I read Crime and Punishment a couple of years ago. I detested it. I've been wondering ever since about why Dostoyevsky has been having such a moment of late (apart from him being Jordan Peterson's favorite author).
I think you have made me see why in this essay. You clearly had immense fun writing it. And looking back on Crime and Punishment, I can readily see that it would be great fun to write essays about it too. Not fun to read, but fun to analyze. And from all the analysis of The Brothers Karamazov that I have read, I can tell that it must be even more fun to analyze.
I'm not sure how I feel about this. People are entitled to their enjoyments, of course. And it seems that the development of literary studies has created a whole new hobby, which, like many hobbies before it, has become for many a profession. And it makes sense that if you are steeped in this hobby of literary interpretation, either as an amateur or as a professional, that you will tend to rank books based not on whether they are a joy to read but on whether they are a joy to analyze. So I guess that's okay. It just isn't what I want from a novel.
The kind of book that you read and then close with perhaps a tear in the eye and a deeply satisfying feeling that there is nothing more to be said, and that to speak now would be to shatter the perfect solitity and joy of the moment, a book that is an absolute and perfect joy to read, is not going to give you the same rush of a adrenaline as one where the last word is just the jumping off point for writing a penetrating analytical essay. I want the former experience, not the latter. If I finish a book and immediately take pen in hand, that means it is a bad book, and I am consumed with the desire to tell the world why it is bad. If I write essays about particular books, it is almost always to refute silly things other people have said in essays about that book, almost never to offer an analysis of my own.
There are, of course, books that are a joy by both standards. Pride and Prejudice is a joy to read and, apparently, a joy to analyze as well, though much of the analysis of it that I have read is patently absurd. Dostoyevsky seems to be in the other camp. Turgid to read but even more fun to analyze.
Each to his own. I have only one plea: do not recommend as a joy to read books which are, in fact, only a joy to analyze but an absolute purgatory to read.
I used the public domain translation, which is not considered the best, to read The Brothers Karamazov, and despite the slogging translation, the brilliance of the book shone through. It is a wild ride. The simile of a troika, the traditional Russian sleigh drawn by three horses (three brothers?) comes to mind: in Russian culture, troika rides are portrayed as insane races across the landscape, pursued by wolfpacks and/or driven by the drunken. That's it! The Brothers Karamazov is a troika of a book.
Brilliant. I think that’s true re the translation. Most of the reputation of the book in English world hinges entirely on Constance Garnett’s 1912 translation. People loved it. There are several great modern translations, but none has what she did to secure the book’s reputation as a classic in English.
Have stopped short to avoid too many spoilers as I’m currently halfway through, but I’ll be back—this is great! As I’ve done most of the first stretch as an audiobook I knew nothing at all about what was coming, got hold of the book to read along this week and a lot of new information is just laid right out in the blurb! 🙈
I don’t think I spoiled anything but I’m delighted you’re reading it! I find, BTW, that listening to the audio while keeping up in the print copy to be a great way to manage a daunting book.
I read Crime and Punishment a couple of years ago. I detested it. I've been wondering ever since about why Dostoyevsky has been having such a moment of late (apart from him being Jordan Peterson's favorite author).
I think you have made me see why in this essay. You clearly had immense fun writing it. And looking back on Crime and Punishment, I can readily see that it would be great fun to write essays about it too. Not fun to read, but fun to analyze. And from all the analysis of The Brothers Karamazov that I have read, I can tell that it must be even more fun to analyze.
I'm not sure how I feel about this. People are entitled to their enjoyments, of course. And it seems that the development of literary studies has created a whole new hobby, which, like many hobbies before it, has become for many a profession. And it makes sense that if you are steeped in this hobby of literary interpretation, either as an amateur or as a professional, that you will tend to rank books based not on whether they are a joy to read but on whether they are a joy to analyze. So I guess that's okay. It just isn't what I want from a novel.
The kind of book that you read and then close with perhaps a tear in the eye and a deeply satisfying feeling that there is nothing more to be said, and that to speak now would be to shatter the perfect solitity and joy of the moment, a book that is an absolute and perfect joy to read, is not going to give you the same rush of a adrenaline as one where the last word is just the jumping off point for writing a penetrating analytical essay. I want the former experience, not the latter. If I finish a book and immediately take pen in hand, that means it is a bad book, and I am consumed with the desire to tell the world why it is bad. If I write essays about particular books, it is almost always to refute silly things other people have said in essays about that book, almost never to offer an analysis of my own.
There are, of course, books that are a joy by both standards. Pride and Prejudice is a joy to read and, apparently, a joy to analyze as well, though much of the analysis of it that I have read is patently absurd. Dostoyevsky seems to be in the other camp. Turgid to read but even more fun to analyze.
Each to his own. I have only one plea: do not recommend as a joy to read books which are, in fact, only a joy to analyze but an absolute purgatory to read.
I used the public domain translation, which is not considered the best, to read The Brothers Karamazov, and despite the slogging translation, the brilliance of the book shone through. It is a wild ride. The simile of a troika, the traditional Russian sleigh drawn by three horses (three brothers?) comes to mind: in Russian culture, troika rides are portrayed as insane races across the landscape, pursued by wolfpacks and/or driven by the drunken. That's it! The Brothers Karamazov is a troika of a book.
Brilliant. I think that’s true re the translation. Most of the reputation of the book in English world hinges entirely on Constance Garnett’s 1912 translation. People loved it. There are several great modern translations, but none has what she did to secure the book’s reputation as a classic in English.
Have stopped short to avoid too many spoilers as I’m currently halfway through, but I’ll be back—this is great! As I’ve done most of the first stretch as an audiobook I knew nothing at all about what was coming, got hold of the book to read along this week and a lot of new information is just laid right out in the blurb! 🙈
I don’t think I spoiled anything but I’m delighted you’re reading it! I find, BTW, that listening to the audio while keeping up in the print copy to be a great way to manage a daunting book.