I have reviewed books for many people.. but always felt too lazy to put them together. Hopefully I'll continue them here.
I used to love fiction. My two genres for quite a long time were crime/detective fiction and fantasy/adventure. I hated anything even remotely resembling real life, since I felt that life is miserable already, and it was better to escape into the world of make believe.
I'm starting with Brothers Karamazov, since it was the first non-fantasy book I read. There are heaps of objective book critiques/reviews online, but this is going to be more subjective.
The book took me a whopping three years to read. They say that Dostoevsky saw a bit of himself in all the three brothers, Alyosha, Ivan & Mitya, even may be Smerdyakov. I liked Alyosha and Ivan. To me, it felt like they were all I wanted to be. Smart, witty, philosophical, a trusting faith, that doesn't waver, never doubts, pure, innocent.
Looking deeper, may be there's a Dmitri, in all of us, even Smerdyakov. The hot-headedness, the once depraved life, may be.. that which scares us.
There was once a time, when I felt atheism might be an answer, shallow as it sounded. But Ivan's descent into madness, when he realizes that ultimately he was responsible for inciting Smerdyakov into murder.. creepy.
At the end, it all pans out, like any other good movie. Dostoevsky stays true to the parable of the prodigal son.
Why don't they write such good books in English?
“Above all, don't lie to yourself. The man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to a point that he cannot distinguish the truth within him, or around him, and so loses all respect for himself and for others. And having no respect he ceases to love.”
― Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov
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