental illness (and the book would be called Inability To Form Criminal Intent and Involuntary Commitment instead of Crime and Punishment). Dostoevsky, though, presents Raskolnikov's malady as spiritual, rather than mental. In a way, he is just like every grad student you've ever met: shiftless; over-educated and under-employed; haughty, yet prone to bouts of self-loathing. I imagine if this book was written in the next century, Raskolnikov would have shaggy sideburns, wear a t-shirt emblazoned with Che's image, and have a well-hidden addiction to prescription pain pills.

Raskolnikov has some interesting theories. He's a Nietzsche-inspired proto-Nazi who believes that the world can be divided into two classes: an elite, Napoleonic class, free to do what they wish; and a second class comprised of everyone else. This former class, because of their elevated standing, don't have to follow the rules.

Armed with this self-serving worldview, Raskolnikov, in need of money, determines that the pawn broker Alyona Ivanovna is a louse who deserves to die. So he takes his axe and a fake pledge to her apartment and bashes her head in. The crime is suitably graphic:

He took the axe all the way out, swung it with both hands, scarcely aware of himself, and almost without effort...brought the butt-end down on her head...Because she was short, the blow happened to land right on the crown of her head. She cried out, but very faintly, and her whole body suddenly sank to the floor, though she still managed to raise both hands to her head...Then he struck her again and yet again with all his strength...Blood poured out as from an overturned glass...

Once the murder is complete, very early in the novel, the long, slow, excruciating psychological unraveling begins. Some of Raskolnikov's madness is displayed through seemingly-endless internal monologues. Is this what it's like to be a crazy person? Maybe, maybe not. But it's effective in its way, because it drove me insane reading it.

Raskolnikov's deterioration is also presented via his relationships. Despite being an utter jackass, he has a lot of friends and family who care for him. Among them is the doting Natasha, a housekeeper at Raskolnikov's apartment; a doctor named Zossimov; and Raskolnikov's “best friend” Razumikhin, who is a bit like Milhouse from The Simpsons, though a bit more refined. He looks after Raskolnikov, tries to get him a job, and suffers all Raskolnikov's verbal abuse with unflagging patience. I couldn't decide what annoyed me more: Raskolnikov's monomania or Razumikhin's spinelessness.

Complicating this picture are several uninteresting plot threads that eventually, finally, after hundreds of pages, merge. One thread deals with Marmeladov, a wrecked old drunk whose daughter, Sonia, is a prostitute (with a heart of gold!). Raskolnikov is eventually redeemed by Sonia and Sonia's faith. A second thread has to do with Raskolnikov's mother and sister. His sister, Dunya, has come to St. Petersburg under a cloud, though things are looking brighter for her and the family, as she is engaged to Luzhin. Luzhin has money, and a keen eye for beautiful, vulnerable women. Raskolnikov rightly senses Luzhin's ill intent, and the animosity between the two men does not help Raskolnikov's troubled mind.

On top of all this, there is a clever, Dickensian police inspector named Porfiry Petrovich. He knows immediately that Raskolnikov is the murderer, yet insists on playing a lame game of cat-and-mouse. One of the few enjoyments I got from this novel was the cold irony of a Russian police officer patiently waiting for his suspect to confess. In Dostoevsky's Russia, the law is clever, intelligent, and implacable. Of course, just a few decades later, the NKVD and KGB would be breaking down doors in the middle of the night and hustling people off to Siberia for no reason at all.

To Dostoevsky's credit, all these characters intertwine, and all the stories pay off, such as it is. In order to do so, however, there are plot contrivances piled atop plot contrivances. Dostoevsky relies heavily on characters overhearing important bits of information.

The only Russian novels I've read have been by Tolstoy, so I don't have much to compare this to. I'm not fit to analyze Crime and Punishment against other works of Russian literature, or even against Dostoevsky's other books. All I know was that this was a drag to read. There are paragraphs that go on for pages, and the density – unleavened by any action – is numbing.

One of the most common complaints when reading Russian literature is the names. It's almost become a cliché. Well, in this case, it's true. At least – for the benefit of English speakers – Tolstoy gave his characters American nicknames. Here, you have to deal with both the patronymics and identical-sounding or near-identically-named characters. The easiest task you have is not mixing up Raskolnikov with Razumikhin. It gets a little harder trying to keep Alyona Ivanovna (the pawnbroker), Katerina Ivanovna (Sonia's mother) and Amalia Ivanovna (Sonia's mother's landlord) straight. Also remember that Dunya goes by the name Dunechka or Avdotya Romanovna (but that Porfiry Petrovich is not the same as Ilya Petrovich). These complaints are childish, I know, and I have no excuse. Yet I feel the need to unburden myself now, as I missed my chance in high school many, many (many, many) years ago.

More confusing than the names is the culture shock. When I first tried to read Crime and Punishment as a teenager, I chalked my confusion up to a poor translation. Well, this time around, the translation is in the incredibly capable hands of Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky. They managed, in Anna Karenina and War and Peace to be both faithful and readable. (They are recognized, by people far smarter than me, as the best Russian-to-English translators around).

Here, again, I have no complaints with the translation; but I also had a revelation: I don't get Russians. I don't fully grasp their social hierarchy; I don't get why they like mustaches on women; and I certainly don't understand their interactions. They get mad for reasons I can't comprehend; they are insulted for reasons I do not fathom. In Dostoevsky's hands, Russians are hopelessly operatic, incapable of having a subtle or nuanced reaction to anything. Every emotion has an exclamation mark. You get Dunya trying to shoot Svidrigailov one second, and then tearfully embracing him the next. Characters fall on their knees before each other, and laugh at inappropriate times, and have opaque motivations. I am not trying to be culturally insensitive when I say I am confounded by the Russians in Crime and Punishment.

Of course, there are enjoyable moments, including a classic set-piece following Marmeladov's funeral (imagine a Russian version of Clue, in which accusations are followed by counter-accusations, and everyone is shouting and fainting). Surprisingly, there is also a good bit of humor, such as this interaction between Raskolnikov and Svidrigailov regarding the morality of eavesdropping:

In that case, go and tell the authorities; say thus and so, I've had this mishap: there was a little mistake in my theory. But if you're convinced that one cannot eavesdrop at doors, but can go around whacking old crones with whatever comes to hand, to your heart's content, then leave quickly for America somewhere!

When I was young, I often gave up on challenging books like Crime and Punishment. If I managed to finish – or at least come close – I treated them with snark, which was obviously a self-defense mechanism, hiding an unspoken belief that maybe I just wasn’t smart enough to get it (whatever it was). When I got a little older – when I was no longer a kid, but didn’t have kids of my own – I went back to those classics I had dismissed, as a way to test myself. Older still – with kids of my own who don’t have their own kids – I circled back again, a strange sort of revisiting in which I tried to remember my past self through literature. Sometimes, I found myself revising old opinions. The Scarlet Letter, for instance, worked for me as an adult in a way it never had when I barely skimmed it in my youth.

Crime and Punishment, however, is never a classic I am going to love (and I’m unlikely to give it another try). Yet, in the perverse way of classics, it is utterly memorable, if only because I struggled so hard to get through it. Believing this a worthwhile hill to climb, I did not give up, even though I could have finished three others books in the time it took me to slog through this one. Heck, despite not liking this the first time, I even gave it an entire second reading. Thus, even though I can’t stand it, Crime and Punishment will be somewhere in my headspace forever, a vague recollection of mustachioed women, strong emotional reactions, and a know-it-all with an axe.

An examination of the psychology of a murderer, Crime and Punishment delves into the darkest depths of the mind, where tangled threads of hatred and paranoia and torment weave together to form a man such as Raskolnikov. Insignificant but too proud to admit it, he believes he is above trivial morality. But there is some tortured compassion in him, although it all but vanishes as he commits the titular Crime. Spiraling deeper and deeper into madness and resentment, Raskolnikov isolates himself and continues his desperate narcissism to the bitter end. His intensifying anxiety and terror, paired with his exaggerated belief in his own importance, drive him to increasingly severe breakdowns. Raskolnikov retreats into the uneasiness of his own mind, his fears threatening to overwhelm him.

Is there inherent evil in humankind? We all have hatred inside of us, but what defines us? What defines Raskolnikov? His moments of selfless generosity or his sudden, formidable rage? Should we be content to suffer from an endless helix of our innate capacity for violence?

I highly recommend the translation by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky. It captures Dostoevsky's eloquent voice without compromising the urgency and anxiety of the novel.

5 stars

n  “Guess,” he said, with his former twisted and powerless smile.n

Writing this was a crime and reading it was a punishment.

if only someone had the common sense to send this this boy to the sea for his hysterics and weak disposition ... sigh

Here's another review as I go! I suppose I just can't let go of Dostoyevsky's squalid, bleak, complicated, and spiritually vexing world, so despite having just finished The Brothers Karamazov, I find myself plunging headlong into Crime and Punishment, a book I last read 20 years ago.

I'm reading the new Oliver Ready translation, and it's wonderful so far.

I can well imagine how shocking this book must have been at the time. It depicts a world where everyone is either taking advantage of someone else or being taken advantage of, where most of the characters are engaged in a mean, petty, and morally bankrupt struggle for survival. Ironically, it's Raskolnikov himself who comes closest to espousing some idealistic notion of virtue among all the squalor, when he criticizes his sister for being engaged to someone she doesn't love, all for the sake of the man's money, with its potential to lift their family out of poverty.

***

Dostoyevsky is brilliant at depicting a character on the edge--one whose thoughts veer between lucidity and paranoia and whose passions overwhelm him even when he can hardly muster the energy to get off his sofa. What's interesting about his passion is the deep moralism that accompanies it--his sense of the world's injustice, as when he rushes to save Marmeladov, a drunkard who was trampled by a horse, and brings the man to his family and feels sorry for them all as he comforts them and gives them money. You get the sense here of a man who deeply feels all the depravity and injustice of the world, one who can hardly stand it, and yet he's the murderer and perhaps the most depraved one of all.

And yet.... Raskolnikov is also quite suspicious of "phonies," to use a Holden Caulfield term, as when he confronts his sister's fiance. Here's another complication in this fascinating character. Is he the most "honest" character in the book? In a way he is, but of course he's hiding the biggest secret. He constantly struggles against his own duplicity and is often on the verge of blurting out his crime. He even does at one point, yet his listener thinks it's a joke, and he plays along, but you can see how the act of dissimulation itself is so painful to him.

***

When Raskolnikov visits the disgraced Sonya, he becomes strangely Christ-like, kissing her feet and claiming he's bowing "to all human suffering." He seems to take all suffering on his shoulders, especially the suffering of children, as he constantly warns Sonya about what will happen to her young siblings should their mother die. But of course this is all complicated by Raskolnikov's avowed athiesm, which he makes clear to Sonya when she says that God would never let their mother die and leave those young children as defenseless and homeless orphans, and Raskolnikov responds, "almost with a sort of malicious glee," by asking: "What if there is no God?"

***

There is certainly no romanticizing of poverty here, as we see Katerina Ivanovna literally go mad and die from her circumstances. What a tragic and pathetic scene when, homeless, she drags her young children to the streetcorner, dresses them up like performers, and demands they sing and dance for coins, all the while they're crying and she's yelling and coughing up blood. Raskolnikov's premonitions come true, when he turns to Sonya afterwards and wonders what will happen to the children now.

***

Raskolnikov, for all his powers of empathy, seems to long for something more--for the power to achieve greatness, to become a great figure of history--and the murder is for him bound up in this quest. He rationalizes that if Napoleon, in order to fulfill his destiny, had to knock off a few lowly people, wouldn't he be justified in doing so? Passages like this presage all sorts of 20th century horrors, and it's fascinating to see them here, spoken by this most complicated character.

***

Hurtling toward the end now, with Raskolnikov having confessed to a distraught Sonya, and Svidrigailov overhearing from the room next door. Svidrigailov tries to use his knowledge to confront Raskolnikov's sister and get her in his power, claiming he'll take Raskolnikov away with him to America to save him, if only Avdotya will succumb to him. In a scene straight out of a pulp novel, she's shocked and pulls out a revolver and shoots at him as he approaches her, only to graze his head. But he realizes she will never love him, and even after she throws the revolver aside, he allows her to escape.

***

Some spoilers may follow, but I'll do my best not to give too much away:

The fate of Svidrigailov was for me the one false note in the book--the one point where Dostoyevsky took the easy way out. I wasn't at all convinced he'd use the revolver in the way he did, and I felt the author basically wanted this troublesome character out of the way.

Otherwise, wow, the ending was just brilliant--the drama of whether Raskolnikov would confess or not was drawn out masterfully. Then, in Siberia, we get what were for me some of the saddest and truest lines of the entire book:

"Existence alone had never been enough for him; he'd always wanted more. And perhaps the only reason he'd considered himself a man to whom more was permitted than to others was the very strength of his desires."

Only at the end, after a sickness, and Sonya's sickness, does Raskolnikov finally shed the torments of his ambition toward greatness--which in many ways was the driver of his entire crime. He becomes, finally, content, because he finally finds love--real deep spiritual love for this woman who'd given up everything to live near his remote penal colony. Love is what finally transforms him and gives him hope that, after seven more years, he'll be able at last to live.

And so ends this amazing journey--one that will remain with me for a long time, one that I'll ponder and dip back into, one that seems so modern and relevant today. In a way it really does presage the entire 20th century, with its exposition of how dreams of greatness can lead to sordid crimes, how greatness is a form of torment and perhaps even a form of demented thinking. I can't help seeing Raskolnikov as a "wanna-be" Stalin, or Hitler, or Mao, or any of those tragically self-aggrandizing men who see crime as simply a means to an end, who believe they're superior beings and are therefore entitled to use "lesser" people to service their own dreams. It's a terrifying mentality, and Dostoyevsky knew it well. If only we'd listened to him.....

- the crime is that i’ve started this book 3 times and have yet to finish it. 2024 2025 will be MY YEAR.

so basically I ate

Κάποτε της μοδός στα βιβλία ήταν η ρώσικη λογοτεχνία. Κάθε σπίτι που σεβόταν τον εαυτό του και το κουλτουριάρικο πρόσωπο που έδειχνε στη γειτονιά είχε βιβλιοθήκη τίγκα από δερματόδετους τόμους (αγορασμένους τις περισσότερες φορές με το μέτρο) από τους λεγόμενους Ρώσους κλασικούς. Γιατί λοιπόν να διαφέρει η δικιά μου πατρική σκοροφιδοφωλιά; Γεμάτη η βιβλιοθήκη από Τσέχωφ, Τολστόη (και Λέων και Άλεξ), Πούσκιν, Γκόρκη, Μαγιακόφσκη… Ως δια μαγείας όμως (ή ίσως γιατί τα χρήματα του μπαμπά μπορεί να είχαν τελειώσει για να παραγγείλει άλλα βιβλία με δόσεις) έλειπε ο Ντοστογιέβσκη… Ντοστό ούτε για δείγμα…
Ε! τα χρόνια πέρασαν, καταβροχθίστηκαν όταν έπρεπε οι Ρώσοι, μου ‘παν πως και ο Ντοστογιέβσκη πέφτει και ολίγον βαρύς στο στομάχι, από μακριά κι αγαπημένοι. Τώρα πως επείσθην να διαβάσω το μεγάλο Ρώσο συγγραφέα, άβυσσος η ψυχή του σκορόφιδου.
‘Έγκλημα και τιμωρία’ λοιπόν, ένα από τα εμβληματικά έργα του συγγραφέα, όπου ξεκινάει με τη δολοφονία δύο γυναικών από έναν πρώην φοιτητή, φτωχό δίχως στον ήλιο μοίρα, τον Ρασκόλνικοβ.
Θεωρώ ‘εκ των ων ουκ άνευ’ να αναφερθώ στην υπόθεση ή στις αναλύσεις του έργου για ψυχολογικά υπόβαθρα, κοινωνικές προεκτάσεις και όλα αυτά. Έχουν γράψει κι έχουν γράψει άλλοι που τα κατέχουν καλύτερα αυτά.
Αυτό που θέλω να πω είναι πως τελικά κάποιοι άνθρωποι δεν έγιναν κλασικοί γιατί έτσι τα κανόνισε το marketing. Είναι απίστευτο πως ένα έργο που εκδόθηκε πρώτη φορά το 1866 (σε συνέχειες στην εφημερίδα παρακαλώ…) μέσα σε μια τόσο διαφορετική κοινωνία με άλλα προβλήματα και άλλες προσλαμβάνουσες παραμένει τόσο επίκαιρο. Γεγονός που δηλώνει σαφώς δύο πράγματα: α. πως η φύση του ανθρώπου είναι ίδια κι απαράλλαχτη από την εποχή του προπατορικού αμαρτήματος, β. πως ο Ντοστογιέβσκη ήταν πολύ μεγάλος τελικά…
Κι επειδή έχω φάει και τα χρόνια μου στα ντιβάνια των ψυχαναλυτών, ανακάλυψα με σοκ και δέος πως ο Ντοστογιέβσκη είναι ένας απίστευτος γνώστης της ανθρώπινης ψυχής και με χειρουργική ακρίβεια, βάζει το νυστέρι του βαθιά στο ‘είναι’ σου. Γι’αυτό κι ώρες – ώρες με ενοχλούσε απίστευτα η αφήγηση, όχι γιατί ήταν άσχημη η γλώσσα ή κλειστοφοβικό το κλίμα (που ήταν και αυτό) αλλά γιατί με έφερνε αντιμέτωπο ολόγυμνο μπροστά στον καθρέφτη της ψυχής μου και ποια ανθρώπινη ψυχή μπορεί να αντιμετωπίσει δίχως πόνο και δίχως πάθος τα σκοτάδια και τα λάθη της; Υπαρξιακές αγωνίες, αέναες μάχες με τη συνείδηση, ο πόλεμος του καλού και του κακού, ο άνθρωπος που δεν είναι ποτέ μονοδιάστατος αλλά κρύβει μέσα του στρώματα πολλών εαυτών, η σχέση με το Θεό, κι ένα τέλος που προϊδεάζει για sequel το οποίο δεν ξέρω αν ποτέ ήρθε (δεν είμαι και εξπέρ του Ντοστογιέβσκη).
Σκοτεινό και αισιόδοξο, σου κλέβει τον αέρα για να σου ανοίξει το παράθυρο στη συνέχεια να αναπνεύσεις… Το αγάπησα αυτό το βιβλίο…
Αγαπημένος μου ήρωας; Ο Σβιντριγκάιλοβ, ο φαινομενικά πιο ‘σκουλήκι’ ήρωας, ο πιο τιποτένιος, ο πιο αμαρτωλός, ο πιο έκφυλος, ο πιο… πιο… πιο… Μα είπαμε η ανθρώπινη φύση δεν είναι ποτέ μονοδιάστατη… Γιατί ακόμα κι αυτός ο έχει αισθήματα αληθινά και συνείδηση που τον συντρέχει.
Βαθμολογία: Εκτός συναγωνισμού… Στο άπειρο κι ακόμα παραπέρα!
Υ.Γ. Η μετάφραση του Άρη Αλεξάνδρου (απ’ευθείας από τα ρωσικά κι όχι αυτά τα δαιδαλώδη ρωσικά – αγγλικά – ελληνικά) κατ’εμέ υπέροχη και καθόλου δεν την βρήκα ξεπερασμένη… Κάποια κείμενα έχουν κι ένα βάρος επάνω τους… ας μην είναι η γλώσσα ‘φτερό στον άνεμο’…
https://skorofido.blogspot.gr/2017/09...

بدون شک برای کسی که قلبا" از اشتباهش احساس پشیمونی می‌کنه، هیچ مجازاتی سخت‌ تر از این نیست که یک عمر با حس سرزنش و بار احساس گناهی که خودش صادقانه بهش رسیده، زندگی کنه
اما این وسط تکلیف تویی که با وجود گناهانات همچنان معتقدی که بی گناهی و سزاوار مجازات نیستی، چی می تونه باشه !؟ قطعا تحمل مجازات برای گناهانِ به باورِ خودت نکرده ت، هزار بار می تونه عذاب آورتر از زمانی باشه که حداقل می دونی داری برای اشتباهی مجازات می شی که لایقش هستی

به قول فلوبر

اگر رنج های ما به حال کسی سودی داشت، لااقل می توانستیم به نام این که فداکاری می کنیم خودمان را کمی دلداری دهیم

هیچ شکی در اینکه زندگی ناعادلانه ست وجود نداره، حتی در اینکه خدا هم در این ناعادلانه تقسیم کردن سرگذشت آدم ها مقصره شکی نیست، اما اصلا همه ی اینا می تونه بهانه ای باشه برای اینکه به خودمون اجازه بدیم زندگی یه نفر دیگه رو، حالا هر چقدر هم پست و بی ارزش، بگیریم !؟ جوابش از نظر داستایوسکی هم مثبته هم منفی. یعنی همون قدری که راسکلنیکف این حقو داشت که زندگیه اون پیرزن کذایی رو بگیره به همون اندازه هم حق انجام چنین کاری رو نداشت. حالا چرا!؟
دیگه خودتون برید کتاب رو بخونید تا بفهمید
^^
-----
یه توصیه هم برای اونایی که مایلن کتاب رو بخونن دارم

کتاب تا 400 صفحه اول فوق العاده خسته کننده و ملال آوره، پس انتظاری از ش نداشته باشین.200 صفحه ی بعدی بهتر از بخش ابتدایی هست و داستان کم کم شروع به اوج گرفتن می کنه، 100 صفه ی آخر هم که شاهکار اصلی ماجراست و احتمالا اگر به خاطر همین صد صفحه ی اخر نبود، دو امتیاز هم به کتاب نمی دادم :)) خلاصه که با این کتاب صبور باشید تا از خوندنش لذت ببرید

Cited as one of the supreme achievements in literature, Crime and Punishment is neither about the crime, nor about the punishment, but about the psyche of a criminal.

The protagonist wantonly commits an off the cuff murder, without any mortification whatsoever. He is enthralled with the majestic image of a Napoleonic personality who, in the interests of the greater social good, believes that he possesses a moral right to kill. At the same time, he is guilt trapped and tormented by his own act. And mind that, repenting isn't easy for him! He is constantly ashamed of his impropriety and remains delirious. His conscience perpetually forces him to accept the reality of his mediocrity, yet he decides to shelve events and evade the authorities. One of the police officials even suspects him and persuades him to accept the crime while promising for clemency, but he refuses to acknowledge and snubs any leniency offered by the authorities.

Only a downtrodden and dispirited prostitute can offer salvation (salvation that can only be found in love ), leaving him off the hook.

"I like living. I have sometimes been wildly, despairingly, acutely miserable, racked with sorrow, but through it all I still know quite certainly that just to be alive is a grand thing."

- Agatha Christie

Crime and Punishment proved to be one of those rare breed of books that well and truly break through the outer facade and leave behind a permanent impression, even if its a dark and hideous one.

Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoyevsky died a 110 years ago before I was born, and yet all through the while that I was reading Crime and Punishment, it felt like he must have written this books for me and me alone. It was almost as if he could see through time you know; like a known face reaching out from an unknown, distant pass. I found Raskolnikov's actions and world view to be eerily similar to that of mine, as if I was looking through his eyes. Or if he was looking through mine eyes instead; one and the same. Now mind you, this is not necessarily how the world is, only this is how he chose to see it. Or perhaps this was the only way he was capable of seeing it. Note the difference between the two, for Dostoyevksy not once accuses Raskolnikov of a crime. He lets us, the readers, decide for ourselves about that. That, however, is right about the only slack he cuts him.

Everywhere else he scythes through his 'protagonist'. Lays bare his twisted and conceited thoughts, practically strips him naked. And that is where I found myself cringing. Raskolnikov's biggest flaws, his worst nightmares, his darkest secrets were all mine. But this wasn't it. Every time I looked up from these accursed pages, I could almost imagine Dostoyevsky sitting off across me. With a smirk on his face he would say, "You really thought no one would ever know?"

Add to this the fact that beyond a point in this book, Nina Simone's beautiful rendition of Sinnerman would not stop playing in my head. You know you're in love with a book when mere words on a scrap of page (although Dostoyevsky's are hardly 'mere words' to be honest) can spring in your head one of your favorite tunes. English is not the most evocative language in the world; am afraid that honour must go to Urdu. Yet, the force behind these 'mere words' is one to reckon with, and I learnt it the most beautiful way.

And to top it all, Sonya. I am a sucker for simplicity and her character was delightfully attractive and fascinating. As is, I found her and Raskolnikov's a better story than most that I see around myself, real or imaginary world whichever. Should I feel too stupid to wish happiness for them? I think not, because its not too bad to have a little bit of hope at times. And that is what I realized Dostoyevsky was trying to tell us too - that there is hope and redemption for the worst of us.


Raskolnikov and Sonya

So yes, living is worth the while. So said Madam Christie..so said Raskolnikov too, and Dostoyevsky. So say I.

خورخه لوئیس بورخس: جوان که بودم داستایفسکی بنظرم بزرگ‌ترین رمان‌نویس می‌آمد. بعد از حدود ده سال دوباره کتاب‌هایش را خواندم و این بار خیلی مایوس شدم. شخصیت‌هایش بسیار غیرواقعی و پیوسته به پیرنگ بودند

داستایوفسکی آنقدر نویسنده مشهوریست که انتقاد کردن از او دل و جرات زیادی می خواهد. با اجازه بورخسِ بزرگوار دست "ناباکوف" را گرفتم و کشاندم به این ریویو، تا در این منازعه هراس آور تنها نباشم. ناباکوف از آن بوکسور��ای بی‌رحمی است که از هیچ‌کسی ابایی ندارد و وقتی هم حریف کسی به نام فئودور داستایوفسکی باشد، ناباکوف با لذت تمام به رینگ پا خواهد گذاشت و بدون آنکه صدای زنگ آغاز زده شود او را به مشت خواهد بست. فقط این را بگویم که خود جناب بورخس هم عاشق بوکس است و از آمدن ناباکوف چه بسا بسیار شاد هم بشود

ولادیمیر ناباکوف: غیر روس ها دو چیز را درباره‌ی داستایوفسکی متوجه نیستند، یکی اینکه همه‌ی روس ها به اندازه‌ی آمریکایی ها عاشق داستایوفسکی نیستند، دیگر اینکه آنهایی هم که عاشق اویند به او به عنوان کسی با نیروی سحرآمیز احترام می گذارند نه هنرمند. او یک پیامبر بود، روزنامه نگاری عامه پسند، بازیگر کمدی بی دقت. قبول دارم که برخی صحنه هایی که آفریده، برخی از بحث های کمدی‌اش، بسیار سرگرم کننده اند، اما قاتل های حساسش و روسپی های پرشورش چیزی نیستند که بشود یک لحظه تحملشان کرد، دست کم من خواننده نمی توانم

با سپاس فراوان از ناباکوف رک گو، باید عرض کنم که تحمل ناپذیری شخصیت ها در این اثر به اوج خود می رسد. واقعا در خط خطِ این کتاب در حیرت بودم که شخصیت ها نه تنها قابل دوست داشتن نیستند بلکه حتی نمی توان درکشان کرد...این را هم بگویم که این اثر دوست نداشتنی- که لقب شاهکار هم بهش می دهند- باعث نشد سراغ دیگر آثار داستایوفسکی نروم. از خواندن برادران کارامازوف واقعا لذت می برم، اما متاسفانه در آنجا هم گاه گاه داستایوفسکی غیرهنرمند بودن خودش را به نمایش می گذارد و آدم را به خشم می آورد. در قسمت هایی از کتاب دقیقا نقش یک پیامبر را به عهده می گیرد و نظرات اخلاقی شخصی اش را مستقیما تو گوش‌ات فریاد می زند

بورخس بزور خودش را به رینگ مسابقه می رساند و فریاد میزند صب کنید آخرین مشت را من بزنم. در حالیکه مشتش فئودور را نشانه گرفته به او می‌گوید: تو به ره خطا رفتی. با آن عرفان پرستی مضحک‌ات. با شخصیت های قلابی‌ات. بگذار به تو بگویم که آدم در زندگی واقعی، حتی در موقعیتی دشوار، حتی وقتی خیلی نگران چیزی است یا دلهره دارد یا بیزاری به او دست داده یا عاشق شده یا خشمگین است، به سایر امور زندگی هم می‌پردازد. همانطور که الان منتظر مشت منی، ولی داری به معشوقت فکر میکنی و اینکه کی دوباره به همسرت خیانت میکنی. نه! من مـثه تو پیامبر نیستم و نمی توانم در مورد چیزی قضاوت کنم و محکوم کنم وقتی خود به وفور انجامش می‌دهم. پس بنوش این مشت جادویی را...

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پاسخ: فک می‌کنم تنها هنر روانکاوی داستایوفسکی باعث شد بتوانم این کتاب را پایان ببرم و این به علاقه خاصی که به علم روانشناسی دارم بر می گردد، وگرنه سرنوشت راسکولنیکف و سایر داردوسته سن پترزبورگی این کتاب، کمترین علاقه ای در من خواننده بر نمی انگیختند