The Brothers Karamazov

It felt like an irrationally long time that it took me to read this book, but having gone back and seen my last post, I see it has only been the duration of 3 months.  Long, yes, but not the eternity it seemed.

I have read Dostoevsky before, albeit in high school, and in comparison, this one felt so much more humorous and playful.  Of course, it may just be that the in my youth I was too inexperienced with literature (not to mention so emo) to understand the subtleties of the writer's wordsmithing, or it may even have been the fault of whatever translator's rendition of Crime and Punishment that I experienced, but the cold and harsh story that I remember in that case is something of a completely different world compared to this edition of The Brothers.  It is important to note here, that this copy in question was translated by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky whom I have raved about before.

In short, I found it delightful that there could be so much "fun" in a russian murder mystery (for lack of a better term).  It felt a bit like self-deprecation of Dostoevsky's own genre, while also challenging so much of what would be commonplace like religion and devotion (in all respects).  And oh, the drama.  If only we could be so outwardly passionate and yet fickle in our daily lives and fall into fits as often, maybe we would all be a little less uptight.

I must say, I could have done with the speeches being cut to a third of what they were though.  I know, I know, it's Russian literature.  I stand my ground.  Especially when there wasn't a single mention of snow in 776 pages.