*Notes from Underground by Dostoevsky

"I have been so accustomed to thinking and imagining everything according to books, and picturing everything in the world as I had previously made it up in fantasy, that at the moment I didn't even grasp the meaning of this strange circumstance."

To be stuck in this world that is dependent on books is such a new idea that has not been emphasized by any of the classic authors that I have currently read.

"They were so lacking in understanding of the most essential thing, so devoid of interest in the most important, most remarkable matters, that I involuntarily began to look upon them as my inferiors."

And it is this involuntary "reflex" that plunges one deeper into this thought of being better. And although it flatters the vanity, it eats at one, and it is a torment. For these little nuisances do not go away!

But here he is separating himself from society and forever giving himself up to his imagination. Once the break with reality is gone, nothing can stop one from living in the imagination.

"Yet how much love, Lord, how much love I experienced in those dreams of mine, in those 'escapes into everything lofty and beautiful.' This love might have existed only in fantasy, it might never have been applied to any human situation in reality, but it was so abundant, so overflowing, that afterwards there wasn't even any need to apply it in practice; that would have been too much of a luxury. Everything, however, always ended most satisfactorily- in a lazy and estatic transition to the realm of art; that is, to beautiful modes of existence, entirely ready-made, largely stolen from poets and novelists and adapted to serve every need and demand."

While I read this, I was struck by how easy it is to live in one's imagination. There are no obstacles and challenges, everything serves "every need and demand". Here the anti-hero is choosing the unreal instead of the real. He'd rather have his own fantasies than actually live them in real life, because there are no risks to be taken, it is within the secure limits of his world. He is completely in control. Which is also extremely cowardly, but what is one to do when one is forced to pick the imagination over the reality? These creatures belong there.

"Love is God's mystery and should be hidden from outsiders' eyes, whatever happens. That makes it holier, better."

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"Leave us on our own, without a book, and we shall instantly become confused and lost- we shall not know what to join, what to believe in, what to love and what to hate, what to respect and what to despise. We even feel it's too much of a burden to be men- men with real bodies, real blood of our own. We are ashamed of this, we deem it a disgrace, and try to be some impossible 'general humans.' We are stubborn, for a long time we haven't even begotten of living fathers, and we like this more and more. We have developed a real taste for it. We'll soon invent a way of getting born from an idea.
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If one quote could sum up my love for Russian Literature and how it is distinguished from the rest of the world, the above would be it. To be born of an idea!!!!!! The concept of it is so tremendous because it shows such devotion to the "Good and the Beautiful". These are the creatures that are better off left in the spiritual- as if the physical was a complete torture to them. For they are restrained and imprisoned, the physical is an obstacle to the spiritual for them. It shows such confusion and displacement, as if they are ghosts that cannot wait to be called back to their real worlds.

To be dependent on the ideal is a marvelous concept, and yet it brings so much suffering. Just because of the physical, just because they are commanded to mingle with society and try to function as a "general human", and at the same time knowing they will never be one. Their complete EXISTENCE is a PARADOX. To BE a paradox is sheer torture, and no wonder they mostly all go mad. The anti-hero's sacrifice the physical for the spiritual. They would rather live in their own world's and be insane instead of being cold blooded in this crude reality.

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This is my favorite book by Dostoevsky, and the most influencial on my love for Russian literature. He addresses the real anti-hero's so marvelously- the way he brings us "sane" readers to this madman's rants and flitting thoughts. It is not even that he is extremely confident in himself, because he constantly contradicts himself, even in the last sentence of the book! Nothing, nothing is even close to this topic: to prefer to live in one's own imagination. That is why I love Dostoevsky, and that is why this book symbolizes all the Russian authors: Despair and Confusion.

My favorite scene was how he was talking to the prostitute- how she even told him that he sounded like he was speaking out of a book. This man's whole essence was a book.

Loved it!

A Hero of Our Time by Mikhail Lermontov

"At first this morning, when I opened the window, my room was filled with the perfume of flowers growing in the modest front garden. The branches of cherry trees in bloom look into my window, and the wind occasionally strews my desk with their white petals."

"He is a poet in all his actions, and frequently in his utterings, although in all his life he never wrote two lines of verse. He has studied all the live strings of the human heart in the same way as one studies the veins of a dead body"

And how much humanity would have benefited from this type of poet! And yet some of the poets are fated to not share their gift, even with themselves consciously. In the end, does the poet benefit more or less when he lets his gift out? Maybe it is a lot sweeter if it is kept to oneself...

"Women love only those whom they do not know."

They prefer the unrealistic aspect of it- the mystery. Such a marvelous statement for the fair sex. It hints at the chaos females bottle inside- for they want the unrealistic when they cannot help but live their lives in reality. They want an escape, so they prefer not knowing, for they cannot control the mysterious.

" 'Aha!' he said, 'so that's the way you are! Didn't you intend not to make the princess' acquaintance in any other way but saving her from certain death?'
'I did better, 'I answered him,' I saved her from fainting at a ball.' "

"You see in everything the nasty side...you materialist."

"And then again...there is boundless delight int he possession of a young, barely unfolded soul! It is like a flower whose best fragrance emanates to meet the first rays of the sun (...) I look upon the sufferings and joys of others only in relation to myself as in the food sustaining the strength of my soul."

"Well what of it? If i am to die, I'll die! The loss to the world will not be large and, anyway, I myself am sufficiently bored."

That is one way to look at it

"And yet one lives- out of curiosity. One keeps expecting something new...Absurd and vexatious!"

Such pessimism. As if we are a creature that only knows how to hope, even in the worst of circumstances. When in reality let's just say that is mostly disappointing. And yet we hope!

"How curiously I examined every dewdrop that trembled upon a broad vine leaf and reflected a million iridescent rays!"

"Can evil possibly be so attractive?"

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This book I will always remember as an extremely hilarious book. It is one of the funniest books I've ever read. I will always remember the scene where the main character burst in on the princess and the other man. It is so unorthodox and unceremonious! Especially in that age. Oh yes, the word I would describe is provocative. And why provocative? For no reason at all! The man was just having fun. It is marvelously written, such sophistication and satire. I mean it ridicules so many things, in Chekhov's words, "a farce". Great fun to read.

Alexander Pushkin, complete prose fiction

Dubrovskii


"The moon was shining. It was still July night. The wind rose now and then, and a light rustle ran over the entire garden.
Like a light shadow, the young beauty drew near the appointed meeting place. Nobody was yet in sight. Suddenly Dubrovskii, coming out from behind the arbor, appeared in front of her
(...)
'My unhappy destiny,' he said with a bitter sigh. 'I would give my life for you; just to see you from a distance, to touch your hand used to be ecstasy for me. And now, when there might be an opportunity for me to clasp you to my agitated heart and say, 'Angel! Let us die together!'- now I have to beware of happiness, have to avoid it, unlucky creature that I am, by every means possible. I dare not throw myself at your feet and thank heaven for an inexplicable, undeserved reward. Oh, how I ought to hate the man who...but I feel that at this moment there can be no room for hatred in my heart.'
He gently put his arm around her slender waist and gently drew her near to his heart.She leaned her head trustingly on the young robber's shoulder."

The beauty of one word- robber! Makes a world of difference!

The Blackamoor of Peter the Great

"The Countess, frightened of her violence of his passion, tried to counter with friendly exhortations and prudent admonitions, but all in vain; she herself was awakening. Incautiously granted favors followed one another in quick succession. And at last, carried away by the force of the passion she herself inspired, overpowered by its moment, she gave herself to the ecstatic Ibrahim..."

Such an interesting pair.

The Blizzard

"'Oh my God, oh my God,' said Maria Gavrilovna, seizing his hand, 'so it was you? And you don't recognize me?'
Burmin blushed and threw himself at her feet..."

The Undertaker

"The room was full of corpses. The moon shining through the windows lit up their yellow and blue faces, gaping mouths, murky half-closed eyes, and protruding noses... To his horror Adrian recognized in them the people who had been buried through his efforts, and in the guest entering with him, the brigadier whose funeral had taken place in the pelting rain. (...) All the others were properly dressed, the lady corpses in caps and ribbons, the gentle men of rank in uniform, though with their chins unshaven, and the merchants in their holiday outfits."

It is as if they continued being who they were in the afterlife. It also gives the impression that it ridicules our activities and ambitions once we are dead. For what difference does it make whether the ladies were in "caps and ribbons"? It seems as if all the efforts that were so treasured in real life are mere petty trifles in the afterlife. -They are beyond not being important, they are childish.

The Queen of Spades

"From that time on, not one day passed without the young men arriving at a certain hour, under the windows of the house. An undefined relationship was established between him and her. Sitting in her place over her work, she could sense his approach; she raised her head and looked at him longer with each day. The young man seemed to be grateful for it: she could see with her keen young eyes that a sudden blush spread over his pale cheeks each time their glances met. By the end of the week she gave him a smile..."

Marvelously said - "undefined relationship"; for who can define it? Who can define what is not mean to be defined? And that is the beauty and romantic aspect of it.

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I remember reading this book- remember thinking how nothing can be better than to snuggle up with a Pushkin book. :) It really is something. I love the way the book was organized- and all of his works! Pushkin is so similar to Turgenev, or rather the other way around. They both have this marvelous 'vagueness' about their works, how they slightly define the fragile, but not enough to impose on it.

Diary of a Madman and other stories by Gogol

"What do you want?" she said.
"I must have a talk with your dog."


"Today is a day of great triumph. There is a king of Spain. That king is me."


"I need people, not dogs!"


"Save me! Take me away! Give me a troika with horses sift as the whirlwind! Climb up, driver, and let the bells ring! Soar away, horses, and carry me from this world! Further, further, where nothing can be seen, nothing at all! Over there the sky whirls round. A little star shines in the distance; the forest rushes past with its dark trees and the moon shines above. A deep blue haze is spreading like a carpet; a guitar throngs in the mist."

"A strange phenomenon! The earth is going to land on the moon (...) I confess I felt deeply troubled when I considered how delicate and insubstantial the moon is. The moon, as everyone knows, is usually made in Hamburg, and they make a complete hash of it. I'm surprised that the English don't do something about it. The moon is manufactured by a lame cooper, and it's obvious the idiot has no idea what it should be made of. The materials he uses are tarred rope and linseed oil. That's why there's such a terrible stink oil over the earth, which makes us stop our noses up. And it also explains why the moon is such a delicate sphere, and why people can't live there- only noses. For this reason we can't see our own noses anymore, as they're all on the moon. When I reflected how heavy the earth is and that our noses might be ground in to the surface when it landed, I was so worried I put my socks and shoes on and hurried into the state council room to instruct the police not to let the earth land on the moon."

The beautiful thing about this is how "scientific" it all appears to be.

The Nose

"But nothing is lasting in this world. Even joy begins to fade after only one mintue. Two minutes later, and it is weaker still, until finally it is swallowed up in our everyday, prosaic state of mind, just a ripple made by a pebble gradually merges with the smooth surfaces of the water."

My goodness, how depressing and yet how incredibly true. What if did last? What would happen then? .. Then the whole of humanity would not need God, or anything else, but to depend on happenings. Then small coincidental details of life would be worshiped... People catching precious moments, and clipping their wings off...

The Overcoat

"So vanished and disappeared for ever a human being whom no one ever thought of protecting, who was dear to no one, in whom no one was the least interested, not even the naturalist who cannot resist sticking a pin in a common fly and examining it under a microscope: a being who endured the mockery of his colleagues without protesting, who went to his gave without any undue fuss, but to whom, nonetheless (although not until his last days) a shining visitor in the form of an overcoat suddenly appeared, brightening his wretched life for one fleeting moment; a being upon whose head disaster had cruelly fallen, just as it falls upon the kings and great ones of this earth..."

At first Gogol said that he was even more inferior than the "common fly" and yet then he compared him to Kings and "great ones of this earth". Such people lived and died by the millions- nobodys who have not impacted any life whatsoever, who have not made any imprint on humanity. And yet these people, their existence pushed humanity forward, because they filled the spaces that the great could not fill, like molecules- they filled the cracks...Without this "glue" humanity would have been unstable and fallen apart.

This story made quite an impression- for it so cruel and yet dives deep down into the heart of such a nonentity, has such a poetic significance about it. That even though he might as well not existed, he DID exist, and DID experience a single moment of joy on this earth. And maybe that was enough, maybe that is all that he had wanted. He probably treasured that fleeting moment more than anyone else- because that is all he had had.

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This was also one of my favorite book (which ones aren't though?) by Gogol- it was so hilarious, and yet had such a beautiful layer of the romantic. What a man he must've been! And such interesting topics he discusses. The Diary of a Madman is purely genius! Such interesting humor put into such an odd and ridiculous situation...I really enjoyed it. The king of Spain!

Fathers and Sons by Turgenev

"Here, in the cool shade, she read and worked, or surrendered herself to that sensation of perfect peace which we are all presumably familiar and whose charm lies in a barely conscious and silent observation of the sweeping wave of life that for ever rolls all around us as well as within us."

"It was a glorious, fresh morning; tiny mottled clouds stood out, like fleecy lambs, in the transparent azure of the sky: fine beads of dew lay sprinkled over the leaves and grasses, glittering like silver among the cobwebs; the rosy tints of dawn still seemed to cling to the moist dark earth; from the depths of the sky larks showered their songs."

"The magic world, which he was just entering and which was looming out from the misty waves of the past, wavered- and vanished."

Like Pushkin, Turgenev is a genius in describing the vague...

"However passionate, sinful and rebellious the heart wrapped away in that grave, the flowers that blossom there peep out at us tranquilly with innocent eyes: they speak to us not only of all embracing peace, of the vast repose of 'indifferent' nature, they tell us also of everlasting reconciliation and life without end..."

Oh what mysteries nature holds! How much it knows, and how much it holds inside itself! In the end, nature will tell us who we really are- in the most innocent and indifferent way...
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What a beautiful lesson! No matter what we say, what we thing that we are, we are shown by nature and God, the constants, tat we re just foolish insignifcant cretures and to have all thse beliefs that make up our lvies is just foolish. We must turn and give in to the simplicity of nature. Everytihng isn't meaningless, for then life would be meaningless in itself! No, what nature tells us is that everything has a place, a destined place, and we must give in and not fight it, for we would only torment ourselves in the end...

And also I'm sometimes reminded of this book- the difference between the new "youth" and the ones who have lived through it all. There will always be the progressives in the youth, and the traditional in the old. It has been played over and over, generation after generation. How beautifully the father said when he admitted that he didn't know anything. But do the elderly cease to count when the young take over? Weren't their experiences also meaningful and helpful to mankind? I read somewhere that this age is only there because of the previous one- it builds upon what is already there. So the old are as important as the new, one reminds us what we were and the other of what we will be.

House of the Dead by Dostoevsky

"Humane treatment may humanize even one in whom the image of God has long been obscured."

How important humane treatment is! -- And notice that he says "obscured" and not completely diminished. The love for one another cultivates what little loves is left in the person. How delicate it all is; with what gentleness one needs to love, it is so fragile.

"The more fantastical his hopes, and the move conscious the dreamer himself was of their fantastical character, the more obstinately and shyly he concealed them in his heart, but he could not renounce them."

All the prisoners were dreamers, dreaming an impossible dream. That is all they could do- escape into their minds.

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How hard it must've been for Dostoevsky to write this book, based on his own experience. I thought it was extremely interesting how sick, and yet how insecure and lost the "criminals" were. How they needed to have each others respect in the prison, when they themselves had no morals whatsoever in real life. In the end, at their core, they still had an ounce of their conscience, which is quite a miracle after what they have done. Even the human beast cannot escape their humanity, that they are meant to become good.

This is a very fragile existence he described- for a man to be locked up with his mind.

Crime and Punishment by Dostoevsky

"Then a strange idea entered his head; that, perhaps, all his clothes were covered with blood, that, perhaps, there were a great many stains, but that he did not see them, did not notice them because his perceptions were failing, were going to pieces...his reason was clouded..."

The point where everything begins to fade, everything begins to be vague- that is when one should despair. If even that. How relative it all is really, perhaps there were many perhaps there were a lot of stains- it really did not matter, the deed was done.

"(...)ghosts are as it were, shreds and fragments of other worlds, the beginning of them. A man in health has, of course, no reason to see them, because he is above all a man of this earth and is bound for the sake of completeness and order to live only in this life. But as soon as one is ill, as soon as the normal earthly order of the organism is broken, one begins to realise the possibility of another world; and the more seriously ill one is, the closer one becomes one's contact with the other world, so that as soon as the man dies he steps straight into that world."

Such a fine line between our health and sickness...what it turns us into! How our priorities change...they are turned upside down. We no longer are concerned with this world- as it haunted our every thought- but are concerned of another "world" another realm that is so "close" to us...as if we "are the beginning" of other worlds, as if we transition our being into something else. Into "shreds and fragments"...

"And what if there are only spiders there, or something of that sort," he said suddenly.

...

We always imagine eternity as something beyond our conception, something vast, vast! But why must it be vast? Instead of all that, what if it's one little room, like a bathouse in the country black and grimy and spiders in every corner, and that's all eternity is? I sometimes fancy it like that."

I think the human mind needs to exaggerate what it does not understand, in order to heighten the contrast between it and the unknown. So that we could have an excuse, our excuse being that we are just human, inferior to the "impossible"... Could you imagine if it really was "a little room" and not vast? Why, it would crush humanity in one blow! It would kill all our hope of this eternity, and then we would really have nothing to live for! The unknown only occupying a little room! We NEED it to be vast!

"Let us go together...I've come to you, we are both accursed, led us go our way together!"

Oh to unite because of condemnation, extremely original. It usually follows that the noble unite- such a lesson.

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"The candle-end was flickering out in the battered candlestick, dimly lighting up in the poverty-stricken room. The murderer and the harlot who had so strangely been reading together the eternal book."

My favorite quote of the book. This is the most extreme contrast in humanity- the lowest point each gender could achieve and the holiest thing given to humanity. The contrast is so majestic! A sentence summing up the human nature...It gives one a sense of hope, that it is "strange" for them to be reading the eternal book, and yet they are the ones whom it is for essentially. It is not for the good people, for He came to the "outcasts" and not the righteous. It sums up the Bible too- there is such salvation in the sentence.

"Look at them running to and fro about the streets, everyone of them a scoundrel and a criminal at heart, and worse still, an idiot."

"Well, where are the crosses?"

"It was wounded pride that made him ill."

"But he did not repent of his crime."

That is what struck me the most! Why did Dostoevsky make it end like that? Why did he not repent?? My goodness this changed the whole POINT of the story! He would have been such a hero, such a noble man, and yet! Yet he did not repent of his crime...this made him not change, made his reason win against his true will. It shows us that it would be nice if we could listen to our conscious, but in the end, we do not- no matter how much it makes us suffer. Why do we need to live in hell? There was a passage but one of these authors- why we need to go out of our way to avoid heaven, while it is the most obvious passage- why we always pick hell. I guess humanity loves to suffer- enjoys the self loathing. My, that is a morbid thought.

"It was only in that he recognised his criminality, only in the food that he had been unsuccessful and had confessed it."

"They were renewed by love; thw heart of each held infinite sources of life for the heart of the other."

"Life had stepped into the place of theory and something quite different would work itself out in his mind."

His mind! That was the whole problem all along! Our minds, our reason can be the real prison-where our true selves are trapped.

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Marvelous story of the unconscious. A lesson on what extreme power our minds have over ourselves. He did not repent of his crime, even after all that he had suffered. This self-imposed suffering is the clearest hell. Our minds are the real tyrants-and they have mercy on us when they give us the illusion that we are actually in control. This theory of his took control of his reason, and made him suffer. His unconscious though- that is why this book is a masterpiece- was completely in control all along. He knew deep down from the start that it was morally wrong- not because it was what he had been taught- but that it was morally wrong against his being, humanity in general. It was a crime against human nature! That is why he suffered so! His existence could not stomach it! My, what a lesson to mind our unconscious and not ignore it! Reminds me of the exact things Freud warned us about... In the end, his true self did repent, while his mind was still the ruler. Such a contrast, such duality.