The Brothers Karamazov • Fyodor Dostoyevsky

Some time ago, I was a bit at a loss as to which book to pick up next — it happens. My TBR pile isn’t particularly large at the moment. Not long ago I read a book by Camus in which he wrote about the inspiring power of The Brothers Karamazov. I also heard from other quarters that the book is truly worth reading, so I ordered it and read it straight away. Given its great length and demanding content, it was clear to me from the outset that this wouldn’t be a light read. But the great old classics usually hold a valuable treasure within them, and those who dive in are almost always richly rewarded. What you’ll find in this book is abundantly rich. Let me tell you a bit about it.

The Brothers Karamazov is a crime novel in which a dissolute, hedonistic father, Fyodor, has three sons. He has cared for none of his children, devoting himself instead to his business dealings and debauched lifestyle. Fyodor is murdered, and suspicion falls on one son who had argued with him about money. Only on the surface is the question who the murderer is. Dostoevsky rather opens a deep view into the human psyche and spans the arc to the great philosophical, social, and theological questions.

So the book is only secondarily a crime novel. From the way Dostoevsky characterizes his figures, you immediately notice that the Karamazov family is consciously constructed. That doesn’t make the characters any less realistic. There are three brothers: Dmitri is the passionate, impulsive soldier — hot-tempered and stormy, hard to rein in, with problems involving women and money. Ivan is the intellectual doubter, a skeptic and cynic, highly educated and representing the enlightened rationalist. The youngest brother is Alyosha, deeply devout, spiritual, ascetic, and in complete contrast to his two brothers.

I found the father wonderfully done — Dostoevsky portrays him superbly. A dissolute, ruthless man who gives himself entirely to debauchery, conducts his business unscrupulously, a model usurer, and gloriously selfish. He makes no secret of his life philosophy, flies into rages, drinks heavily, and chases women. It’s powerfully atmospheric when he tells his sons they’ll get no money from him because he needs it himself — he intends to maintain his depraved lifestyle into old age.

Another important figure I really liked is Grushenka. The Karamazovs compete for her, and she reminded me very much of the dissolute women in Balzac’s novels. She’s beautiful, passionate, desirable, yet socially unaccepted, calculating, egocentric, and still capable of devotion. Her presence drives the story forward and adds romantic passion as an important psychological impetus to the novel.

What Dostoevsky unfolds here, however, goes far beyond these main figures. He takes plenty of time for subplots and secondary characters. In numerous episodes, the reader learns a great deal about the entire milieu surrounding the Karamazov family. I found some of these side stories very successful and entertaining — for example, about Lizaveta the Stinking, an apparently mentally impaired and unappealing woman who becomes unexpectedly pregnant. Some strands are treated at great length, such as that of Elder Zosima, whose disciple is the youngest Karamazov brother. At times that was too much for me. Yet this wealth of detail gives the novel tremendous depth. Dostoevsky quite deliberately builds a counterweight to the depraved father, but he also presents a theism that must have mattered to him as an author — a faith based on forgiveness, devotion, and love of one’s neighbor rather than church institutions or rigid dogma. I found the role of a starets — a respected and venerated elder in an Orthodox monastery with a more informal role, often teaching novices — particularly interesting. When Dostoevsky then inserts a life history of the elder, the length of it did go too far for me.

Another important subplot that runs through the entire novel is that of Ilyusha, the son of a discharged and impoverished soldier. Here the reader encounters oppressive, harrowing poverty. With Ilyusha’s story, Dostoevsky aims to depict precisely this poverty, but also the innocence of childhood and how it is clouded by the adult world. In doing so, he portrays the social conflicts of his time and gives them a theological component by echoing the sufferings of Christ.

The novel is suffused with the great metaphysical questions — very typical of the great Russian classics. Dostoevsky’s own profound doubts about faith take up considerable space here. He had a devout mother but repeatedly doubted belief himself and grappled all his life with complex philosophical and theological questions. Two chapters in particular impressed me deeply. In one, Ivan — the sober, enlightened, atheistic brother — explains to his younger, devout brother Alyosha his doubts about God. Ivan argues that an omnipotent and benevolent God who allows the suffering of children cannot exist. This is where Ivan founders, and Dostoevsky conveys it in powerful language, illustrating with examples in which children became innocent victims and using this as a weighty argument against belief in God. He poses the question whether it is morally justifiable that children must suffer for the sins of humanity.

In a second chapter, Ivan tells the story of the Grand Inquisitor. In sixteenth-century Seville, during the Inquisition, Jesus appears. He heals a blind old man and raises a dead child. The Cardinal Grand Inquisitor witnesses this, has Jesus arrested, and delivers a long monologue explaining that Jesus has no right to disturb the Church. He argues that people cannot bear freedom and that it is the Church’s task to control them and provide security. This story, too, is told with a compelling urgency that simply grips the reader — Jesus no longer needed, because people cannot endure freedom.

I found many chapters highly entertaining and devoured them attentively. Others I experienced as very long-winded. The trial, for instance, with its exhaustive speeches and summations, was excessively drawn out. The general mood is often depressing and gloomy. There were days when I simply didn’t want to pick up the book — it would have been too heavy for me then. Yet the novel rewarded me richly: many scenes and many characterizations through what the figures think are simply fascinating and moving. The officer’s daughter Katerina, for example, is extraordinarily well drawn. Her motives and feelings are utterly genuine — I believed Dostoevsky completely. If someone told me this woman truly existed and was exactly as portrayed, I would believe it. Such detailed psychological insight into characters’ minds I previously knew primarily from the stories of Henry James.

So what’s in this novel? An enormous amount. Yes, a crime story — but beyond that, questions of human relationships; questions of philosophy, faith, society, psychology, justice. It is also a portrait of Russian society of the time, influenced by Western Enlightenment, which had recently undergone the emancipation of the serfs, and yet was still marked by the Russian soul (the genuine nineteenth-century Russian soul, not what one encounters these days).

I picked up the thin-paper edition from Anaconda Verlag. It’s not exactly low budget, but it does feel pleasantly high quality. You don’t get extras like sewn binding or a linen cover, but rather a plainly designed cardboard case; all the same, the book is solidly made. Hermann Röhl’s translation is older (1924) but has been gently revised for this edition, and it reads smoothly and pleasantly.

Conclusion: The fascinating and expansive novel The Brothers Karamazov is an exceptional read. Not easy — with its often depressing overall mood and many slow passages — but with an extraordinarily broad range. Dostoevsky does not shy away from the great philosophical and theological questions, and I found Ivan’s doubts about faith particularly moving, for in them I recognized Dostoevsky’s own inner struggle. The deep psychological insight into the figures repeatedly captivated me as I read. The way Dostoevsky characterizes the brothers and the figures around the Karamazovs is a great achievement — compelling to read and full of nuances that inevitably prompt reflection. It’s a book one could read multiple times and still discover countless new things. But you have to take the time and commit to it. It’s not a novel you read on the side. Those who immerse themselves in it will find something there — surely something for themselves — because the thoughts Dostoevsky wrestles with are timeless.

Book information: The Brothers Karamazov • Fyodor Dostoevsky • Anaconda Verlag • 1264 pages • ISBN 9783730611623