The Brothers Karamazov
Mark Twain once said, “ a classic is a book people praise and don’t read”. Or at least that’s what someone’s Tumblr said that he said, and I found it striking enough to note. To some degree, I’ve sought to change that trend with this blog. At this point in the game, I hope that I’ve piqued someone’s interest towards a novel they wouldn’t normally be drawn to, or exposed someone to literature that they’d formerly never thought twice about.
Personally, I knew that Fyodor Dostoevsky was praised, but I hadn’t read any of his works until my inaugural post. Feeling let down, I decided to give the author another shot. As if holding a 936-page book in my hand isn’t daunting enough, The Brothers Karamazov has a zillion Russian names that often confuse and deter me. I mean, there is a road named Mikhailovskaya St.
Plz don’t cancel me. I’m not saying this out of disrespect for other cultures— I obviously think other cultures are worth reading about. I’m just sayin it’s hard for me to follow and it makes an already pretty clunky book even clunkier.
Likewise, I am sometimes put off by both era-related and cultural differences. The characters wield a very emotional affect—borderline hysterical. They make frenzied decisions, exhibit rash thinking, and communicate over-excitedly. However, having already experienced these annoyances with Crime and Punishment, I am now able to sit back, relax, and enjoy his distinctive style. It’s almost as if I had to warm up to his writing until I was fully able to indulge in the drama of the narrative. This is all to say that if you don’t like some of Dostoevsky’s work, that does not inevitably rule out any chance of you enjoying this book so ~keep reading~.
Dostoevsky loves a good moral dilemma. He likes to embed ethical conflicts within crime and then study the nature of the criminal and the people who relate to him. I can sympathize with criminal psychology. I had never stolen anything until I studied abroad in Australia. It was obviously not the ideal time to begin my petty criminal antics--when I was in another country and the consequences were much more complicated—but I was dirt poor. Of course, I budgeted for boxed wine and cabs home from the club (it was Australia, after all) and then I didn't really have anything leftover for things like…food. In Oz, I stole the following items: a kangaroo back scratcher (you weren’t expecting that, were you?), a bottle of conditioner, and a box of Nerds. Of note, I stupidly stole the Nerds at a grocery store even though it was by far the cheapest item in my cart. Also of note, nerds are delicious. At one point, I tried to steal this Costco-sized bag of shredded cheddar cheese but then got too flustered. Probably because I was so stoked at the prospect of owning that much cheese. Can I be arrested for admitting all of this?
Anyway, Dostoevsky (unfortunately) did not write about the moral repercussions of stealing cheese. This particular crime has to do with a family of three brothers- Ivan, Dmitry, and Alyosha as well as their vulgar father, Fyodor. Yes, Dostoevsky named the most obnoxious character after himself. The wrongdoing (which I will not divulge) occurs as a result of a twisted, entangling love triangle (or rather, love pentagon). While romantic problems are sure to afflict many unsuspecting men, this family is not your typical one. They are inextricably plagued by “the Karamazov drive”—one that is “earthy, frantic, and primitive” (Dostoevsky, 264). Each member, in his own individual way, has such a rich appetite for life and experiences that he can be easily propelled into the most shameful circumstances. I understand—I really like unlimited mimosa brunches even though I know it leads to unproductive afternoons and general debauchery. I’m just *experiencing life*.
While my brunch escapades (probably) do not lead to any larger, existential meaning, I do believe that the Karamazov family serves as a microcosm for Russia as a whole. At this stage in Dostoevsky’s writing—this is his final novel preceding his death in 1881—he is realllllly worried about the state of Russia and his concerns seep through the actions and words of his characters (see Crime and Punishment for more details about Dostoevsky’s life as a whole). He notes that Russia is losing its identity as a fruitful nation, namely as a consequence of its trend towards godlessness. All of Dostoevsky’s stuff gets very spiritual. Just as the Karamazovs relentlessly pursue the extreme poles that the world has to offer (good—evil, spiritual—heathen), the people of Russia are dangerously toying with atheism. For Dostoevsky, a full step in that direction would go so far as to undermine humanity; he believed, towards the end of his life, that mankind is at its best when it acknowledges and incorporates the metaphysical.
One of the most significant chapters of this novel centers on Ivan—the openly religiously antagonistic son. He claims that he doesn’t necessarily reject God outright, rather “what [he does] not accept and cannot accept is the God-created world” (Dostoevsky, 283). He is particularly troubled by the suffering of innocent children, perhaps a parallel to how he feels in relation to his own father. Ivan goes on to state that it is actually his duty to reject his ticket to heaven in that it was paid with the blood money of blameless children.
Dostoevsky’s writings reflect his personal philosophical and theological growth. I mentioned this as a literary limitation in Crime and Punishment because I think that his own changing views result in an unrealistic development of Raskolnikov, the main character. Here, in his last book, at a time when his beliefs are more firmly consolidated, he infuses the characters and plot with his own ideas in a lucid, cogent way. Of this book, he says “I’d die happy if I could finish this final novel, for I would have expressed myself completely” (Dostoevsky, back cover).
Still, while all of this is meaningful and interesting, I do think that a good portion of this novel is unnecessary. It depicts Dostoevsky’s syntactical skill, but there are several descriptions that don’t strike me as useful or even beautiful to read. I acknowledge the need to develop an elaborate plot with brooding, complicated characters…but I don’t need to know what a character’s second cousin likes to wear as she drinks tea on a Tuesday. He really wants to set the scene and saturate events with lengthy descriptions.
On an unrelated note, many of his chapters are very explicitly named to the point that I found it comical. For instance: “Mitya Reveals His Secret and Is Heckled”—I wonder what that one is about (Dostoevsky, 590)?
Lastly, I must commend his unique narrative style. The narrator is privy to the character’s thoughts and actions but he is not omniscient in a conventional way. He actually lives amongst them. He relays the story almost as if it a piece of hot gossip and at times he admits to having a bias of personal affection for specific characters. As a fellow member of the community, he can even be disturbed by the drama. I can always appreciate an innovative narrator.
Taking into account the novel’s philosophical questions, its gratuitous longevity, and a style that takes some getting used to, I give it 3 out of 5 flames. If you’re trying to jump on the Dostoevsky train, I recommend starting here. If you’re trying to avoid the tracks altogether, perhaps try your hand at other classic Russian literature, like Lolita.
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