My next step . . .

I have been a good productive girl this week and gotten a number of household projects under my belt.  As a reward, I let myself go to Barnes and Noble to browse the stacks to choose my next victim, er, novel.  Sorry.  Still have Dracula on the brain what with Halloween next weekend and all.  I wanted to move into a more contemporary novel since my first three books were written in the 1800’s and I also wanted to take advantage of some of the Turner Classic Movies that I have sitting on my DVR by reading a book and then watching the movie.  I think I’ve decided upon Ernest Hemingway’s A Farewell To Arms, although To Kill a Mockingbird is still in the running since I purchased both.

I have also been given an interesting proposition that I am seriously considering.  There is a contest called National Novel Writing Month or NaNoWriMo for short.  Apparently, all you have to do to “win” this contest is write a 50,000 word novel during the 30 days of November . . . and I say “all” as though that were not much of a task.  The point of the contest is pure productivity.  No editing or polishing or agonizing over the right words.  Just sit down and let the words pour forth.  I must say that there is a certain appeal to this since I tend to be nearly paralyzed by self-criticism when I seriously try to write (obviously, not in this blog, though.)  And the deadline aspect is a powerful motivator in every aspect of my life.  50,000 words translates to about 178 pages, or so their web site says.  Not sure what kind of pages they mean, but it gives a little perspective.  And just in case any of you reading wonder if there is anything other than a bunch of crap being cranked out of this contest, the 2007 best seller Water For Elephants written by Sara Gruen and published by Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill was a product of NaNoWriMo . . . a book I read and truly enjoyed.  I’m going to talk to my potential writing partner about it later today.  If I decide to do it, my November blog posts may be short and sweet, but I’ll keep you posted (pun intended.)

And now for some personal musing (as though that’s not entirely what a blog is in the first place) . . . I had a job interview yesterday upon which I had pinned a lot of my hopes.  Suffice it to say that although it went extremely well, the outcome was not exactly what I desired:  no position available until next March at the earliest.  Now that I’ve been searching for a job for almost 8 months (and I realize that I am not alone in this) I have some heavy decision-making to do about how and where to continue my job hunt.  I’ve decided to give myself the weekend, if not the rest of the week, to ponder it before embarking on my chosen course.  In the meantime, I’m going to a 3-year-old’s birthday party with a bouncy house, watching a couple of versions of the Dracula movie, having multiple adult beverages with good friends, dressing up for Halloween (twice), and in general, trying to enjoy my life as it is.  It’s a challenge to stay in the moment when you are a control freak like me and can see the end of the money coming, but whether I sit here at the computer enjoying a little writing time or lay in my bed crying over my potential poverty has no effect on my eminent financial crisis.  It only has an effect on my current frame of mind, and more and more often in my life, I choose to try to be happy.  It’s amazing to realize how much of a personal choice it really is, and I challenge myself, as well as my myriad readers 😉 , to try to make that choice every day.


Vampires and Werewolves and Monsters, oh my!

Gary Oldham as Count Dracula in 1992's movie "Bram Stoker's Dracula"

The next selection on my road to 101 of the greatest novels of all time is Bram Stoker’s Dracula, the archetype for the modern vampire myth.   I chose this novel in honor of the upcoming holiday Halloween and have completed it with enough time to watch the 1992 movie version Bram Stoker’s Dracula this coming Saturday with a friend and the 1922 German silent film version Nosferatu which sits on my DVR waiting for me to make time for it.  These are just two of the multitude of film and television adaptations of the vampire myth.

Thanks to some quick Wikipedia research, I found that legends of what we now identify as vampires have been around for centuries if not millennia in many different forms, but they mythology exploded in the 18th century, particularly in Eastern Europe.  The hysteria surrounding this swelling mythology during this period led to the recording and publication of the folklore that became the modern vampire.

Stoker’s novel, though eventually the most popular and influential, was not the first fictional work published about vampires.  Early poems were written by notable literary figures including Samuel Coleridge, Lord Byron and Goethe.  Varney the Vampire was a popular serialized version of the story that was published in pamphlets referred to as penny dreadfuls, referring to the cost and content.  One of the first complete novels on the topic was Carmilla, a lesbian vampire story written by Sheridan Le Fanu in 1871.   Before Stoker published his work in 1897, he spent seven years researching European folklore, and it was not until the 1922 unauthorized film adaptation of his work as Nosferatu that Bram Stoker’s character gained mass popularity.  Unfortunately for Stoker, he did not follow proper copyright procedures for his novel, and in the United States and his work has been public domain since its publication.

Having read the book, I now realize how much the modern vampire differs even from Bram Stoker’s Dracula.  It is interesting to imagine how much his version departed from the early folk tales and superstitions of the rural parts of Eastern Europe.  Our idea of a “sparkly”, teenage vampire would probably be unrecognizable to those that originated the stories, and not just because of the setting. 

Movie poster from 2008's "Twilight"

Throughout much of my vampire education, I thought that vampires could not be exposed to light at all, but then Dracula goes walking down the street in broad daylight in Stoker’s novel.  I knew that vampires could become bats and fly away, but I didn’t know that they were supposed to be able to become a swarm of insects or the fog or take a number of other forms at will.   And I think that the fact that Dracula had red eyes in Stoker’s novel would be too much of a giveaway for him to be able to pass among the living nowadays.

Two other items in the novel struck me as worth noting.  The first was the prevailing attitude about women, which I imagine is a reflection of the Victorian norms of the author’s time.  Impaired breathing due to restrictive corsets aside, women were seen as dramatically inferior to men in mental as well as physical capacities.  The praise heaped upon Mina Murray Harker because of her analytical abilities was almost backhanded because it was always coupled with a comparison of how like a man her mind functioned and how exceptional it was that a woman was capable of such intellect.  I know this depiction is a product of the times, but it’s a pet peeve of mine nonetheless.

The second is the narrative device that Stoker used to tell the story.  He presents the novel as a series of verifiable records:  journal and diary entries, personal correspondence, doctor’s records, and official communications all strung together to create a continuous account of a five month period in the lives of a small group of people.  Undoubtedly, this is meant to give the impression of legitimacy and truth to the tale, and is a clever device that allows the reader to see the same action from several different perspectives without confusion.

After War and Peace, I feel like I positively flew through Dracula, although I found some of the Victorian era dialect used by the characters more stilted and formal than the translation of Tolstoy’s work.  It is an exciting plot that draws you in and remains at least a partial mystery, even if you have familiarity with the idea of vampires (and really, who reading a blog doesn’t?)  Being a tremendous fan of Halloween, scary movies, and all that includes, I am completely satisfied to have finally read this book and have no hesitation recommending it to anybody that has even the slightest interest in this genre.  As a matter of fact, I would probably consider it mandatory reading.


War and Peace is "Heavy Reading"

War and Peace is heavy reading.

Finally, finally . . . I have finally finished War and Peace.  That book sure takes some stamina!

I went to brunch with a friend yesterday when I had about 50 or so pages left in the book, and she asked, “Well, was it worth it?”  And I found it difficult to give a direct “yes” or “no” answer.

On the one hand, the enormous number of characters involved, each with multiple variations of their names, made it so that I spent the first few hundred pages confused about who was who and even ¾ of the way through the book, I would still stumble across names that were vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t remember why I should know them.

Eventually, I began to get a feel for the characters and their families and how their lives related to each other as they started to intertwine.  The story began to carry me along, as good fiction normally does in my experience, but once I had the main characters sorted out, I found myself disappointed in them.  It’s not that they were bad people per se, but each had glaring flaws.   More than one was unnecessarily arrogant. One man was miserable and on a bumbling, misguided quest for the meaning of life in spite of being fabulously wealthy and respected.  One woman was obsessively religious which made her weak and timid in the face of her father’s mental abuse.  One particular woman was flighty and shallow, falling “deeply” in love multiple times with different men after a single meeting.  Another woman became the family doormat in spite of her devotion and service, just because she was adopted and not wealthy.  And she never stood up for herself.  As a matter of fact, almost none of the women did, and the exceptional ones who did, did so because they were vain and spoiled.

These character flaws would not sound so bad, normally, because one would expect, as I did, that there would be balancing positive qualities that would make the suffering admirable.  They did have good qualities, but not enough to offset their flaws and make them sympathetic and truly interesting.  Again, it wasn’t as though these were evil people doing horrible things, but with perhaps one exception (and that’s being generous,) I don’t think I would want to know or be friends with a single character in this book.  It led me to believe that the characters were almost secondary in Tolstoy’s telling of this epic story and tumultuous period in Russian history.  Certainly, future generations of Russian politicians used the book as a propaganda tool to raise morale about mother Russia, not for its insightful character analysis.

And the philosophical departures that I mentioned in a previous post . . . the ones that started out seeming so interesting and insightful to me?  Well, they soon became cumbersome and repetitive.  I recognize what blasphemy this must be, but I easily could have reduced this book from 1400 pages to about 800 pages without much harm to the character driven plot.  I have to admit that I (really) quickly skimmed the last 20 or so pages because Tolstoy, once again, went off on a lengthy rant about history and what moves nations.  I kept looking to see if he would get back to the characters at the heart of the book, but he just left them hanging out there without really wrapping things up.  I don’t normally have to have the end of a book tied up in a neat bow with a happily ever after, but to end it in a tangentially related philosophical discussion was dissatisfying to me.

Even with these criticisms, I cannot really say that I disliked War and Peace.  In general, I am a fan of the historical fiction genre to which this book more or less belongs.  I like being entertained by a story and accidentally learning some real history in the process.  In this, Tolstoy was absolutely successful.  It was not difficult material to read for which at least partial credit must be given to the translator of this edition Constance Garnett, and there were times where I was eager to get back to the book to see what would happen next.

But I have a feeling that the biggest part of my hesitation to say whether or not reading War and Peace is“worth it” was the sum total of literary history that proclaims this book to absolutely be worth it, and worth it much more than many other books that I have read and enjoyed.  My lack of ability to embrace the novel makes me wonder about myself.  All of these amazingly talented and smart people adore Leo Tolstoy and his most famous novel. 

On the cover of the book I just finished, there is a quote from Virginia Woolf that says, “There remains the greatest of all novelists – for what else can we call the author of War and Peace?”

The greatest of all novelists?  Who am I to say it isn’t so?  Certainly not a literary legend like Virginia Woolf.

But then again, this is MY blog, and in my modern American cockiness, I’m not worried about what those talented and smart people think.  In a similar way, it’s as though if I prefer to drink my red wine with ice but refuse to do it because I’m worried that wine snobs will look down on me.  Instead, I drink my warm wine and don’t enjoy it or even forego it altogether.  It’s just grown up peer pressure and that’s just silly.  Aside from the fact that I got some impressed glances from people who saw me reading it and the satisfaction that I now have in being able to say, “Yeah, I read War and Peace.” . . . my overall recommendation would be to skip it. 

Sorry, Leo.

The Blame Game

Official presidential portrait of Barack Obama...

President Barack Obama


To us it is inconceivable that millions of men should have killed and tortured each other, because Napoleon was ambitious, Alexander firm, English policy crafty, and the Duke of Oldenburg hardly treated . . . And the war would not have been had there been no intrigues on the part of England, no Duke of Oldenburg, no resentment on the part of Alexander; nor had there been no autocracy in Russia, no French Revolution and consequent dictatorship and empire, nor all that had led to the French Revolution, and so on further back: without any one of those causes, nothing could have happened. And consequently nothing was the exclusive cause of the war, and the war was bound to happen simply because it was bound to happen.   

The acts of Napoleon and Alexander, on whose words it seemed to depend whether this should be done or not, were as little voluntary as the act of each soldier, forced to march out by the drawing of a lot or by conscription . . . for in order that the will of Napoleon and Alexander (on whom the whole decision appeared to rest) should be effective, a combination of innumerable circumstances was essential, without any one of which the effect could not have followed. It was essential that the millions of men in whose hands the real power lay – the soldiers who fired guns and transported provisions and cannons – should consent to carry out the will of those feeble and isolated persons.   

And so, Napoleon played his part as the representative of supreme power . . . He did nothing likely to hinder the progress of the battle; he yielded to the most sensible advice; he was not confused, did not contradict himself, did not lose his presence of mind, nor run away from the field of battle, but with his great tact and military experience, he performed calmly and with dignity his role of appearing to be in supreme control of it all.  

Throughout War and Peace, Leo Tolstoy expounds on his philosophy of the origins of historical events and the importance, or lack of importance, that the recognized leaders had in shaping the events. Above, I quote pieces of his philosophy which, unfortunately, are lacking because they are not in context or with the benefit of full (rather lengthy) explanation. But Tolstoy firmly believes that these men, Emperor Napoleon, Tsar Alexander, and their military commanders, had only as much to do with the events and their outcomes as any single soldier holding a bayonet on the front lines of a given battle. Essentially, the credit or blame of any particular event is a sum of the entire history of every man who went before it, and although every man personally has free will, the momentum of history is affected in only the minutest way by the actions of a single man, regardless of his position in the world.  

In my reading this past week, this particular idea has struck a chord in me because of the state of contemporary politics, the upcoming mid-term elections, and the blame that has, of late, been heaped upon the current President. Rather than making this a political dissertation and drawing conclusions for you, I leave Tolstoy’s words for you to recognize the parallels and perhaps to gain an interesting 150-year-old perspective on a contemporary quandary . . . the credit or blame that is deserved by President Obama (or any past president as an individual, for that matter.)  

Oh, and I’m almost to page 1000, so only 400 to go . . . almost as much as a whole other book, but I’m closing in on it!  

On the virtues of a hardback . . . book

Napoleon in the Battle of Moskowa in 1812. Thr...

Napoleon in the Battle of Moskowa in 1812 . . . haven't gotten to this yet.


Well, as I slog my way through War and Peace, I thought I should try to write a bit on my blog so as not to lose the interest of the many, many fans I have acquired (Hi, Mom!)    

As far as my current read goes, I really am pleasantly surprised.  It’s not difficult to read at all.  The language is very accessible and almost conversational at times, though granted, a conversation from a different century.  Being an epic, the cast of characters is vast, and I am having some problems remembering who all of the people are between their appearances.  The action flips back and forth from Moscow to St. Petersburg to various battlefields in Austria, and there are a number of individual story lines that occasionally cross paths in order to keep the story united.  And let’s keep in mind that after a week of reading I am not even 300 pages into this tome of almost 1400 pages, so these are preliminary observations at best.    

One special note:  Tolstoy has quite a way with his description of battle.  It’s interesting and surprising, particularly having never been under fire myself and hoping to never have the pleasure.  It’s a different kind of battling than the modern warfare of heat seeking missiles and drones, or even the early 20th century battles of bombs dropped from airplanes and every soldier with a gun.  Communications during Tolstoy’s clashes are slow or non-existent between various regiments.  There are horses and swords and guns that require packing and flint before firing.  Death tended to be slow and painful, brought about by simple infections, exhaustion and hunger, and not necessarily from the immediate result of battle wounds.  Today, people say that things seem to move in slow motion during traumatic events like car accidents or bomb explosions, but events really were in slow motion in those battles considering how instantaneously we can now transmit messages and even death.  Tolstoy’s battle scenes are an insightful peek into a different way of war.    

And speaking of technology and communication, we now live in a time where you don’t even have to own a book in order to read a literary work.  As a bibliophile, you would think that I am opposed to this sort of thing, but I actually embrace it.  In spite of my advanced age, I have had computers in my house since I was a tween . . . a word that I don’t think existed when I was a tween, by the way.  This was thanks to my father who had a fascination with gadgets and was what marketers today call a “first adopter”.  I still remember that huge Apple computer with the floppy disk drives, the tiny monitor with the glowing, monochromatic typeface on the black background.  It was fascinating to me at the time, but I had absolutely no idea how it was going to literally change the world.  Now I have more processing power in my cell phone than in that old Apple II computer, and I don’t even use a smart phone!    

I have yet to purchase a tablet reader, but I have a number of friends who use them, and I imagine that they are nearly indispensable to today’s college students.  The iPad is high up on my “to be purchased” list, along with a smart phone (sorry, Apple, I don’t have AT&T and refuse to switch) and a new pair of red high heels.  I’d really rather wait to make my tablet purchase until after it is sand and water proof . . . or at least resistant.  After all, I live at the beach, and I don’t want to destroy such a stylish and expensive piece of technology by dropping it in a sand dune, but I might have break down and buy it sooner just because.    

I foresee myself using the tablet to read periodicals and using it to replace the multiple books I usually carry when I travel.  I can’t possibly run the risk of being caught without reading materials, and an Internet connected reader will make it possible to decide at the very last minute what I would like to read next . . . an amazing convenience!  However, I can’t see entirely giving up on the printed word.  Perhaps it’s just simple nostalgia that will be eventually overcome by the progression of time and technology, but, to echo a common refrain out there, there’s just something about holding the weight of a book in your hand as you read, turning the pages, feeling your progress through the story by the location of the bookmark.    

Most recently, I have also realized the distinct difference between reading a paperback book and a hardback book, and how truly wonderful the nearly lost art of reading an old-fashioned hardback book is.  The smell of the leather cover and the crisp stiff pages, the relatively substantial heft of the book, the silk lined cover, the gilt-edged paper, the smooth gold ribbon book mark, the embossed design and lettering on the binding . . . an overall richness that lends significance and gravity to the work within before you have even read page one.  I read Crime and Punishment in a red leather-bound edition like this and it made me want to curl up by a fire with a cup of hot tea.  Granted, I am currently enduring the dog days of summer and tea is not my normal drink of choice, but I compensated by turning up the AC and drinking hot chocolate.  The mechanics of reading a hardback book make it difficult to read while lying in bed, but this too seems to add to the importance of the work.  One cannot lounge while reading, but must sit up and give full attention in order to succeed.    

I think that often I read too casually, much in the manner that I digest sitcoms or fast food:  skimming with only partial attention and very little of merit left behind when it is over.  I am the first to admit that there is a certain pleasure in French fries, but it cannot be the only food you eat and they are certainly not the building blocks that will sustain you and make you a better person.  I know that the world is headed the way of the Matrix where you shove a plug into the back of your head and upload everything you need to know, but I hope against hope that there will always remain the families that sit around a table sharing dinner and conversation as well as the people who like to curl up with a book . . . one with a cover and pages, I mean.    

On the other hand, I think I would’ve sprained my wrist by now if I were reading War and Peace in hardback . . . to each job, the appropriate tool, I guess.    

A Glutton for Punishment

Napoleon in his study at the Tuileries - 2nd v...

Napoleon in his study at the Tuileries

Before I even finished reading Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment, I knew what my next read had to be:  Leo Tolstoy’s War and Peace.  I knew that the two were contemporaries who embodied the idea of Russia in their writings, and they appeared to have great respect for one another.  Upon hearing of Dostoevsky’s death, Tolstoy wrote, “I never saw the man, and never had any direct relations with him, yet suddenly when he died I understood that he was the nearest and dearest and most necessary of men to me.”

But I had no idea how interrelated their most famous novels are.  Apparently the two men used the same publisher to serialize their novels.  While Tolstoy was ensconced in his country estate, slowly struggling to write and rewrite his massive epic, originally called 1805, his fortunate publisher Mihail Katkov had another talented author mired in a financial crisis caused by gambling debts and desperate for income.  This other author dashed off a note with the idea for Crime and Punishment and Katkov quickly bought it.  Imagine being the publisher who featured the serialized version of Dostoevsky’s masterpiece in his journal beginning in January of 1866 and in successive publications switched back and forth between that and the ongoing saga created by Tolstoy!  It is almost impossible that these two authors were published at the same time by the same editor in the same periodical without having an impact on each other. 

It seems in my first few pages of reading that the first topic they both share is Napoleon, although Tolstoy’s idea of Napoleon almost seems to counter the “Napoleonic genius” figure of Raskolnikov’s philosophy.  At the very least, there are character viewpoints ranging from genius to fool regarding this man who is such an omnipresent figure at this particular period of Russian history.

The setting and mood of this novel, at least so far, are dramatically different.  Tolstoy’s characters move in elite circles.  They have wealth and titles and political clout.  Everybody has something that deserves complaint, but there is much more in the way of drawing room manipulation and much less crushing poverty.  It is a substantially easier read, though I don’t know if this can be attributed to the translation or the original author, but I must say I am relieved.  I don’t think I could read 1384 pages of Crime and Punishment.

Wow, that’s a long book . . .

Not the good kind of crazy

Raskolnikov and Marmeladov from Crime and Puni...

Raskolnikov and Marmeladov from Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky

I have recently finished my first book towards my goal of 101:  Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky.  The first observation I have to make is that the central figure in the novel Rodion Romanovitch Raskolnikov has practically no redeeming social value as a human being.  It’s notable that I when I went back to the beginning of the novel to find the correct spelling of his name for this post, I noticed a description of him as “exceptionally handsome . . . with beautiful dark eyes.”  Dostoevsky does not elaborate much on the physical descriptions of his characters, tossing them off in brief as though grudgingly meeting a necessary duty of a writer, and this visual was probably not repeated in any variation throughout the book.  However, it was surprising for me to find this sketch of his main character because by the end of the book, I had completely forgotten it and had formed a much less savory picture of him in my mind. 

To call Raskolnikov melancholy and irritable is a gross understatement.  As much as I wanted to like and sympathize with the “hero” of the story, he made it nearly impossible.  I wanted to pity the crushing poverty he endured in 19th century St. Petersburg, but he refused to make use of his obvious intelligence and education to improve his situation in any way.  He rather prefers sleeping the day away in his tiny room, cursing at those who try to provide company or food and brooding over his solitude and dismal situation.  He lashes out at the few people around him, screaming at them randomly (“scream” is the word frequently used in this translation), and pushing them away.  Even near the end of the book, he wonders why these people continue to love and care about him as horribly as he treats them, almost without exception.

And he is crazy . . . not the good kind of crazy that makes for a funny story after a night of drinking.  The pull-the-wings-off-an-insect-before-throwing-the-noose-over-the-rafters kind of crazy.  From the beginning, Raskolnikov is tormented by an idea he has developed to commit murder and robbery on an old pawn broker lady.  He aimlessly wanders the streets talking to himself, not looking anyone in the eye, getting into absurd arguments, and lamenting his plight to himself.  When he puts his plan into action, it quickly falls apart and he also ends up killing the woman’s much more likable sister Lizaveta.  Interestingly, the old pawn broker is never given a name, likely illustrating how very little Raskolnikov (and society at large) thought of this disagreeable woman.  And Raskolnikov’s ravings and mental anguish turn into physical illness.

I was hoping that this illness and mental distress was the physical manifestation of guilt over his bloody and ultimately senseless crime (since he did not take advantage of the stolen items), giving me permission to see him as sympathetic and human . . . a victim of his dire situation but still capable of remorse and regret.  But I eventually reached the inescapable conclusion that it was not guilt that sickened him. 

He had developed a theory and unknowingly published an article detailing the philosophy that ultimately led him to murder.  Dostoevsky apparently lifted Raskolnikov’s theory from a real life article published in a periodical called The Contemporary which was reviewing a book written by Napoleon III, the grandson of the infamous conqueror.  The Contemporary extrapolated the moral consequences of Napoleon III’s idea that some men are geniuses, men of destiny, and as such are not bound by the logic and rules that constrain normal men.  These men, like Napoleon and Julius Caesar, dramatically change the world and lay the roadmap for generations to follow, and therefore, the actions they take that would be considered “crimes” for ordinary men are forgivable in these heroes.  The problem is how to recognize these “Napoleonic geniuses”, and what if one erroneously sees oneself as a member of this elite group and proceeds to disregard the laws of man?  Raskolnikov saw himself as a man of greatness, and the murder was to be, in a manner, proof that he belonged to this group.  The botched crimes and his subsequent confession proved that he was just like the mortals that surrounded him.  He was no better than they, and this devastating realization was the source of his almost complete unhinging.  It was not guilt that he had done something evil, for he continued to believe that the pawnbroker was unworthy of anyone’s sympathy and deserved to die.  It was the shame that came with the realization that he was not exceptional.

It may be strange for me to say, but in this, I finally found my connection to Raskolnikov.  It is almost embarrassing to admit any similarity between myself and such unpleasant character, but I recognize the desire within me to see myself as extraordinary and live my life accordingly.  No, I don’t go to the extremes of committing crimes or mistreating the people around me, but I unconsciously draw a line between myself and the vast majority of other people . . . normally based on intellect.  And it has a powerful impact on me when I fail at something and realize that I am not that different from the people around me.  It is emotionally distressing to be ordinary for some reason, and I didn’t even grow up the product of a society where every child always wins and gets a ribbon or a trophy.  In my childhood, there were winners and losers, and it’s a good thing too because I’d probably be much worse and more self-entitled than I am (scary thought!)

Man, that paragraph is going to come back and bite me if I ever DO get famous one day!

But back to the novel . . . it takes until the final paragraph of the story for Raskolnikov to demonstrate that he has any hope of redemption and then it is due to the saintly influence of a prostitute with a heart of gold:  a woman with admirable qualities, not the least of which is her endless patience and understanding which had to have been worn very thin by Raskolnikov’s belligerent behavior.  Even on the last page where he finally broke down and let love into his life, I kept thinking that he was then going to be killed by his fellow inmates, who also found him quite irritating and obnoxious.  I wouldn’t have been the least surprised because aside from the awakening on the last page (which was qualified by 7 more years of prison and the prophecy of more hard time to follow that), there was very little in the book that demonstrated grace or hope.  To me, the “happy” ending was a surprise.

Overall, it took me a while to get into reading the book.  The language was not difficult but there are period references and the speech patterns are different enough to require extra concentration and an occasional visit to Wikipedia.  There are unexpected changes in the narrative voice from time to time, and there are monologues that go on for pages without a single paragraph break, proving that truly great authors ARE actually exempt from the rules of mortal men . . . literary rules, anyway.  Worth reading?  Ultimately, I’d say yes, but I’m not sure I would have had it on this “must read” list in retrospect.  Sorry, Fyodor.  But at least I don’t think you’re scary any more.  Just terribly depressing.  And a little crazy.

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