1/4 MINI REVIEW: The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoevsky

Two-hundred pages into what’s been argued to be the greatest book ever written, I’m starting to understand just how solid that statement might be. It’s been a while since I’ve read something with such vivid and enticing characters, and with a few favorites tucked into my heart, I just can’t get enough of these Russian names! Also, I’ll try to keep the spoilers to a minimum. 

“In the first place, we’re overcome with practical concerns; in the second place, God provides so little time, only twenty-four hours in a day, so there’s no time to get enough sleep, let alone repent of one’s sins,” (138).  

The father of all these brothers is a despicable human being who always seems to have the funniest things to say. Fyodor Pavlovich is shameless, to say the least, reckless, terribly selfish, hedonistic–he’s a heathen, really, and a fool. He’s defined by his foolishness and it’s compelling to see the ways his sons approach him, as well as the ways they do and don’t inherit some of these less than desirable traits. That being said, the old man knows himself, he knows what he’s doing and how people see him, and he does what he wants. So, chances are, if you don’t know someone just like Fyodor–a drunk who drives his family away and chases after money, women, and attention–then you’re probably the Fyodor of your hometown. Hate to be the one to break it to you. 

“His heart was trembling as he entered the elder’s cell: Why, oh why, had he left? Why had the elder sent him out ‘into the world’? Here there was silence, holiness, while there–commotion, darkness, in which you lose your way and get lost…” (187).

Alyosha, the youngest brother, is easy to love. He has a pure heart and he’s someone I’d like to strive to be like. He never judges his father, or anyone else for that matter, and he’s been that way since he was a child. Openhearted to a fault, one might argue, though I believe he demonstrates Christ-like character time and time again. His caring heart is the core of who he is and how others perceive him, with everyone calling him “angel” more than they call him by his name. That’s not to say he’s without any internal conflict. There’s that constant struggle inside him that he references throughout the first part of the book, and I think a part of that struggle is his desire to be a better Christian and a better person for those around him. He wants to serve others and to do right by everyone, a desire lacking in the majority, if not all, of his relatives. Thematically, I believe he’s meant to symbolize the goodness in us all, or more accurately, the constant desire to be better, do good, forgive and love, no matter how taxing it may turn out to be. 

“What seems to be a disgrace to the mind seems to be pure beauty to the heart,” (131).

I love Dmitri, too, though I know I shouldn’t. Wild, reckless, and a total scoundrel, the majority of the troubles in his life are simply the results of his own rash and self-indulgent behavior. He’s a soldier and terribly passionate. Who could forget that pesky habit of killing people, threatening to kill people, threatening to kill himself, and so on and so forth? It’s all very hot and cold with him, and he, out of all the brothers, seems, on the surface, to have inherited many of his father’s traits, or rather, “Karamazov” traits. It’s clear that being a Karamazov is a lot like being Ishmael from Genesis: “a wild ass of a man.” While I can’t completely understand his logic when it comes to the relationships with the women in his life, I understand his aggression toward his father and I have a good idea what he’ll do with all that aggression in the next part of the book. Dmitri, therefore, must symbolize the parts of ourselves that are in want of taming and self-control. He’s all desire, all anger, all emotion, and I love it whenever he’s on the page.

“Why ‘God forbid’?” Ivan continued his whispering, with a malicious expression on his face. “One viper devours another; good riddance to both of them!” (169).

Ivan, who hasn’t really taken up too much space quite yet, is the middle child and the skeptic. I’m bound to like him less because I disagree with him at every turn. And, in a way, though his behavior is milder than that of Dmitri, his words warrant a greater degree of distrust. He’s full of theories, full of thoughts. The most educated of the brothers, he plays the part of the moody atheist who has an easy time wooing women, though he doesn’t seem to fret over it too much, because a thinking man is always an attractive thing to a woman. To me, his belief in the ambiguity between good and evil makes me hesitant to put too much stock in what he says, though I’ll try to hear him out as the book continues. Ivan is all logic and represents critical thinking, doubt, and that awful, awful nihilism that gets passed around university philosophy departments like a bad cold. 

Dostoevsky has a great way of capturing people, and accompanied by his humor, he's beginning to remind me of Jane Austen. I catch myself laughing at half of these characters, not because they're terribly funny, but because I can see them so clearly. I'm waiting for that blunt, rough edge to his voice that everyone's always talking about. So far, it's been intimate and realistic, and the perspective from which he's writing seems to make the whole thing sound like a fable that's been passed between gossips of a little Russian town. And I don't mind the chapters dedicated to a character's backstory--in fact, I love it! I love all the chapters so far and I dread the moment, as always occurs with big books, where my interest plateaus and it's a fight to just finish a chapter. Here's hoping that doesn't happen this time around!

The female characters have yet to make as big of an impression on me but it’s safe to say  they’re all pretty singular and necessary. (NOTE: never trust a hoe named Grushenka).

“Five months later she married a civil servant and moved away, still angry, perhaps still loving me,” (132).

There’s a lot of theological debate early on in the book, which I enjoyed IMMENSELY–especially the bit about socialism. By the end of it, I was of the opinion that one cannot be both a true socialist and a true Christian at the same time, but, in the Russian spirit of things, I’d love to debate that with anyone until kingdom come. God bless, and I hope you’re reading something you enjoy! If not, pick this up ASAP.