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voyria 's review for:
Humiliated and Insulted
by Fyodor Dostoevsky
wowwwwwwww look at me reading my 1st dostoevsky. only now learned that his name is more dostoevsky than it is dostoyevsky too, which is wild to me
ive spent my whole life reading and hearing people say that "these russian writers" (namely our boy fyodor here, gogol, pushkin, the film guys and the left guys) are too dense and complicated and weird and whatever and honestly what the fuck is wrong with people. this book is my baby my son my daughter. it is raw fucking passion, which at least to me is the simplest concept to grasp in all of humanity's spectrum of emotions and motivations. i guess it's a little.....wordy? but whatever. people will find any reason to shit on russia
vanya is a "passenger of agony" in everyone else's passions, as is often times the case with artists. he is the weakest link among three different nuclei of conflict and though he is not without his own passions he is definitely someone who lives mostly through the emotions of others, at least during the events described here; by the end of the book i still felt like i didn't really know vanya, even though everything is written from his perspective and opinions and through the lens of his values, simply because, strictly speaking, vanya doesn't have a perspective in any of this. he is mostly a messenger and a confidant to all kinds, an observer, but apart from here and here, there are little to no moments when vanya's actions dramatically change the course of action or even another character's opinion on a situation. he is shy, solicitous, loyal, patient, comprehensive, attentive, he keeps secrets and he runs when called, which are fine traits for either a writer or a lapdog. vanya is sort of the lapdog of the main characters in this book. what i'm saying is that this book could've been written through the pov of a dog and the story could've been more of less the same, except that someone else would have to care for yelena, but there was no shortage of people with those capacities in this story. i loved vanya very much during this whole reading, not only because i endlessly relate to him (especially on the lapdog thing i just mentioned) but because i admired his dedication to the cause of loving someone
of course, the book is not really all about romance, but more like romance is the pita bread to carry the hummus of socio-political-economical criticism and observations of the times. i read this between mushroom ceremonies so often i was dealt such a heavy blow of sympathy with the unfavoured that i honestly tried to avert my eyes or deny the emotion, but it was there. poverty sickens me, it weakens me. and there is no relief from it in dostoevsky's book, no respite and no happy ending. it didn't feel like a dream at all, natasha, i don't really think we could've been happy forever. that's the main underline i got from this
now i kinda want to be the russian lit chick that everyone always said i looked like!!!! i can do this
ive spent my whole life reading and hearing people say that "these russian writers" (namely our boy fyodor here, gogol, pushkin, the film guys and the left guys) are too dense and complicated and weird and whatever and honestly what the fuck is wrong with people. this book is my baby my son my daughter. it is raw fucking passion, which at least to me is the simplest concept to grasp in all of humanity's spectrum of emotions and motivations. i guess it's a little.....wordy? but whatever. people will find any reason to shit on russia
vanya is a "passenger of agony" in everyone else's passions, as is often times the case with artists. he is the weakest link among three different nuclei of conflict and though he is not without his own passions he is definitely someone who lives mostly through the emotions of others, at least during the events described here; by the end of the book i still felt like i didn't really know vanya, even though everything is written from his perspective and opinions and through the lens of his values, simply because, strictly speaking, vanya doesn't have a perspective in any of this. he is mostly a messenger and a confidant to all kinds, an observer, but apart from here and here, there are little to no moments when vanya's actions dramatically change the course of action or even another character's opinion on a situation. he is shy, solicitous, loyal, patient, comprehensive, attentive, he keeps secrets and he runs when called, which are fine traits for either a writer or a lapdog. vanya is sort of the lapdog of the main characters in this book. what i'm saying is that this book could've been written through the pov of a dog and the story could've been more of less the same, except that someone else would have to care for yelena, but there was no shortage of people with those capacities in this story. i loved vanya very much during this whole reading, not only because i endlessly relate to him (especially on the lapdog thing i just mentioned) but because i admired his dedication to the cause of loving someone
of course, the book is not really all about romance, but more like romance is the pita bread to carry the hummus of socio-political-economical criticism and observations of the times. i read this between mushroom ceremonies so often i was dealt such a heavy blow of sympathy with the unfavoured that i honestly tried to avert my eyes or deny the emotion, but it was there. poverty sickens me, it weakens me. and there is no relief from it in dostoevsky's book, no respite and no happy ending. it didn't feel like a dream at all, natasha, i don't really think we could've been happy forever. that's the main underline i got from this
now i kinda want to be the russian lit chick that everyone always said i looked like!!!! i can do this