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A review by mostremote
The Idiot by Fyodor Dostoevsky
4.0
At the end of Lars von Trier's Dogville (spoilers), Grace's father becomes the first to speak to our meek, gentle, always forgiving protagonist as an equal and accuses her of the sin of arrogance: "You have this preconceived notion that nobody [...] can't possibly attain the same high ethical standards as you, so you exonerate them. I can not think of anything more arrogant than that." I often thought of this with Myshkin. Is his innocence, kindness, and patience truly a virtue, or is it something closer to arrogance? I thought Dostoevsky was leading us to reveal that it's the latter. But no: Myshkin is broken by the cruelties of Russian society, a victim of his own saintliness.
Myshkin's infinite grace is not just infuriating and condescending, but contributes to real harm. Perhaps the most heinous moment is when Myshkin receives a story of a man beating his fiancee with not just warmth, but a declaration of brotherly love. The man later murders the woman. While I am somewhat looking at the scene through modern goggles, it is very difficult not to see Myshkin as complicit in this death. This isn't even an imitation of Christ, who intervened in violence against women. Truly nasty shit. Myshkin is a bad person.
This is a sprawling novel and I can't comment on everything, but I must say something about the women, specifically Aglaya and Nastasia. They were absolutely infuriating. Aglaya is little more than a child, behaving with such capricious immaturity that it feels almost predatory for a man of even Myshkin's age to court her. Natasia had more potential, though it was never fully developed. She masochistically performs the role of fallen woman and throws herself into self-destruction at any opportunity. But why she does this, beyond the broad strokes, is never really grappled with. Myshkin only pities her, which is bizarre, because she has great strengths despite her severe emotional problems. And Myshkin must choose between these two women, a child and a "madwoman". Not to be facetious, but my God, why not simply not date either of them, Myshkin? Are there no other women in all of Russia? As one often says of unfortunate protagonists in horror films, I would simply not get into this situation.
The novel is at its best when it pits Myshkin's naivety against the byzantine hostilities of Russian society. The episode wherein a defamatory letter is published about Myshkin (alleging he stole the fortune of another man's father, when the fortune was not stolen nor were the men actually related) and our poor idiot ties himself in knots trying to exculpate himself without causing blame to anyone else is fascinating. No one believes Myshkin and presses upon him more and more aggressively, but Myshkin's pathological inability to properly defend himself will not buckle. Eventually, empirical evidence makes the question of Myshkin's innocence unquestionable; but alas, the true victim in this affair (the man who falsely believes a fortune has been stolen) has had his dignity utterly wrecked. Whatever Myshkin tries to do to help the man, it only exacerbates his humiliation. This is wonderful stuff! If only there was more of this and less of the dreadful marriage plot.
To say something positive of Myshkin, I loved his little rants. It's adorable to see him go off on one of his bonkers, hyperfixated spiels and watch everyone try to figure out how to react. I've been that guy at a dinner party, albeit not quite as disastrously. The early episode where he relates his feelings about the temporal experience of a man condemned to die is an outstanding passage. I wish there was more of that.
There are many, many subplots and digressions that did not, in my view, ultimately add up to much. Some are intriguing and enjoyable in the moment, but it's hard to rate this as an intricately constructed novel. Yes, it's a terrible crime to say this of Dostoevsky, but so it goes. I adored Crime and Punishment so I know he can do better than this.
I must briefly touch on the frustrating simplicity with which mental and neurological illness are treated here. As Susan Sontag insists, illness is not a metaphor, and the Prince's catatonia and Natasia's madness serve more as metaphoric manifestations of social distress than psychological phenomena. It was just quite irritating, especially after the realism of Raskolnikov's PTSD or Svidrigalov's suicidality. (Hippolyte, though, was very well-realised. I only wish it went somewhere.)
And yet I still rate this three/four stars, because the good stuff is absolutely excellent. Truly some of the best passages I've ever read. It just adds up to far less than the sum of its parts.
Myshkin's infinite grace is not just infuriating and condescending, but contributes to real harm. Perhaps the most heinous moment is when Myshkin receives a story of a man beating his fiancee with not just warmth, but a declaration of brotherly love. The man later murders the woman. While I am somewhat looking at the scene through modern goggles, it is very difficult not to see Myshkin as complicit in this death. This isn't even an imitation of Christ, who intervened in violence against women. Truly nasty shit. Myshkin is a bad person.
This is a sprawling novel and I can't comment on everything, but I must say something about the women, specifically Aglaya and Nastasia. They were absolutely infuriating. Aglaya is little more than a child, behaving with such capricious immaturity that it feels almost predatory for a man of even Myshkin's age to court her. Natasia had more potential, though it was never fully developed. She masochistically performs the role of fallen woman and throws herself into self-destruction at any opportunity. But why she does this, beyond the broad strokes, is never really grappled with. Myshkin only pities her, which is bizarre, because she has great strengths despite her severe emotional problems. And Myshkin must choose between these two women, a child and a "madwoman". Not to be facetious, but my God, why not simply not date either of them, Myshkin? Are there no other women in all of Russia? As one often says of unfortunate protagonists in horror films, I would simply not get into this situation.
The novel is at its best when it pits Myshkin's naivety against the byzantine hostilities of Russian society. The episode wherein a defamatory letter is published about Myshkin (alleging he stole the fortune of another man's father, when the fortune was not stolen nor were the men actually related) and our poor idiot ties himself in knots trying to exculpate himself without causing blame to anyone else is fascinating. No one believes Myshkin and presses upon him more and more aggressively, but Myshkin's pathological inability to properly defend himself will not buckle. Eventually, empirical evidence makes the question of Myshkin's innocence unquestionable; but alas, the true victim in this affair (the man who falsely believes a fortune has been stolen) has had his dignity utterly wrecked. Whatever Myshkin tries to do to help the man, it only exacerbates his humiliation. This is wonderful stuff! If only there was more of this and less of the dreadful marriage plot.
To say something positive of Myshkin, I loved his little rants. It's adorable to see him go off on one of his bonkers, hyperfixated spiels and watch everyone try to figure out how to react. I've been that guy at a dinner party, albeit not quite as disastrously. The early episode where he relates his feelings about the temporal experience of a man condemned to die is an outstanding passage. I wish there was more of that.
There are many, many subplots and digressions that did not, in my view, ultimately add up to much. Some are intriguing and enjoyable in the moment, but it's hard to rate this as an intricately constructed novel. Yes, it's a terrible crime to say this of Dostoevsky, but so it goes. I adored Crime and Punishment so I know he can do better than this.
I must briefly touch on the frustrating simplicity with which mental and neurological illness are treated here. As Susan Sontag insists, illness is not a metaphor, and the Prince's catatonia and Natasia's madness serve more as metaphoric manifestations of social distress than psychological phenomena. It was just quite irritating, especially after the realism of Raskolnikov's PTSD or Svidrigalov's suicidality. (Hippolyte, though, was very well-realised. I only wish it went somewhere.)
And yet I still rate this three/four stars, because the good stuff is absolutely excellent. Truly some of the best passages I've ever read. It just adds up to far less than the sum of its parts.