Brothers Karamazov

"I would die happy if I could finish this final novel, for I would have then expressed myself
completely."
This statement from Fyodor Dostoyevsky helps elucidate both the theme and purpose of the The
Brothers Karamazov, one of the greatest masterpieces of world literature. Superficially, the novel
deals with a patricide and how each of the book's characters contributed directly or indirectly to that
murder.
Yet, The Brothers Karamazov, at its heart, is so much more. Its underlying theme deals with the drive
for self-redemption in the eyes of both God and man and the role suffering plays in facilitating that
redemption.
Fyodor Karamazov has fathered four sons, Dmitri, Ivan and Alyosha, by two wives, and one,
Smerdyakov, with a peasant woman known as stinking Lizaveta.
Fyodor Karamazov, a vulgar and ill-tempered man represents, for Dostoyevsky, the Russian
government of his times. Like the government, Fyodor shuns his children, preferring instead the
materialistic, but joyless, life of wealth and possessions. His union with Lizaveta, who comes to
represent all the peasants of Dostoyevsky's Russia, produces Smerdyakov, a bastard child who, in his
own turn, will be raped and pillaged by the government and will go on to give birth, metaphorically,
to bastard children of his own.
Karamazov's eldest son, Dmitri, an impulsive sensualist, finds respect as an overbearing soldier but
one whose inability to pay his debts eventually turns him into a poor and irrational man.
Ivan, Fyodor's second son, is a cold intellectual who finds his fulfillment in his literary and creative
abilities. He becomes famous through his writings, especially those concerning the Russian Church.
The youngest son, Aloysha, finds temporary fulfillment in the cloistered, monastic life. Outwardly
innocent and naive, Aloysha struggles with his desire for spiritual fulfillment in the monastery and
the joys and excitement of the secular life.
The character who provides the catalyst for change is that of Father Zosima, a character who seems
to embody the strong spiritual sense that was Dostoyevsky, himself.
Father Zosima, who has lived a pure and spiritually-nourishing life, has the gift to sense both a man's
motivations and his needs. Zosima tells the brothers Karamazov that a sheltered, monastic life is not
a prerequisite to the achievement of spiritual riches, a fact that seems to be proven true when
Zosima's corpse rots after his death in direct contradiction to Russian belief at the times regarding
spiritual purity.
It is Father Zosima who, throughout the book, expounds Dostoyevsky's theory that it is suffering that
will purify and cleanse our soul, thus bringing us peace. Each brother, in his own fashion, undergoes
his own trial by fire, and, in the end, is better for it.
One brother, tormented by a guilt he does not deserve, must live his life in unwanted exile, or not at
all, though he possesses the heart and soul of a true Russian. Another suffers the torments of a
complete nervous breakdown that leaves him grappling on the very edge of sanity. Only a third son
seems to find the answer he is seeking and the novel's uplifting final scene epitomizes Dostoyevsky's
eternal belief in the importance of Russia's children in her future, as children hold their hands high
and shout, "Three cheers for Karamazov," ending this essentially depressing masterpiece on a joyous
note.
An extraordinarily complex and rich novel, The Brothers Karamozov also deals with man's response
to death. All of the characters, each in his own way, attempts to flee from death and only those who
can finally accept the finality of death and the suffering of living find justification and fulfillment in
life.
Dostoyevsky uses many stylistic devices to expound upon his theme of redemption through
suffering: imagery, irony and dreams are three of the most prominent, however, it is Dostoyevsky's
wonderful ability to manipulate the third person subjective that serves to illuminate each character
and bring him to life.
The Brothers Karamazov is a book that delves deeply into the heart of man and the soul of Russia.
Dostoyevsky, as any true artist, presented facets of himself in all of his characters who each manages
to see the world in a different way and finds redemption through his own unique vision.
Ironically, one of the brothers Karamazov is portrayed as a young man who begins to instill the seeds
of change in Russia through its children, something Dostoyevsky, himself, thought was needed if
Russia was ever to make the transition from a backward country to a global power. That it did,
although the children Dostoyevsky envisioned as spiritual visionaries became instead, violent
revolutionaries. They sought to free the peasants, not through enlightenment but through the
establishment of a totalitarian state Peter the Great would have envied. Today, however, Russia
tragically lies amidst the same poverty in which it was dwelling one hundred years earlier.
Clearly, Dostoyevsky's path to enlightenment, illuminated brilliantly in The Brothers Karamazov, has
not yet been fully assimilated by either the people of Russia or the people of the world in general.
A sad and ironic twist to the vision of a master writer and a truly prophetic man.Anyone interested in
the central question facing mankind will find `The Brothers Karamazov' an essential guide. That
question--on man's capacity for responsibility and the proper role of the state and religion--is posed
throughout the story in dialogue and events, and is framed neatly in a 20-page section where Ivan
presents a poem titled `The Grand Inquisitor' to his brother Alyosha. The chapter that bears that title
(Book V, Chapter V) is a masterpiece in itself and should be studied for its narrative technique alone.
But the ideas it presents are so immense, so mind-blowing and inspirational, that literary criticism is
not sufficient.

Indeed, `The Brothers Karamazov' should not be classed merely as a novel--it is a book of
philosophy, theology, and sociology as well that ranks with the greatest documents in those
disciplines. There is a fictitious plot, of course, and the characters in the story are some of the most
interesting in all of literature, so it is rightly praised as a novel. But the modern reader looking for a
plot of twists and romantic intrigues is bound to disappointment. Dostoevsky does not stir up drama
through the placement of unexpected developments or improbable character traits. Instead, he
relies on the inherent needs and wants of all men to make vivid his story.

The amount of dialogue may be shocking (tedious) to one accustomed to the modern show-don't-
tell policy in storytelling. Today, novelists and screenwriters let a character's actions speak for them--
it is quicker and provides a much more convincing impression. It also limits the kind of ideas that are
posed in the story to simple, prosaic ones like `she likes him' or `he wants to defeat him.' By
contrast, Dostoevsky allows the characters to speak for themselves, which creates a much longer
and subtler exposition, but also frees the ideas to be vast and monumental.

What is the fundamental nature of socialism? What are the uses of the church in finding purpose? In
finding salvation? Why is there suffering? What is the meaning of death? Read the brothers'
dialogues and contemplate.
Dostoevsky's own philosophy is seen in the protagonist, Alyosha. This is so despite the fact that the
author ably covers every perspective on every topic presented in the book, and one can hardly find a
positive assertion throughout. If there is one, it rests in the overall effect of the words and actions, a
concept Dostoevsky articulated in a personal correspondence--it is that "Man is a mystery; if you
spend your entire life trying to puzzle it out, then do not say that you have wasted your time."

A word about the translations: The title of Book IV has been translated differently in every version I
have seen (other chapter titles are also inconsistent, but Book IV is seemingly the most difficult to
agree on). The original Russian is `Nadryvy,' which literally translates to `Ruptures,' though no
translations I have seen use `Ruptures.' The word is used throughout the book to convey the motif of
`pressures' or `strained conditions about to break.' The various options I have seen for this title are
`Lacerations' (Garnett), `Strains' (Pevear & Volkhonsky), `Torment' (MacAndrew), `Crises' (Avsey),
and `Crack-Ups' (McDuff). Given this is a central theme, the potential reader might look into which
translation he prefers before buying. Apropos, the Princess Alexandra Kropotkin print version bears
the Garnett translation, as does the Frederick Davidson audio recording

THE FALL

Soon after publishing The Fall, Albert Camus won the Nobel Prize for Literature. On the strength of
this book alone, he deserved it. As a novel, The Fall improves upon its two predecessors, The
Stranger and The Plague, in almost every way. The writing itself is much more confident, full of
scathing wit and eloquent outrage. The intertwining of artistic aim and philosophical conviction is
utterly seamless. Neither is compromised, as they were at times in the earlier works. Rather, both
art and philosophy are employed here to serve the STORY. In short, The Fall delivers on what Camus
had always promised- a masterful work of literature that also FORCES the reader to examine his/her
life.
Jean-Baptiste Clamence is a "good guy." He uses his abilities as a lawyer to protect the poor and
weak. When asked, he helps blind people across the street. Wherever one finds a righteous cause,
he appears to support it. He is a well-respected member of the community. Could one truly find
SERIOUS fault with such a person?
Well, as of late, Clamence has had a slight problem: he has felt the need to be honest, both with
others and himself. The truth often leads people to strange places, and so Clamence, formerly rich
and recently disgraced, finds himself at a sailors' bar in Amsterdam. Here, he finally comes clean
about his life and his actions (one and the same, possibly?). He's no criminal, surely not, or not the
WORST kind anyway. His crime is much more insidious, and it consists of what we are all guilty of: he
is two-faced. His purest acts of selflessness are actually forms of self-deception, for they mask that in
the end, he is really satisfying himself. The purest altruism hides a secret loathing of those he
"helps"; the deepest, most self-sacrificial love conceals a seething desire to dominate.
In this dingy bar, Clamence unburdens himself, not just of his "crimes," but of the author's (catch the
quote at the beginning of the book) and humanity's too. Only a strong (and dishonest) reader can
finish this book without cringing in self-recognition at the daily hypocrisies that add up to the
modern human condition. Camus does not necessarily counsel despair though. At different points in
The Fall, one can see the ever-present potential of humanity to better itself. What Camus does
doubt though is the general willingness of people (himself included) to make the personal choices
needed to truly bring ABOUT this "betterment."
The Fall is not entirely bleak reading. In several places, it is laugh-out-loud funny (No! Surely not
sober Camus...), displaying the humour of a barroom Voltaire. Moreover, few could fail to delight in
the sheer craft and elegance of the author's prose. Still, the book does raise searing questions about
how to live (or waste) one's life. If one has been "sleepwalking" before reading The Fall, it will be
almost impossible to do afterwards. Wake up with this brilliant, unsparing slap in the collective face
of mankind (including me....)!

The Outsider

This 1942 classic is about a man, Meursault, who shoots an Arab eight times without premeditation
because he, Meursault, is overcome by the heat of the Algerian sun. He is unable to explain what he
did and is sentenced to death.

The book received many interpretations, including it being (1) a psychological exploration of
Meursault's mind, a mind developed during an unfavorable upbringing, (2) a thriller portraying an
existential philosophy, and (3) as Camus himself claims, Meursault is a man who is "condemned
because he doesn't play the game. In this sense, he is an outsider to the society in which he lives,
wandering on the fringe, on the outskirt of life, solitary and sensual." By "playing the game," Camus
means inventing reasons for one's thoughts and behaviors, even life itself, which are untrue,
because people really don't know why they act as they do and what is the meaning of life; so they
invent conventions and values that are not related to reality or how they really feel. But Meursault
insists upon being honest, doing and saying only what he knows to be true, not what people want or
need to hear. Thus, despite the conventional requirement to cry at his mother's funeral or show
regret for killing a man, he doesn't display these emotions because he doesn't feel them.

Thus, Camus is dramatizing the idea of the "absurdity of life," that life has no known meaning;
people are unable to discover the true purpose and design of anything, and the explanations they
give may make them feel good, but are not true. People insist on living a life ruled by the laws of
morality, of "right" and "wrong." But Meursault rejects morality and lives a life based on "truth."

Camus, of course, was not the first to notice that people are unable to know life's purpose. Many
others said this long before him. The ancient Greek myth of Sisyphus, for example, tells of the futility
of life: a man is punished by the gods by needing to push a huge bolder up a steep hill daily, but after
the bolder reaches the top, it rolls back down. The fourth century BCE Greek philosopher Plato told
about human ignorance in his parable of people living in dark caves, unable to see the light of the
sun. The author of the biblical book Ecclesiastes mentions all of the activities that people think are
meaningful and calls them "vanity," using a Hebrew word havel, which literally means a puff of air.
The book ends with advice to stop searching and just do what God orders to be done. Similarly, the
author of the biblical book Job describes Job and his friends trying unsuccessfully to explain why bad
things happen to good people and concludes with God's voice appearing to Job within a stormy
whirlwind and telling him that his concept that the world functions according to the rules of morality
is a fiction; the world functions with violence according to God's unknown plans where animals tear
one another to eat, where innocent children die, where good men and women suffer.
In his The Myth of Sisyphus, Albert Camus offers four solutions for people who recognize the
absurdity of life. The first takes Don Juan as an example: reject the notions of sin, damnation, and
salvation, and seek the enjoyment of sex and other sensations. The second uses the actor as a
paradigm: seek to enjoy every role you play with intensity as you encounter new people and
experiences. The third looks at the conqueror: know that conquests are impermanent, but enjoy the
pleasure of the quests. The last is the creative artist who knows that he can't change the world, but
enjoy what he can do. In short, an intelligent person who sees the absurdity of life seeks what
pleasures he can obtain while he is alive, without feeling guilt.

Victor Frankl describes it best in his Search for Meaning, his description of horrendous and
purposeless life in a Nazi concentration camp. He discovered that people can keep themselves alive
if they have a sense of meaning. His hope to reunite with his wife kept him alive during his
incarceration even though he didn't know that she was already dead. Thus, although life is absurd,
each person should find their own meaning, purpose, and enjoyment in life, even if it is unrelated to
reality and untrue.