The Brothers Karamazov

ان خطر ببالك الاخوة كارامازوف لدوستويفسكي اول ما يتبادر الى ذهنك قول سيغموند فرويد " اجمل رواية واروعها على الاطلاق " لا شك ان فرويد محق فانت حين تنتهي من هذه الملحمة الروائية تكون قد استنفذت كل ما لديك من طاقة عاطفية و عقلية بتفاعلك مع اراء الكاتب ومحاولتك سبر اغوار مقاصده الادبية حتى يخيل اليك بان كل جملة كتبها كان قد عني بها قصدا فلسفيا معينا.
من الصعب ان لا تجد وجها من شخصيتك او حالة من حالاتك السايكولوجية show more وانت تتصفح هذه الرواية ولكأن دوستويفسكي قد عاش الف عام كي يكتب هذا العمل لدقته الشديدة في ملاحظة خواطر النفس الانسانية وهواجسها وتقلباتها احزانها وافراحها.
انت تتواصل مع افضل طبيب نفسي في التاريخ عبر مطالعتك لهذه الرواية ستعيش مع نفسك ونقيضها وتستمتع بان هنالك عبقري قد تنبه لشوارد افكارك وان كان يبعد عنك قرنا ونصف القرن.
اذا اردت نصيحة في معاملة الناس كتبها احدهم قبل ديل كارنيجي فاقرا ما قاله ابطال الاخوة كارامازوف " هل تعرفين ماذا علمني شيخي مرة ؟ قال لي : يجب ان تعامل اكثر الناس معاملتك اطفالا , وان تعامل بعض الناس معاملتك مرضى. "
وان كان ايمانك قد تزعزع بموجة الالحاد الجديدة فاقرأ " واذا انت لم تتساءل خاصة هل الله موجود ام هو غير موجود . هذه عناصر لا سبيل لعقلنا الى ادراكها لان عقلنا قد خلق لمعرفة مكان ليس له الا ثلاثة ابعاد. "
وان اردت ان تعرف واحد من اسباب شقاء البشرية في القرن العشرين فاقرأ " انهم يأملون ان يقيموا العدل في هذا العالم ولكنهم وقد رفضوا المسيح سوف ينتهي بهم الامر الى سفك الدم في كل مكان لان العنف يستدعي العنف ومن يشهر السيف يهلك بالسيف "
وان اردت تقييم السياسة والسياسيين فاقرأ " ان اي انسان يمكن ان يكون وغدا ولا شك اننا جميعا اوغاد بدرجات متفاوتة ولكن ليس كل انسان لصا لا بد من حقارة خاصة حتى يكون المرء لصا."
وان كنت قد شغلك كيف ان الدين قد سيس واصبح لا يشبه ما تقرأه عنه في شي فاقرأ الفصل بعنوان المفتش الاكبر وستجد ضالتك.
هذا غيض من فيض والرواية ممتعة وشيقة على ما فيها من عمق وفلسفة وخطابات مطولة ومعقدة وهنا يتميز اسلوب الكاتب الادبي الابداعي. show less

I probably need more time to digest this tome, but parts of this book, the Grand Inquisitor tale in particular, will reside with me for quite a while. I was expecting the normal Russian angst and social insecurity but I was not prepared for what may be the best bit of writing I’ve ever encountered. Does Dostoyevsky know us all that well? It’s all here, everything there is to know about being human. Amazing book; even better writing.

Brothers Karamazov is an exceptionally tricky and intricate book. It's also an exceptional pain in the ass. I might have to create a new shelf for it called "I'd Have To Read It Again To Get It But I'd Rather Just Not Get It." Tristram Shandy can join it there. The first problem is when a speech is so long that it reminds you of Atlas Shrugged. The second problem is that when I finished it just now, the words that unconsciously escaped my mouth were, "Well, fuck you Karamazov."

Here's a game I made up during the interminable ramblings of Elder Zosima: Zosima or Baz? Guess whether each boring platitude below is from the Elder Zosima or Baz Luhrmann's 1998 novelty hit, "Everybody's Free (To Wear Sunscreen)":

a. Don't be reckless with other show more peoples' hearts; don't put up with people who are reckless with yours.
b. Keep company with yourself and look to yourself every day and hour, every minute.
c. Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth.
d. Cherish your ecstasy, however senseless it may seem.
e. Love children especially.

Answers at end of review

Okay, I almost never had a good time reading this book. Why'd I give it four stars? One reason: cowardice.

Listen, I know this book's smarter than me. Its inventiveness is impressive. Watch how careful Dostoevsky is with words: how each character, including the narrator, uses and misuses them, repeats them, throws them to each other. Check out how the stories - Ilyusha and Dmitri, Katya and Grushenka - intertwine. Feel how the word "Karamazovian" implants itself in you: you wouldn't be able to say what it means, maybe, I probably can't, but you'll know it when you see it from now on. Debate whether the whole thing is a comedy or a tragedy.

Before I read them, I used to think Tolstoy and Dostoevsky were probably more or less the same, y'know? Like, old Russian guys who wrote crazy long books, how different can they be? But they're not the same at all. Tolstoy is exceptionally controlled. Dostoevsky is pure virtuosity. I don't mean to say he doesn't know what he's doing; actually, Karamazov is more tightly structured than War & Peace is. But the energy behind it is more or less insane.

Four stars because I know this book is good; if I give it two stars, it would be like admitting that I let a brilliant masterpiece escape me for the prosaic reason that it's incredibly fucking boring. Y'know?

Four stars, dude. A brilliant masterpiece.

Introduction note: You can and should read the first section of Pevear & Volokhonsky's intro, up to p. xiv. It gives you great background. Get out quick after that though - right after "transforming them finally into a universal human drama" - 'cause they're gonna blow the whole plot in the next paragraph.

Quiz Answers: Fuck you, Karamazov. show less

The genius of Dostoevsky to see people so deeply and describe the soul of a man with such precision and detail is absolutely astounding. Reading Dostoevsky’s characters brought me again and again to say, “How absolutely true.” Of course, a character for Dostoevsky becomes a lens through which an entire worldview comes to life. The sensuous, flesh-driven Mitya paints the portrait of broken man – “capable of the greatest heights and of the greatest depths,” bound by noble heart and drawn by irresistible flesh. He is a prisoner to both nature and nurture, and he knows it. The intellectual Ivan embodies the secular thinkers of our age, either denying God entirely or just practically, and driving themselves to dehumanized show more insanity in the process. The loving man of childlike faith, Alyosha, embodies the best of what the Church has to offer – a living, breathing Christ in the world. With these, along with many others, Dostoevsky makes a thrilling case for faith. In essence, he says, “Here you are, laid bare and raw with all your best and worst tendencies. Now, what kind of world do you want to live in? Do you want to live in the world of the scoffer? Of the sensualist? Or, of Christ?” Refusing to take any shortcuts, Dostoevsky actually writes some of the best arguments against God in all of literature. Yet, in the end, the reader is more convinced than ever, “I want to live in Christ’s world.”

Personally, there are a number of things that strike me deeply about this book that wouldn't fit in a public book review. For one, I knew from the moment Krassotkin was introduced as a skeptic that the book was going to end on his conversion. Surely, Graham Greene had read Karamazov when he created his Luis for The Power and the Glory. The idea is the Christ-man, Alyosha, is the only hope for the salvation of our future generations – it is the image of Christ living in Christians that carries the pure faith into the future. Along those same lines, I was struck afterward at what a Christ-figure Alyosha really was. The children loved him as he knelt down to genuinely love them on their level. Is it too much even to remember how Ilusha tasted his flesh and blood? Are we to see a garden moment as he wept bitterly following Zossima's death, there experiencing his only crisis of faith, akin to "let this cup pass from Me"?

Of course, the realization that truly hits home is this: I am Mitya. What am I to make of his repeated breast pounding if not to hear, "God, have mercy on me, a sinner"? I bear the pain of my broken origin, and though I strive from my heart to be honorable, I am broken. I gravitate towards other broken people (Grushenka). I am judged by the prejudices of the people around me, though they are no better than I am (these same people even judge the holy when they get the chance – remember Zossima). I am wrongfully accused at times, though my rightful charges loom just as large. I am the broken Mitya, and my salvation is living in my Brother's world.

There's so much else to think about, but this one last thing I hope not to forget – Grushenka's onion. All our good deeds are onions. show less

"… that package lay there in the corner, behind the icons, sir." (pg. 626)

Dostoevsky is a difficult writer, and nowhere is his dense, feverish maze of philosophical and theological prose better exampled than in The Brothers Karamazov. Along with his Crime and Punishment and Tolstoy's War and Peace, this is where the daunting reputation of 'Russian Literature' is made. Hefty, serious tomes that, when you commit to them, turn out to be more readable than you supposed and fully deserving of their praise. Reach the end and – with a little help from other observers – you gain a sense of their rich complexity and the passionate rigour of their themes. Provided, of course, you've managed to hurdle all of the Russian naming show more conventions.

And that, really, is accurate for The Brothers Karamazov. There is an astonishingly intricate, almost cathedral-like, build-up of the story to service Dostoevsky's deep themes, with the Karamazov family representing various aspects of both Russia and the human condition, leaning heavily on the Christian tradition. Despite some discussions where characters explicitly outline abstract themes at length, the philosophy and the themes can be very hard to wrap your head around. The book, despite its intermittent readability, is very much of that class of literature which needs to be studied rather than merely read. That will be a black mark for many people, but personally I'm pleased there are novels of this density, complexity and endurance. Russian literature is Tough Mudder for bookworms.

"What is this Karamazov family?" asks the prosecutor in his discursive speech during the trial which consumes the final part of the novel. "It seems to me that certain basic, general elements of our modern-day educated society shine through" (pg. 695). This nails down Dostoevsky's framework (though it is part of the writer's genius that the arguments of both the prosecutor and the defense attorney complement his theme), with the trial not only about the various conflicts between the members of the Karamazov family but also bearing "witness precisely to something universal, to some general malaise that has taken root among us" (pg. 694).

Fyodor Karamazov is not only the father but the Father; he represents tired, then-contemporary Russia ("the whole spiritual side has been scrapped, but there is an extraordinary thirst for life" (pg. 696)) but also, in being challenged and questioned by his children, he represents, in some way, God, or at least the image of God and the religious foundation of the country. Of the three brothers Karamazov, Dmitri, on trial for his father's murder, is the one most buffeted by the storm; both "sincerely noble" and "sincerely base" (pg. 699), he represents, in Dostoevsky's view, the ingenue (pg. 698), the most likely outcome for Russia. Neither one thing or another, he is good when given opportunity to be good and bad when given opportunity to be bad (pg. 698). He veers towards both Christ-like sacrifice (pp 304, 743-4) and existential dread (the only "way out of his terrible situation… was suicide" (pg. 716), pre-emptively posing Camus' famous dilemma from The Myth of Sisyphus). His sentence – his future – is decided by the jury, representing Russia (pg. 722). It is telling that the novel ends with Dmitri's ultimate fate undecided: whether he will submit to penal servitude or be freed by those various characters – and influences – which bore witness to the trial.

Of the other brothers Karamazov, Ivan is said to be the one most resembling his father (pg. 697), and as the rational, cool-headed one he seems the most appropriate one to continue the family legacy. Just as Russia ought to move into a more rational future, so too should the Karamazov mantle be passed onto Ivan. However, it is feared that he may fall into "dark mysticism on the moral side, and witness chauvinism on the civic side" (pg. 697), conveying Dostoevsky's extraordinarily prescient fears that a rational, empirical, secular society might – if it forgets its other side of 'faith and loyalty' (pg. 697) – descend into chaos. Science and freedom will lead people into a maze, some of whom will exterminate themselves and some of whom will return to the church. Some of them will exterminate each other, Dostoevsky writes, sixty-five years before Auschwitz (pg. 258). This fork in the road is emphasised by Smerdyakov (a bastard son of Fyodor and therefore also arguably one of the brothers Karamazov). Late on in the story, Smerdyakov offers the rational Ivan a dilemma which triggers the latter's descent into madness, emphasising that rationality, for all its strengths, can be corrupted. (Smerdyakov, as vengeful and vindictive, superficial, and failing to read the signs in the world (pp 707, 738) can be seen as a representation of the ignorant person who doesn't want to engage with the themes of the book/the problems of the world, but, in his bastard origin and role as tempter, also as the Devil.) Dostoevsky's worldview, as engineered in The Brothers Karamazov, is almost Nietzschean (God is dead/the father Karamazov is dead) and, sometimes, Jungian ("much on earth is concealed from us, but in place of it we have been granted a secret, mysterious sense of our living bond with the other world" (pg. 320)). At the very least, Dostoevsky's worldview is a helpmate to such philosophical dispositions and, even today (perhaps especially today), very timely and contemporary.

The third brother, Alyosha, is identified as the 'hero' at the outset of the book by Dostoevsky himself (pg. 3), and at first this seems strange as, in many ways, he is almost incidental to the vast majority of the book's plot. But he is the keenest and most thoughtful observer; lacking the dramatic ennui or sacrifice of Dmitri, or the logical mazes and dilemmas that madden Ivan, he is the one people open up to most willingly and, tellingly, the one who first realises the implications of Ivan's testimony during the trial (pg. 686). Whilst others are fighting over money or honour or relationships, his most impactful scenes are those with children. He wants to "influence the young generation, develop them, be useful" (pg. 534) and, in the final chapters, he is the one codifying the moral of the story in a vaguely Biblical scene called the 'speech at the stone' (pg. 768). In the prosecutor's speech, it is lamented that "young men are shooting themselves… without the least Hamletian question of 'what lies beyond'" (pg. 694) – that is, sinking into despair without even looking elsewhere for answers – and that, while other (implied: healthier) cultures might "have their Hamlets… so far we have only Karamazovs" (pg. 716). Well, Alyosha might be the first Russian Hamlet, so to speak; the first one looking beyond, seeing more. This is why he is Dostoevsky's hero. Dmitri might be the one who is Christ-like at times (in a sacrificial sense), but it is Alyosha who believes – and with his eyes open.

It is a huge, daunting, complex book that my review has barely scratched the surface of, and much of this content is regrettably unfashionable today. Dostoevsky has a spiritual conscience that is entirely absent from contemporary writers, and reaches conclusions regarding Christ and the ministry, and the metatextual undercurrent of religion, that will get you labelled as a kook if voiced today – just witness the complacent insults sent the way of Jordan B. Peterson, who swears by Dostoevsky ("suffering is life" (pg. 642)). The Brothers Karamazov is deeply argued and prescient in its diagnosis of modern societal ills. Far from being a Christian apologia, it questions the legitimacy of a father and, by association, of God (pp 744-6). None of its characters, despite embodying vastly different ideas, are straw men, and the book, simply by making such philosophically-diverse characters believable, makes the case for both rationality and spirituality – brothers in a dysfunctional family but brothers nonetheless. It might be difficult to engage with the themes, because these are not parables in which everything is made clear, but if it is a Tough Mudder it is largely because Dostoevsky is writing on firm ground that other artists could not even see. show less

Reading this book, I was struck by Aloysha's multipurpose role as a savior, especially in the first half of the book, when most of the characters are trying to stake out possession of his soul. Both Fyodor and Ivan want to reclaim Alexei from religion, while Dmitri wants Aloysha as a mediator and a witness. The residents of their town have their own interests in Alexei. And so Aloysha ministers, witnesses, and absolves in the variety of fashions demanded by the others. Alexei is the Swiss Army Knife of Christ figures. But, then, everyone is a Christ figure in The Brothers Karamazov; everyone is kissed by the divine, whether or not they accept that grace.

In the margins of the beginning of my book, I also noted the thwarted creative show more urges of the Karamazov kin: Dmitri's confession is filled with poetry, Smerdyakov's guitar ballads are technical, not artistic, compositions, and Ivan's "poem" about the Grand Inquisitor reveals his conflict (and his shaky grasp of how poems work). This aspect of the novel faded in importance in the middle of the book, but there's a scene in the second half of the novel, where Alexei comforts Kolya by defending play-acting as "a sort of nascent art, an emerging need for play-acting in the young soul," which ties into the novel's greater point about the ubiquity and role of art. I guess. My marginal notes seem to think so, anyway.

Anyway. The Brothers Karamazov: You'll come for the patricide, but you'll stay for the hallucinations of Satan! show less

Having previously read an excerpt of this novel for a university philosophy course, I wasn't surprised to see the characters engage in lengthy discussions on religion in this book. In fact, I personally found these to be the most valuable passages, challenging the reader with such topics as the problem of evil, the role of religion in society, and what, if anything, is worth living for. For religious readers, Ivan's thesis is a force to be reckoned with, while readers who agree with Ivan may be troubled by passages that betray his own uncertainty as well as by events unfolding arguably as a direct result of his particular philosophy.

I was surprised by the amount of interpersonal drama that does, in fact, unfold over the course of these show more seven hundred-some pages. Scandals, love triangles, and a much-foreshadowed tragedy all take their turns on stage as a large cast of imperfect characters pursues often contradictory goals. In some cases, it's clear that a character's goals are even in direct contradiction to their own best interest.

While there are characters the author seemingly intended to be the few "good ones" readers can stand behind in a book full of despicable people, I personally found that I could sympathize with almost every character in at least one aspect. Doing so, however, was sometimes a challenge because of what I perceived to be the author's own flawed worldview forcing its way through.

For example, I naturally wanted to sympathize with many of the female characters because of my own understanding of the patriarchal system under which they were forced to live, but they were often depicted in ways that make very little sense unless you as a reader believe that women are often irrational and overly emotional and given to bouts of hysteria. Unlike in works like Henrik Ibsen's A Doll's House, which explicitly states that the female lead has been behaving according to certain feminine stereotypes because of the way her life has been shaped by patriarchal forces, the female characters in this book seem to be written by a sexist author who doesn't understand women at all.

In fact, I very often got the impression that the author's prejudices were affecting the way he depicted certain characters, and in some cases, I got the strong impression that he was expecting the reader to feel a certain way about certain characters because he assumes the reader to share his prejudice. For example, the story of a disabled woman named Lizaveta is recounted very early on, and her behavior once again seems entirely irrational based on my understanding of the disability she seems to have. Fyodor is implied to have raped to her, which I do believe is meant to be viewed negatively by the reader, but at the same time I got the sense that it's meant to be viewed that way mainly because of the author's belief that such people shouldn't have children. Indeed, the idea that such people are lesser than the nondisabled people around them is reinforced by the fact that the narrative treats it as completely natural that Lizaveta's son (who is disabled in a different way) grows up to become Fyodor's servant, making him a fourth Karamazov brother who isn't given nearly the same treatment as the others either in his fictional life or through the narration that presents it. In fact, he's given a surname that roughly translates to "stinking" because his mother was referred to this way, and he's consistently referred to only by this insulting surname even in narration. Despite having the given name of Pavel and being assumed by everyone to be Fyodor's son, he's only referred to as Pavel Fyodorovitch a single time, in the dialogue of the one character in the book who seems to treat him kindly. While he himself makes some indications of his dissatisfaction with his lot in life, I think by the end of the book it will be exceptionally clear to the reader how the author wanted us to think of this.

I would be remiss if I didn't also mention classism, of which there's one particularly glaring instance that I found quite disturbing. Namely, the fact that Dmitri nearly killed the servant who was like a father to him for a portion of his childhood, but everyone including the narrator seems to care only about whether he killed his actual father, heavily implying that he shouldn't feel guilty at all over what should have been treated as attempted murder. The book also contains many instances of antisemitism and many derogatory references to the Romani people.

All that being said, the book is written in an engaging way, assuming you're the type of person who at least sometimes finds classic literature to be engaging. I was surprised by how easily I found myself making progress, even during the beginning portions that mainly consisted of introducing characters and establishing back story. When the plot got to a certain point, I even found myself reading on and on without wanting to stop. The effect was only broken when I reached a portion of the book that seemed needlessly repetitive, recounting events that had already been depicted through the filter of a different character's opinion. While I think the book could have been trimmed down in that specific instance, I was able to see value in all the rest. Although it is a very long book, it didn't take nearly as long to read as I expected it would.

In fact, I was disappointed that the book didn't go on a little longer because I wanted to know more about the fate of certain characters beyond the point at which the ending cuts off. I was a little surprised that there wasn't more closure in certain regards, although perhaps I missed some subtle passages that were meant to tell the reader everything we should need to know.

Overall, I was definitely more invested in this book as an exploration of the ideas presented within it than anything else. Because I don't see many character portrayals as being realistic and could not stop seeing the setting as a fictional one created as a representation of what I presumed to be the author's flawed worldview, I treated it as one of those books that give an insight into an author's mind rather than an insight into the world itself. In some cases, this negates much of the value a book would otherwise have had, but in this case I think the heavy emphasis on philosophy and other "big ideas" is the very thing that saves it. Because I did come to see that much of the drama was tied into that philosophical underpinning in a way I never would have expected at the beginning.

I don't think this is a novel to be read as entertainment, but I do see it as a novel that can entertain the reader who engages with the deeper substance of it. In that way, I fully understand why it's a classic. I recommend you read it if you're at a point in your life where you can appreciate such a thing. But I also encourage you to skip it if you're sensitive to any of the potential triggers mentioned above, with the added warning that it includes incredibly disturbing stories of child abuse. I stand firmly by the statement that no novel in the world is a "must read" for every single person, even when it comes to classics that have rightfully earned a good portion of the respect they've been given. While you may benefit greatly from a thoughtful reading of The Brothers Karamazov, you're not a lesser reader or a lesser person if you choose to engage on that deep level with a book more suitable to you. show less