How to Finish The Brothers Karamazov on Your nth Attempt

This is not a review of one of the best-known books in the literary canon. Instead, it’s my reaction to it, how I finally tamed the monster.

We all have at least one of the great classics lurking in our subconscious, taunting us with its impregnable unread status. My Achilles heel has been The Brothers Karamazov and I considered myself beaten after abandoning it no less than five times in three decades. It wasn’t even that I didn’t like Dostoevsky – he is, in fact, one of my favourite Russian authors and I lapped up all of his other work, even the gloomiest ones. Nor was it the length that put me off. I managed to get through Remembrance of Things Past (where far less exciting stuff happens) and War and Peace (although the war scenes did not enthrall me) relatively unscathed, while Genji Monogatari is one of my favourite books of all time.

So it was with some trepidation that I picked it up in December to read straight after the hugely enjoyable Sakhalin Island by Chekhov. To my astonishment, I not only managed to finish it in less than a month, but I actually enjoyed it this time! What made it different this time? Here are some top tips for vanquishing the beast (some of them tongue-in-cheek, some of them perfectly serious).

Clear your schedule:

I knew I had the Christmas holidays coming up, and that I wasn’t likely to go anywhere very soon, so it seemed like the perfect opportunity to lie in bed for an hour or two in the morning and another couple of hours in the evening. I’d often find myself gravitating towards it during the day as well for a few pages.

Pick a good translation:

I had tried reading the book in Romanian, German and English translations, but none of them stuck. This one by Ignat Avsey (Oxford University Press World’s Classics) felt very fresh natural, really conveyed the feel of the spoken language of rural Russia, without sounding old-fashioned or ‘too exotic’.

Alternate with lighter reads:

When the going got tough, when bad news was forthcoming and I just couldn’t stomach any more Russian gloom and drama, I would switch to something lighter and more escapist, for example crime fiction like Ruth Ware’s skiing holiday from hell One by One, or John le Carre’s A Murder of Quality or the cosier puzzle mystery of The Marlow Murder Club by Robert Thorogood. I also watched plenty of lighter films over the holidays, and they too helped to lift the mood.

Skim read the bits that bore you rigid:

This will not be a popular piece of advice with the purists, but it’s what got me through. Classic though he is, Dostoevsky does tend to go on and on upon the slightest provocation. Alyosha and Ivan go to a tavern together and Ivan launches into several chapters’ worth of lengthy explanations about his world view and doubts and metaphorical tales. It sometimes feels like every single character has far too much of a back story, and that the unnamed narrator has to share all the gossip. As for the scenes in the monastery – that’s where I abandoned the book in the past. Father Zosima’s life and sayings were just a step too far for me – especially since he then disappears from the book without too much of an impact on the actions of any of the other characters (other than Alyosha). Even the sub-plot with the schoolboys befriended by Alyosha was not really all that necessary to the main story, although I personally quite liked it.

So yes, Dostoevsky tries to bring pretty much everything into this story: all of human philosophy, faith, psychology, as well as a good deal of discussion about the unique Russian traits (if those exist). At times it is simply too much, and he could have done with a good editor, but if you find some bits less enthralling than the others, read them a bit diagonally instead of giving up, because there will be plenty of good bits to follow.

Make notes as you go along:

I half-filled the book with post-it flags. There were so many interesting quotes and paragraphs that I wanted to reread, to remember, to return to. Perhaps, with so much currently going on in the news, and so much anger and sadness at the state of the world, the quotes that particularly struck me were the ones that seemed to show that human nature has not really changed over the years and has certainly not kept pace with any technological improvements.

Everyone says they hate wickedness but deep down they all love it.

Miracles never bother a realist. A true realist, if he is a non-believer, will always find within himself the strength and the ability not to believe in miracles. And if he believes, it’s because he wants to believe.

He prided himself on his ability to judge by appearances, a pardonable weakness in one who was 50, an age when an intelligent, well-to-do man starts to take himself seriously, sometimes even against his better judgement.

He who is false to himself is also the most likely to get offended. After all, it is sometimes very gratifying to feel offended… blow it out of all proportion so as to attract attention.

One can love one’s neighbour in the abstract and sometimes even at a distance, but close up almost never.

What is horrifying is that such dreadful crimes have ceased to shock us. What should horrify us is not that a certain individual commits an atrocity, but that we take these atrocities for granted.

We can be enthused by the noblest of ideals, only on condition that we don’t have to expend any effort, make any sacrifices, above all, that we needn’t pay anything. Paying is something we really resent…receiving, that’s really up our street.

The real world not only bestows rights but itself imposes enormous obligations… if we want to behave like civilised human beings… we must act rationally… not to harm our fellow man.

Additionally, I shared my enthusiasm by tweeting the shorter quotes, which sometimes led to people commenting. This helped to create a sense of community, even though I wasn’t reading it at the same time as anyone else.

Don’t expect to like the characters or identify with them:

Let’s be honest: the Karamazov family is pretty vile, as are many of the people around them. Dostoevsky seems to be playing with animal stereotypes there. The father is a greedy, selfish pig. Dmitry is a vain, flighty, spendthrift peacock. Ivan is a self-absorbed, supercilious fox. Smerdyakov is a secretive, nasty, double-crossing rat, while Grushenka and Katya are both volatile, extravagant and catty. Even my dear Alyosha is too much of an idealist, a bit of a rabbit or deer caught in the headlights and often used by those who are bolder than him. What struck me most is how operatic and over the top the whole story is, with lots of melodramatic set-pieces.

There was perhaps only one character in the whole book that I could somewhat identify with, and she is a very minor one: the mother of one of the schoolboys, Kolya Krasotkin, a single mother with a gentle but cheerful character, who does so much for her only son that he gets teased about it at school.

It always seemed to her that Kolya was aloof towards her, and on occasion she would weep hysterically and begin to reproach him for his aloofness. The boy did not like this, and the more anyone tried to elicit expressions of sentiment from him the more stubborn he became, as if on purpose. However he behaved thus not deliverately but involuntarily – such was his nature. His mother was mistaken; he loved her dearly, what he hated was ‘all this soppiness’…

These little observations, the psychological depth and understanding the author often shows for even his secondary characters, the subtleties of language or rich hidden meanings make this book feel both hugely specific and yet truly universal. What to make of that strange narrator, for instance, who seems to know far more than he really should, but is not an objective omniscient point of view at all, and even claims he cannot remember details from the trial.

Appreciate the humour:

Amid all the serious philosophical debate about the presence or absence of God, about the flaws of mankind and the absurdity of existence, I had forgotten that Dostoevsky can also be very funny. There are several scenes that have great comic potential, for example the clash between the Poles and the Russians, the misunderstanding between Dmitry and Mrs Khokhlaķova when it comes to her giving him money (and how she insists she is giving him far more than that, she is offering him the possibility to get involved in mining). But my favourite is the scene when the devil appears at Ivan’s side in the guise of a fairly polite, former serf-owner who has now become a mere hanger-on, and mocks all of his assumptions and beliefs. I could imagine him as a rather ridiculous looking Jacob Rees-Mogg, apparently all reasonable and cultured, but actually deeply vicious and immoral.

I’m a much maligned person… I’m blessed with a kind and cheerful disposition; I’ve turned my hand to vaudeville and that sort of thing. You seem determined to cast me as a grey-haired Khlestakov, but I’m destined for far greater things. I was singled out by some sort of prehistoric decree, which I’ve never been able to understand, as epitomising ‘negation’, but in fact I am genuinely kind and just not suited for negation. But no, I have to go forth and negate; without negation there would be no staire, and what’s the good of a magazine without a critics’ section… they made me the scapegoat and forced me to contribute to the critics’ section.

What torments? Oh, don’t ask, we used to have all sorts, but now we’ve gone over to moral torments, ‘pangs of conscience’ and all that rubbish. We owe that to you too, to your ‘relaxation of moral standards’. And who has benefited? Only the unscrupulous, because what are pangs of conscience to those who have no conscience?

I’m very sensitive and impressionable when it comes to artistic effects. But common sense… kept me within the proper bounds… purely out of a sense of duty and because of my social position, I felt bound to repress my virtuous impulse and to stick to nefarious deeds. All the credit for virtue goes to someone else, and I’m left with just a handful of dirty tricks.

Yes, if I were Dostoevsky’s editor in the present-day, I would advise him to start with the crime and the trial instead of the long lectures in the first half of the book, which made me abandon ship so many times. Nevertheless, I am not only glad I persevered with it, but I truly liked it this time round. There is a reason why some books are classics, why they still have so much to say even hundreds of years after they were first published. I have no idea how Shakespeare or Dostoevsky or Stendhal or Flaubert or Chekhov managed to gain such deep insights into human psychology, but their characters are unforgettable, and both modern and timeless.

40 thoughts on “How to Finish The Brothers Karamazov on Your nth Attempt”

  1. Oh how delighted I am to see this post! I have had TBK sitting beside me for a long time – happily in the form of the Avsey translation and had resolved to read it this year in the run up to the bicentenary of Dostoevsky’s birth in November. You have fanned these erstwhile tiny sparks into flames and made it seem possible. I feel raring to go. Thank you so much!! 😀💕

    1. I hope you do get a chance to read it and that you enjoy it as well. I did struggle to find motivation at first, partly because I knew the story anyway, so it wasn’t like I was excited to find out what happened…

  2. Excellent tips! I’m currently reading Anna Karenina, which I’ve abandoned several times in the past, and finding that I am enjoying it much more than previously – I think because the translation is working for me. I agree about skimming the dry bits – not that I have had to with AK so far, but one of my favourite novels is Les Miserables, and I never would have made it through without skimming Hugo’s chapters-long history of Parisian sewer maintenance.

    1. I know many people disagree with the skim-reading method, but I perfected it when I was about 11 and reading frankly quite inappropriate books for my age (like Les Miserable and Gone with the Wind). Of course, the downside to that is that I can barely remember certain aspects of the book. But I suppose that means it will feel all fresh if I ever do get around to rereading, right?

  3. It always helps to have a plan though I would never advise skimming parts…..I just think if I were a writer I’d put some interesting or pivotal fact in amongst a deliberate longueur.

    I’ve been thinking recently of re-reading Dostoyevsky, especially in newer translations.

    1. It’s not necessarily that it was boring, but I was just not in the mood right now for all of the religious wrangling, to be quite honest. I may go back and reread the Grand Inquisitor separately at some point, but it just spoilt my flow…
      I am not that keen to try the P&V translations, I have to admit. I’ve seen that the most beautiful copy of The Master and Margarita (one of my all-time favourites) is the Penguin Classic Limited Edition but it’s translated by them and I can’t bring myself to buy it…

  4. Well done on getting past your block with this one! In general, I feel Russian writers should have paid more attention to their editors – they all seem to go on at great length! It must have been to fill those long dark winter evenings…

  5. I failed with Crime and Punishment, my first attempt on one of the major Russian classics (as opposed to short ones like Fathers and Sons), last year. I like that advice of allowing oneself to skim past the tedious bits! That might be the only thing that would get me through it or another Dostoevsky.

    1. Crime and Punishment has been a favourite of mine from childhood, and really got me into crime fiction as well. So many really memorable scenes – much more of a sense of place than the Kamarazovs, which is just any old rural town in Russia…

    1. Thank you, hope it helps! I try not to mind not having read certain classics, nor be ashamed about it. But this one was bugging me because I do love the author otherwise!

  6. Having read your blog, I find it strange to think that I’ve read The Karamazov Brothers two or three times, without any problems! Maybe we read things differently: I’m mindboggled by the quantity of books you read. I consider myself an avid reader, have been reading since the age of 4. BUT somehow I read so much less than you do… ?

    1. I used to read much more challenging stuff when I was younger (despite my failure to appreciate the Karamazovs) – including philosophy, literary theory and so on. I’ve become a bit lazy nowadays, because I just want to relax with a book after a hard day’s work (and parenting). And the relaxing books are usually quite easy and quick to read (but I forget them reasonably quickly).

        1. Very kind of you to say I write so well, but I really tell myself I need to cut down on the reviewing at least (can never cut down on the reading), so that I can get my own writing done).

  7. I’ve been a bit doomed with all my attempts to read Russian novelists, and have concluded that the quality of the translation is – at least sometimes – to blame. However Sakhalin Island has just come in to the library and I was able to collect it before Lockdown, so watch this space. Not a novel, but definitely Russian!

    1. My advice with Sakhalin Island is not to worry too much about the stats and footnotes and so on, but just enjoy the anecdotes and personal impressions. I loved it so much! (But then, I read anthropological studies for pleasure).

  8. How right you are that we all have at least one of those books, Marina Sofia! I’m glad you enjoyed this foray into the novel, and I just say, I agree completely with your suggestions. I most especially agree with you about translations. A good translation makes all the difference in the world, and it’s important to find one that works. I’m glad you did.

    1. I just happened to buy this edition years ago, without worrying too much about the translator, but other experts reliably informed me that it was a good translation. And I certainly found it flowed really well. We all have different tastes in translation as well, don’t we? I didn’t want something that sounds so uniquely Russian and of its time that it alienates me (I admit to reading Chaucer in modern English too with more pleasure).

  9. Brilliant! So happy you found a way through, although I think that with some books it has to be the right time. Can you do Ulysses next?! I’ve been stuck in the middle of it for more than a decade…

    1. Actually, I think Ulysses is really beautiful in parts – if you treat it like poetry and dip in and out of it. Perhaps not all in one go. I attempted Finnegan’s Wake twice and it completely defeated me. I don’t think I’ll bother with that one again.

  10. I’m hoping to read this soon, so will keep your advice in mind. I’ve found that skimming boring parts and alternating with light reads has helped me through other long or challenging books in the past.

  11. Great post.
    And congrats on finishing the book.
    I totally agree with you about skipping boring parts and finding the right translation.

    My daunting ones are Les Misérables (based on the boring passages I had to endure in Notre Dame de Paris) and Ulysses by James Joyce.

  12. I am glad you read this (and commented extensively on it) so that I don’t have to—at least for the time being! But I appreciated those quotes, still as relevant now and demonstrating what an accessible translation this edition offers.

  13. Great advice! I keep starting and giving up on Les Miserables. So far I’m about 2 hours into the audiobook and nothing’s happened yet. Maybe I should switch to the ebook (which I also have) and skim, as you suggest.

  14. This is excellent advice for any long book! I’m a little over halfway through Don Quixote at the moment and not finding it troublesome, just very long–Cervantes also loves his digressions (in fact, they’re kind of the point)! But the translation is excellent and really brings out the humour of the text: both things you mention here!

  15. I read it ages ago, in my 20s, and then tried to re-read it for a book club a couple of months ago. I couldn’t finish it the second time, got stuck after the first one hundred pages. The same happened to me with Persuasion, by Jane Austen. I guess I just don’t have the patience for it anymore.

    1. I find I am more patient now than I was in my youth… at least with the classics. Less patient with mediocre current publications. But watch out – Persuasion is my favourite Jane Austen and I reread it every few years.

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