I wrote a review about The Brothers Karamazov
I first learned about Russian Literature through music. My favorite musician and lyricist had a tattoo that said “Amor Fati” on their body, which in latin roughly translates to “Love Your Fate”. This is of course one of famous quotes from Friedrich Nietzsche, a Russian Philosopher who is the face of Nihilism and the rallying “God Is Dead’. Throughout my years of living I also had a relatively low belief in some higher power, not only because I was young and willing to be angry at the world itself, but also because there is inherently too much suffering to really believe. Regardless, I began reading works of Russian authors. I started ‘The Brothers Karamazov’ by Fyodor Dyostoevsky twelve years ago after graduating college, and have attempted five times to finish this book. Alas, I have completed this task.
To review this book is almost a review of human life itself. Dostoevsky outlines the great questions of humanity with extremely verbose, winding, and complex prose. What is good vs. evil? How do we truly align ourselves underneath the umbrella of labels? How can one prove that a higher power is ultimately allowing us to be on the right path? How does dysfunction run through the veins of a family? Ultimately, can we sacrifice our inane egos to do what is inherently right?
The story is told through a narrator in a strange, all seeing and knowing eye in which at times inserts certain aspects of the story in due times. There is a family in a small Russian village well known with the surname Karamazov. The many debaucheries of the patriarch, Fyodor, are front and center from the beginning, having birthed three legitimate sons (and one illegitimate, or so they say). The elder is a former captain, a wildly tempered, often short sighted man chasing women, drunkness, and swift beatings to those in his way. This is Dmitri. Having recently betrothed a woman, Dmitri is now pursuing another (who is also lusted by his own father) and hellbent on receiving what is right in the world; an inheritance and a true love. The middle child is an intellectual who seems misplaced in the follies of his family and walks with an attitude that he is exalted above the merry means of Russian life. This is Ivan. Wanting nothing to do with the petty qualms of family life, Ivan leaves and comes to terms with his own disbelief in a vile way. The youngest is a very loving, honest and uniquely inspired individual in a monastery learning the ways of God and applying it to the rose tinted world surrounded. This is Alexey (humbly known as Alyosha). The true protagonist of the story (so as the author says), the resolute Alyosha seeks ways to settle whatever is available to be settled, and when brought into any of the villagers homes finds nothing but love, adoration and an open ear to the word truth.
At the core of the twisting and turning gears of every individual's psyche is the murder of the vile, cruel and tired patriarch of the family, Fyodor. Throughout the buildup to the murder, there are foreshadowing moments alluded to by the author and times where the reader goes back in questioning of whether what is said was done. Each book of this enlarged book (12 books in one) has a different view and headspace taking hold of the reader with extremely lengthy diatribes at another’s character, philosophy, theology, and the grand scheme of the world beyond. These sections offer plenty of moments where the reader is revolting internally at their own thoughts of these sectors. The book asks the reader at many points to have an introspective dance with their own questions, answers, and justifications for why we as a species adhere to certain principles. At the next level it also calls for a reader to ask for who, what, and why they believe their own principles are best for humanity. At a time, the reader may find that their own values are for their own gain, succumbing to the threat of fear. What is the real definition of selfishness?
My favorite aspect of this behemoth of a novel is the one element of humanity deeply intertwined with the core questions presented; passion. For any sake, a reminder is considered to render thoughts useless and let passion embroider the quilt of purpose. There is a thirst among all of the village. Whether it is blood, money, drink, or belief that helps the author create a breathing town of grotesque intensity. Within each character (and there are many) is a definitive display of unbound passion; not only for what they believe in, but for their entire reason for believing in anything to begin with. That is the definitive loss and gain of society that ties the world together. The dichotomy of unbridled enthusiasm is fulfilling. To declare “I love you so!” while equally voicing “I laugh at you!” is the primordial fate of eternity. In this way, passion is what we want to live in yet also yearn to escape together. Dostoevsky never lets the reader forget that every character, regardless of right or wrong, has their own sense of self. Whether it’s a youthful child who is smarter than the rest and tries his best to debate with Alyosha conspiracies of the societal whole, the destructively violent actions of Dmitri that cause chaos in the town, or the carefully constructed words of Ivan in his suited demeanor; it’s done with an exorbitant amount of passion of youthful innocence and lawful vehemence. Even the most insufferable characters have their grit on full display with nasty fits of enthusiastic distaste. Everything exclaimed is profound and vibrant. This today is unchanged.
In regards to distinct functional relations of the debates between good and evil, wrong and right, belief and non belief, I wildly love the approach of Dostoevsky’s arguments. The Grand Inquisitor as a chapter is the greatest deconstruction of Jesus’ church I have ever read. Hell, (aha!) it is the greatest chapter in a piece of literature about the human experience I have ever read. To have such a moving provocation of soliciting the three temptations as vain wrongdoings for humanity, proving that these wrongdoings are the scraps of what church has become (satan’s wish), all the while showing how meek and rewarding life is by a simple action; how exquisitely devious! Ivan’s nightmare plagues his former controversial language about religion when he is questioned what is more important, his “values” or his “doing the right thing”? If one cannot see a world that accepts God, how is Satan also in our critique of society? When psychologically trying to manipulate how humans navigate the world, Dostoevsky's characters can all be seen in a different light thanks to psychology being a “double edged sword”. A window has two perspectives. This is an intensity for the right and wrongness of passion. Why must we be a label of something, when the label narrows our field of view? We can passionately distribute love and hate yet that passion can oversee what is wrong and right. Similarly we can cry out for morality to be right yet have a showcase of hate. These labels often form an intrusive barrage of insecurities within people, are they better than me because of such and such? It’s all folly.
The writing style, while beyond verbose and a tid bit redundant, is crafted beautifully. When the devil itself is shown as quite a gentleman, somehow Dostoevsky brings out an ominous undertone that is felt within the reader's bones. Shadows lament around the room. On the contrary, the way Alyosha seems to skip from situation to situation with an equal eagerness, care, and love for his neighbor is bright and colorful. His forgiveness is consistently displayed with his “cries ‘add some adjective’” to each individual. Every emotion in the characters is constructed with such a style that I genuinely felt erratic trying to piece together Dmitri’s entire escapade. I felt the young innocent love between Lise and Alyosha and even a sense of sadness when she tossed him aside. The bitterness of each character as well, my golly. The old use of language in the days of old really has some vile ways of showing resentment. A disgrace a day seemingly is a way of life within this village.
In the end, this is a means of the daunting mirage of life. While seemingly caught up within the grandiose, I think this novel really does want a simple truth to be taken hold. The fact that we believe that there is goodness, the fact that passion can exist in a form of freedom, the doubt we hold so dearly, and everything that is true suffering are together one a form of an experience. There are two deaths in this novel. The old bastard at the hands of another and a young beloved child at the hands of life. One of them receives my favorite author’s phrase “so it goes” and the other receives the common “gone too soon”. Deserved or not for both, Alyosha sums up our constant questions of Hamlet with a lavish farewell. A good, sacred memory is best of all we have left to love. I find that touching. I have wronged and made my own mistakes years upon years in the cycle of laundry. Is it misplaced sentiment to cherish what is lost? Who can say. When we all come back to the very focal point of a memory, it is a miracle we were passionate at all.