Dostoevsky


I have intended for a while to write this eulogy for one of my favourite writers – Dostoyevsky. What is peculiar about my fascination with his works is that I am not fond of Russian literature. However, since I am not a connoisseur of it, I do not want to go to unacceptable lenghts as to say that it is not valuable; as far as I am concerned, it can be actually more interesting and well established than I had ever thought. Regardless of this unfortunate attempt to express some entrenched impressions, I want to return to the main theme of today’s dissertation.
I still remember how I commenced to read Dostoyevsky. It was the winter of 2010 and I fatidically came across “Crime and punishment.” I apprehend now that it was just the begininning of an exhaustive but nonetheless fulfilling task. I have read hitherto almost all of his major works, but I still have to finish “The Idiot” and to proceed to “The Adolescent”.
Despite my initial consternation, I gradually understood that Dostoyevsky was one of those writers who was so adroit that in order to catch a glimpse of his immense knowledge you had to jettison the inveterate conceptions and replace them with a holistic approach towards his work. Notwithstanding the risk of seeming supercilious, I must say that I succeeded in my attempt to comprehend his view points almost perfectly. When you read almost everything that an author had ever written, you feel that between you two a bond , an inextricable bond had been created. I can pertain completely to this theory, due to the fact that now I do not have to waste time trying to ascertain some patterns of thinking in order to find the actual meaning of his words. Whereas at the commencement I had sometimes problems with his sometimes convoluted writing, I find myself now able to supersede the common meanings of the words with the more profound ones. It is not a harbinger of hubris, I must assure you – it is just the not so unexpected consequence of a long process of understanding one of the most intelligent men on Earth. One of the hindrances that prolonged this accomplishment was my quixotic personality which did not accept a single misuse of the word “holistic” regarding the understanding of his books.
Apart from this general thoughts, I want to talk for a while about the actual products of his genius. I cannot say that one of his books is my favourite – each one of them provided me with a different point of view regarding a plethora of theories; each one of them endowed me with a better understanding of the world. Engels once said that he learned more about the society and practical things from Balzac’s novels than from the historians, economists and psychologists of his time. And I guess that this can only reiterate my previous statement, although there may be people who think that they can rebuke my assessements.

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