Crime and Punishment

Reading Crime and Punishment feels like being locked in a really slimy, sticky, smoky dive bar with your own conscience after way too many vodkas. Dostoevsky doesn’t write a story so much as he drags you by the scruff of your soul into the sweat-soaked brain of a man who thinks he’s smarter than morality, and then shows you what happens when the hangover kicks in.

Raskolnikov is not a murderer in the cinematic sense. He’s the guy we all secretly fear we might be on a bad day — overthinking everything, justifying the unforgivable, then spiraling into a swamp of guilt so thick you can feel the mildew. Dostoevsky turns the act of killing into a philosophical migraine, and by the time you come up for air, you’re questioning whether show more you did it too.

This isn’t a crime novel. It’s an autopsy on human arrogance, performed with a dull and rusted butter knife. The punishment isn’t the Siberian gulag — it’s the relentless self-awareness that comes after.

I’ve read it a dozen times and still can’t tell if it’s a confession, a curse, or a manual for losing your mind in slow motion. But it’s brilliant. Every page smells of poverty, sweat, and existential panic — the kind of prose that makes you want to wash your hands more than once and pour another very large glass of vodka.

If you’ve ever wanted to know what madness sounds like from the inside, Crime and Punishment is one of the best write ups of the internal monkey-mind madness that none of us really want to live. show less

Raskolnikov is a young law student with a theory: that there are certain, extraordinary men alive who can bypass both moral codes and human laws in favor of the greater good. To prove himself an extraordinary man, an ubermensch, Raskolnikov plans to test his theory by committing the ultimate transgression: murder.
Spoiler alert: he is in fact not an extraordinary man. He is a quite, quite normal man. Who has now committed homicide and is on the run from the cops.
The great thing about this whodunit is that you already KNOW whodunit! This fact makes this 500 page Russian classic even more interesting. As Raskolnikov breaks down, trying to hide his crime from his friends, family, and the detective in charge of the case, you get a show more fascinating glimpse into the human psyche in times of distress. Half of Raskolnikov desperately wants to confess. The other would prefer to take his guilt to the grave.
In my opinion, as much as I love Raskolnikov, the best part of this book are the side characters, each of whom represents a portion of Raskolnikov's mental state. There's the devout Sonia, the charismatic Razumikhin, the hedonistic Svidrigailov, the determined Porfiry, and the self-assured Dunya. They all feel so real, and they all enhance the book that much more.
This was my first full Dostoevsky novel (my actual first experience with him was "Notes from Underground" which I also highly recommend), and it made me fall in love with his view of humanity, guilt, and purity, as well as his gorgeous writing style. It's a classic for a reason. show less

What I thought: When my friend recommended this book I thought about it briefly, but was intimidated by reading a long, Russian classic that I was utterly unfamiliar with. And indeed, the length of this novel (my library copy came in at 629 pages) is intimidating. So when I decided to read it this year, I joined another group read and was a little nervous, expecting some long, dense passages like those I had come up against in The Brothers Karamazov.

What I found: This is an incredibly readable, compelling story of a man, Rodion Romanovitch Raskolnikov, who considers committing a terrible deed that has been haunting his dreams for some time. "Rodya" is a very flawed yet sympathetic character, and the reader is drawn into his life as well show more as meeting many other memorable characters along the way. There are philosophical passages, yes, but they're thoughtful without being too dense, and Dostoevsky knows how to write fast-paced passages when the situation calls for it. A few times I was practically holding my breath, reading as fast as I could to find out what happens next; other times I was slowing myself down to think about what he was saying and whether I agreed that a certain class of people was above the law and thus above guilt. All the while, I had the sense that the author knew exactly what he was doing in crafting the story and looked forward to seeing how he brought it all together. If I had to briefly summarize Crime and Punishment, I would say that it is a psychological investigation of motives, guilt, and choices that humans make. All in all, I'm very glad that I listened to my friend instead of my misgivings. show less

Applies to the Kindle Edition of the Penguin translation by Oliver Ready. As readable as the one I’m most familiar by Constance Garnett, & I’m sure more accurate. Good, detailed notes that explain the cultural context & the St. Petersburg locations of the time. Insightful introduction. Has a “cast of characters” section which should be in more modern editions of long 19th century novels, or even contemporary ones, like Stephen King. Not simply a list, Ready also explains the implications of the names that are suggestive of theological & philosophical concepts that a non-reader of the language or the political & religious movements of the times would not be familiar with. Insightful introduction by the translator. Too bad he show more hasn’t translated more Dostoyevsky – I find the Peaver/Volkhonsky ones to be a slog. Another plus that isn’t always the case with the Kindle editions—this one has page numbers; the default location identifier in the Kindles is often just x digits of y total digits, which makes citations impossible. I was reading the Oxford World’s Classics edition of Little Dorrit even though I own a paperback copy of the same edition, because, at my age, the print of most of the Oxfords is way too small. I had to keep the hardcopy by my side for reference to get a better visual of where I was in the 900 p. Dickens novel.

The experience of the novel in Garnett (high school/college, read at least twice) & Ready is sensational, more gripping & faster moving than the Stephen King novel I finished the week before, and King thrillers move like a bullet train. I read D.’s Demons aka Devils in a Magarshack translation many years later, & I’d forgotten how much C&P anticipates it with characters addled by Chernyshevsky, and which might as well have been satirizing the progressives of the late 60’s early 70’s from my college years. The thing to keep in mind is that D.’s novels are funny in an appalling over the top way; he’s a master of scenes where things simply go off the rails. Consider the funeral supper for Marmeladov where his widow Katerina Ivanovna goes hammer & tongs with her German landlady and ends up out on the streets thinking she will make a living playing the barrel organ while whacking her dazed children to make them dance & sing. The grotesque black humor I can’t help thinking King re-imagined in the scene of the son’s funeral in Pet Semetery where Dad’s brawl with the in-laws knocks the child’s coffin to the floor. The other thing is he can be like Dickens on steroids – Svidrigailov could be the reincarnation of Quilp drooling over Little Nell when he describes his 16 year old “fiancée” to Raskolnikov: ”That lovely fair hair of hers, done up in those sweet little lamb’s curls, those chubby little lips, those little legs. Just adorable!” (576). And Sonya Semyonovna is more virtuously operatic than Little Amy Dorrit in her redemptive powers; the scene where Raskolnikov confesses to her truly brought me to tears. C&P: you’ll laugh – not to forget Luzhin, the latter day Uriah Heep -- you’ll cry.

Be that as it may, I agree with Ready that D.’s Raskolnikov protagonist is disturbingly ambivalent. Is he resurrected by Christian charity or has a legion of devils simply taken over our hero-murderer, jumping from Svidrigailov to the highly suggestible ex-student after D.’s surrogate, modernized devil commits suicide? Rascal Raskolnikov might be redeemed by his Mary Magdalene, but he could also be a conservative bete-noir, the murderer who skates by calling up all sorts of environmental excuses & acts of charity to get a reduced sentence. The doting mother who can never believe her son would do that but her subconscious knows; the sister who is shocked but “moves on” – characters you see on the Internet all too often. Even after sentencing he still thinks murdering the pawnbroker was justified (like killing the Jews in the 20th century) & he conveniently forgets he also murdered the pawnbroker’s pious, kindly, abused sister, the double as it were of Sonya. Does he ever feel any remorse for his deeds? Is D. using spirituality to give the audience a happy epilogue? Is D. being the devious politician who gives the libertarians and the evangelicals what they want even though what either party wants is exactly what the opposite party does not. I mean, if there was a kernel of remorse in the knave, why didn’t he turn himself in immediately? He doesn’t seem particularly afraid of “punishment.” But that would be a short story. Reading C&P is almost like looking over the shoulder of a novelist as actor, constantly asking himself, as they do nowadays, What’s my motive? What’s my motive?” For me, the motive issue is less about the decision to commit the crime, but more about the endless games R. plays to avoid admitting guilt, if he ever does, with Porfiry like a critic constantly hectoring the novelist about his various stratagems for delaying the inevitable conclusion. show less

This book is often touted as the portrait of a man who reasons his way into committing a crime. But I like to think of it as a cautionary tale about the dangers of never questioning your own beliefs and falling in love with the sound of your own voice. This book even more relevant today with our world of endless online echo chambers telling us only what we want to hear. Dostoyevsky's protagonist had to socially isolate himself to fall into the same mistake.

6.5/10 * See below

I'm just not the (fan) reader that I used to be, for this old guy did nothing but annoy me in this rereading. Oh my. I'm sure there's a little corner of hell reserved especially for me -- for all readers who do not appreciate D. I think we will be in good company, though. I'm afraid I'm with Nabokov on this one: yep, Dostoevsky is a bit of a claptrap journalist.

Journalist in the most antiseptic, honest use of the word: a writer of journals. And boring ones at that.

We follow Raskolnikov through the streets of St. Petersburg like mangy mutts looking for that last bit of good scrap left at the butcher's door, after hours. We rarely get fed.

The weeping and the gnashing of teeth, and the rending of garments is Bible Class show more 101 -- and to this reader, becomes an old bone that just doesn't make soup, after the first half dozen references. We move over the same ground --- over -- and over -- and over again: there are more switchbacks here than in Pike's Peak.

I object to the suffering; to the desire for suffering which is supposed to right one's character; to suffering with or without purpose; to the suffering that will cleanse you and make you a better human. Ha. Tell that to anyone who has suffered. Tell that to any victim of disease or war or poverty or heartbreak. And then wait to hear their response, how they've been cleansed, and healed and fulfilled. Ha.

Dostoyevksy just couldn't let that sh*t go. I mean, enough already. It's obvious to me he's a very slow learner and not the hero-god-of-understanding that we've all made him out to be.

When I was 18, I ate this stuff up with a spoon; and when I was in uni and studying it seriously, we were force fed the party line: can there be redemption after sinning?! Yes, there can be, if you suffer enough and are sorry enough -- and if you pay your dues in Folsom Prison. I mean, really???!! Did it really need 1000 pages to learn what we all learn in kindergarten?

I don't find Raskolnikov's anguish laudable; I don't find his self-abnegation estimable. I just find it a waste of a good life. Grow a backbone, and get on with it, boy.

To add insult to injury, D. writes long, nonsensical jabbery sentences that swerve with no end in sight. Maybe that's the translator's fault -- but I don't think so. I've read D. now in various guises, and it's all the same blah-dee-blah-blah-blah, woe-is-moi, kill-me-now-and-feed-my-body-to-the-pigs sentences both in form and content. Each novel has the same plot line, the same whining, spineless characters, the same suffering. Heck, they even wear the same threadbare clothes, without exception: the same buttons missing from the same shabby jackets; the same holes in the same down-at-heel boots.

Tolstoy is the better writer, the better thinker. When his characters bleed and suffer, I bleed and suffer right along with them. I understand where he leads me. When D. writes about suffering, I just want to slap him. I become impatient for I see through his foibles from 50 paces, and can anticipate his resolution three days before he writes it down. He's predictable, annoying and exasperating in his simplicity.

There's my rant. Fini.

* Why 6.5/10

There's a good story here. He couldn't write his way out of a paper bag (I seriously choke when I read the lines that he may be the best novelist that ever lived). But I will concede that he did much to shape the future of Russian literature -- and for that alone, he ranks among the greats.

So: for substance: 8 but style, barely a 5. show less

"Crime and Punishment" is not about either, but about the space between. Little time is spent dwelling on motive before the title's crime occurs. It must be murder, to drive the story to be told, but in order to render maximum sympathy for Rodian the motive remains obscured and his efforts clumsy without personal gain. The majority of the story by far is focussed upon what comes after. Mortal paranoia works against Rodian and he contemplates every form of escape: confession, being accused of his crime at last, or achieving the absolute certainty of avoiding justice. It is difficult to watch him thrust away anyone who would help him, be they friends or family. Guilt drives loneliness; with whom can he share his agony before madness show more descends? As his straitened circumstances progress, he cannot accept being close with anyone besides those who would regard him as a benefactor, and seeks some form of kinship among society's lowest strata.

When Rodian's motive becomes more clear, half the story is already done and the reader is no longer likely to pass summary judgement. By then we know his good side through how well-regarded he is by those who have known him best, and how protective he is of others even as he scorns them at the same time. It is impossible to hope that he will get away with murder, but it is something to hope that he will find the error in his thinking that led him astray. The question then is whether corporal punishment is required to see this realization through, or can a criminal arrive at redemption independently? Dostoevsky spent time as a political prisoner and had ample time to consider the purpose and impact of criminal justice upon society and those it punished. Reading into this novel the result of those musings, it seems to me he could not satisfy himself as to the answer. show less