Wednesday, 29 September 2021 10:14 pm
Book Review: The Brothers Karamazov
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deckardcanineIt turns out that I had little trouble keeping the characters straight. Maybe it helps that I've had practice with far more populous stories. Anyway, it had been a while since my last book written before the 20th century and even longer since my last translated book. This translation, by Constance Garnett, frequently uses or omits commas in unorthodox ways, but otherwise, it succeeds at conveying Fyodor Dostoevsky's skilled prose.
Set in a contemporary Russian village, the story is narrated by an unidentified monk. This makes things somewhat awkward, because while he occasionally expresses gaps in his knowledge, he knows way more than you'd expect of someone not particularly close to the events. Indeed, after the first few chapters in this unabridged version, the telling gets heavy on long-winded dialog, which would be hard enough to capture even if the narrator had been present.
I wonder if Dostoevsky intended self-deprecation when he named the brothers' father after himself. Fyodor Karamazov is a rude, drunken, womanizing, irreligious scoundrel. The back cover of my edition calls him "one of the most loathsome characters in all literature," but he came nowhere close for me. Putting aside my usual sci-fi and fantasy villains, I think I got madder at Nathan Price. Still, it's just as well that Fyodor gets less focus than his sons, who are in their 20s for most of the book.
The eldest brother, Dmitri, is most similar to their father in personality: dissolute, fiscally irresponsible, and in poor control of his emotions. Ironically, or perhaps appropriately, he locks horns with Fyodor the most, not least for their taste in the same woman. It can be hard to relate to his thoughts under stress, which often seem self-contradicting.
The second eldest, Ivan, is the intellectual. We have him to thank most for the theological and philosophical brooding that helped make TBK a hit. (Dostoevsky barely comes across as a believer.) For a time, he seems cold and calculating, but in the last act, he veers toward histrionic insanity at least as much as Dmitri does. Nevertheless, he has the smallest role in the plot, serving more as a social foil than anything else.
Alyosha is a monk and easily the most virtuous Karamazov. Almost saintly, in fact, and no less popular with the other Karamazovs for it. Nothing seems to shake his devotion, even when the rest of the village loses all trust in his idol, Father Zosima. Alyosha gets the most focus overall, being central to many lesser episodes.
Then there's Smerdyakov, alleged illegitimate son of Fyodor and a now-dead nobody. Given how little support he receives, it's no surprise that he cares only about himself, at best. And he's got just the mind to engineer trouble for others.
I'm not sure how much to tell you about the plot. We do hear from several women, as well as some children, and nobody seems to perpetuate demographic stereotypes (apart from Smerdyakov being a bastard in more than one sense). Most of the events do not feel particularly rooted in that setting; we might expect similar real occurrences in a modern U.S. city. At the same time, nothing is simple. The nearly 700 pages aren't exactly padded with filler; they're a detailed examination of how the world can be. Dostoevsky sure was devoted to his craft.
Yes, the reading could feel like a chore, or I would have finished a month sooner. But it has my admiration. I especially like the trial near the end, partly for showing what did and did not differ under the old Russian system. I can see why my dad tentatively plans to reread.
Now I've picked up Jim Butcher's Furies of Calderon. Normally, I don't expect much of fantasies I first heard of via giveaway, but this one's pretty esteemed, and I've enjoyed Butcher before.
Set in a contemporary Russian village, the story is narrated by an unidentified monk. This makes things somewhat awkward, because while he occasionally expresses gaps in his knowledge, he knows way more than you'd expect of someone not particularly close to the events. Indeed, after the first few chapters in this unabridged version, the telling gets heavy on long-winded dialog, which would be hard enough to capture even if the narrator had been present.
I wonder if Dostoevsky intended self-deprecation when he named the brothers' father after himself. Fyodor Karamazov is a rude, drunken, womanizing, irreligious scoundrel. The back cover of my edition calls him "one of the most loathsome characters in all literature," but he came nowhere close for me. Putting aside my usual sci-fi and fantasy villains, I think I got madder at Nathan Price. Still, it's just as well that Fyodor gets less focus than his sons, who are in their 20s for most of the book.
The eldest brother, Dmitri, is most similar to their father in personality: dissolute, fiscally irresponsible, and in poor control of his emotions. Ironically, or perhaps appropriately, he locks horns with Fyodor the most, not least for their taste in the same woman. It can be hard to relate to his thoughts under stress, which often seem self-contradicting.
The second eldest, Ivan, is the intellectual. We have him to thank most for the theological and philosophical brooding that helped make TBK a hit. (Dostoevsky barely comes across as a believer.) For a time, he seems cold and calculating, but in the last act, he veers toward histrionic insanity at least as much as Dmitri does. Nevertheless, he has the smallest role in the plot, serving more as a social foil than anything else.
Alyosha is a monk and easily the most virtuous Karamazov. Almost saintly, in fact, and no less popular with the other Karamazovs for it. Nothing seems to shake his devotion, even when the rest of the village loses all trust in his idol, Father Zosima. Alyosha gets the most focus overall, being central to many lesser episodes.
Then there's Smerdyakov, alleged illegitimate son of Fyodor and a now-dead nobody. Given how little support he receives, it's no surprise that he cares only about himself, at best. And he's got just the mind to engineer trouble for others.
I'm not sure how much to tell you about the plot. We do hear from several women, as well as some children, and nobody seems to perpetuate demographic stereotypes (apart from Smerdyakov being a bastard in more than one sense). Most of the events do not feel particularly rooted in that setting; we might expect similar real occurrences in a modern U.S. city. At the same time, nothing is simple. The nearly 700 pages aren't exactly padded with filler; they're a detailed examination of how the world can be. Dostoevsky sure was devoted to his craft.
Yes, the reading could feel like a chore, or I would have finished a month sooner. But it has my admiration. I especially like the trial near the end, partly for showing what did and did not differ under the old Russian system. I can see why my dad tentatively plans to reread.
Now I've picked up Jim Butcher's Furies of Calderon. Normally, I don't expect much of fantasies I first heard of via giveaway, but this one's pretty esteemed, and I've enjoyed Butcher before.