You can’t pick it up.
Ha ha. Actually, ever since The Gulag Archipelago, I’ve tended to steer clear of the great Russian writers. Not that they’re not great; they are. But Russian writers in general do not believe in brevity. Just when you think you’ve finally grasped a point, that’s when most Russian writers are just clearing their throats. They tend to riff on the same point over the next 500 pages or so, lest you forget it. I guess that’s what comes of having a lot of time on your hands.
Even so, over the last few years I’ve been trying to read a classic here and there, to even out all the trash I read. It’s kind of like eating several bags of Cheese Curls and then having a small spinach salad so you can congratulate yourself on a healthy diet. I found Crime and Punishment on one of my Mom’s bookshelves this summer, and decided to give it a go.
It’s not one of those books you can’t put down. On the contrary, I sometimes find it hard to pick up. But once I quit looking for cliff-hanger chapter endings and accepted that it’s not just about a murder, it really isn’t a bad read. In particular, Dostoyevsky’s portrait of class and poverty and intellectual solipsism in 19th-century Russia is illuminating. Maybe because the GOP convention is going on at the same time, I find myself wondering if this blast from Russia’s past isn’t also a glimpse of the America’s future.
Social commentary aside, it also works as a straight-ahead crime novel. The murders occur early on and the perpetrator is the protagonist, so it’s not unlike a lot of modern plots. It’s a psychological thriller in that the killer is undone as much by his own tortured mind as by the genial detective who pursues him. I now appreciate how Dostoyevsky provided the foundation for a vast canon of crime fiction, extending right up to the present day. Not bad, since he wrote it around the time of the American Civil War.
Mostly, though, I just wanted to imply that I’m smarter than you. I’m reading the classics here! Sweatin’ to the oldies! No need to mention that another book I read this summer was Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter. I actually kind of liked it. But a man doesn’t blog about such things.
Fifty-two books
So long, Mr. Bradbury.
Not all is wonderful on the Web
Crime writers, there’s a new sheriff in town
My problem with classic Russian novels is the unpronounceable names! Sometimes I think I could get through the books if they just assigned each character a number.
For genuinely enjoyable classics, try George Elliot, Charles Dickens, Jane Austen, or Thomas Hardy.
Yeah, the names. Every Russian has at least eight names, and every one of them is a mouthful.
I would love to read a version of this book where each character had one simple name, like Jim or Larry.
Dave, I believe you’ve just found your next writing project. Though I’ve only read it once, for a Lit class in college, I feel safe in saying that you can abridge the heck out of it while you’re at it.
Ha
Eleven days since this post. Still reading Dosty?
Stock
Eleven days? Where does the time go?
I would say it’s because I’ve been busy, but that’s not true. I think I may finally have reached the point where I’m repeating myself.