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Weiße Nächte: Sammleredition - Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoyevsky
Weiße Nächte werden Nächte genannt, in denen die Sonne nur für kurze Zeit untergeht, so dass auch mitternachts noch mindestens Dämmerung herrscht oder es sogar taghell ist. Weiße Nächte kommen an allen Orten vor, die etwa zwischen 56° nördlicher Breite und dem Nordpol beziehungsweise 56° südlicher Breite und dem Südpol liegen. Jenseits der Polarkreise (≈ 66,57°) geht die Sonne an den Tagen um die Sonnenwende nicht mehr unter.
Berühmt sind die Weißen Nächte von Sankt Petersburg (knapp 60° N), wie sie Dostojewski in seiner gleichnamigen Erzählung aus dem Jahr 1848 beschreibt. In Deutschland können Weiße Nächte ansatzweise in seinen nördlichsten Regionen auf knapp 55° N, etwa der Nordseeinsel Sylt und bei Flensburg, erlebt werden. Dort zieht in den Nächten um die Sommersonnenwende ein deutlich sichtbarer Silberstreif am nördlichen Horizont von West nach Ost, es herrscht die ganze Nacht nautische Dämmerung. Ähnliches ist auf der Südhalbkugel um die Sonnenwende Ende Dezember zu beobachten auf knapp 55° S, etwa in Ushuaia oder im Süden Südgeorgiens. In den Polargebieten geht die Sonne um die Sonnenwende im Sommer gar nicht mehr unter, sodass statt Weißer Nacht die Mitternachtssonne scheint. Der Zeitraum ist umso länger, je kürzer die Entfernung zum Pol ist. An den Polen selbst beträgt dieser Polartag genannte Zeitraum ein halbes Jahr.
Dostojewskis Roman war Vorlage für den gleichnamigen italienisch-französischen Spielfilm Weiße Nächte von 1957.
Von Martina Sahler gibt es die historische Familiensaga Weiße Nächte, weites Land, in dem die Auswanderung der Deutschen nach Russland im 18. Jahrhundert beschrieben wird und in dem die Weißen Nächte in Sankt Petersburg zur Zeit von Kaiserin Katharina II. eine zentrale Rolle in der Handlung spielen.
Ingmar Bergmans Film Das Lächeln einer Sommernacht behandelt die Turbulenzen von vier Liebespaaren in einer weißen Mittsommernacht. Im Jahr 1985 entstand der US-amerikanische Tanzfilm White Nights – Die Nacht der Entscheidung nach einem Drama von Taylor Hackford. Der Titel nimmt Bezug auf die kurzen, hellen Sommernächte im Norden von Sibirien, wo Teile der Handlung ablaufen.
41 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1848
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About the author
Fyodor Dostoevsky
3,256 books72.5k followers
Фёдор Михайлович Достоевский
(Russian)
Works, such as the novels Crime and Punishment (1866), The Idiot (1869), and The Brothers Karamazov (1880), of Russian writer Feodor Mikhailovich Dostoyevsky or Dostoevski combine religious mysticism with profound psychological insight.
Very influential writings of Mikhail Mikhailovich Bakhtin included Problems of Dostoyevsky's Works (1929),
Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky composed short stories, essays, and journals. His literature explores humans in the troubled political, social, and spiritual atmospheres of 19th-century and engages with a variety of philosophies and themes. People most acclaimed his Demons(1872) .
Many literary critics rate him among the greatest authors of world literature and consider multiple books written by him to be highly influential masterpieces. They consider his Notes from Underground of the first existentialist literature. He is also well regarded as a philosopher and theologian.
(Russian: Фёдор Михайлович Достоевский) (see also Fiodor Dostoïevski)
Works, such as the novels Crime and Punishment (1866), The Idiot (1869), and The Brothers Karamazov (1880), of Russian writer Feodor Mikhailovich Dostoyevsky or Dostoevski combine religious mysticism with profound psychological insight.
Very influential writings of Mikhail Mikhailovich Bakhtin included Problems of Dostoyevsky's Works (1929),
Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky composed short stories, essays, and journals. His literature explores humans in the troubled political, social, and spiritual atmospheres of 19th-century and engages with a variety of philosophies and themes. People most acclaimed his Demons(1872) .
Many literary critics rate him among the greatest authors of world literature and consider multiple books written by him to be highly influential masterpieces. They consider his Notes from Underground of the first existentialist literature. He is also well regarded as a philosopher and theologian.
(Russian: Фёдор Михайлович Достоевский) (see also Fiodor Dostoïevski)
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July 13, 2025
‘But how could you live and have no story to tell?’
Summer nights are for dreamers. The world opens itself up into lush landscapes teeming with life and the nights, so full of star light and mystery, seem as vast as the aspirations of first time lovers. Anything seems possible amidst the summer nights, as if the afterhours were a doorway that takes you into a fairy tale world where magic and mayhem await you. Such is the feeling permeating Fydor Dostoevsky’ White Nights, an early tale first published in 1848 of a nameless narrator coming to life and love under the white nights of St. Petersburg. You can read it for free in Constance Garnett's translation here. ‘I am a dreamer,’ he tells us and embarks on a story that feels as if set in a dreamscape, softly pulling us through the four nights he spends talking with the young Nastenka whom he met sobbing upon a bridge. Over these few days the pair come to know each other fondly, and despite his promise to not fall in love with her as she is engaged to another man, our narrator can’t help but blissfully trip into romantic affection in what seems Doestoevksy’s portrayal and preference of altruistic love. Learning to look and live outward instead of inwardly dreaming, the narrator breaks from isolation and sees that although living towards dreams may go awry, having lived in the world is better than loneliness.
‘It was a wonderful night, such a night as is only possible when we are young, dear reader.’
I love a good story that takes place over the span of a mere few days, the type that reminds you how life seems to slow down with every moment elevated and vibrating with implied importance when you feel like you’ve stumbled into a narrative within your own life. A handful of days you feel you’ve occupied more than entire months. White Nights excellently embodies this and you feel, as the reader, the feverish excitement of the narrator as if it is running through your own veins and not his; a talent of Dostoevsky’s I first became enamored with long ago while reading Crime and Punishment is his ability to transpose the characters emotions onto you such was the intensity of guilt and anguish I felt alongside Raskolnikov as he sweated in his bed. I was also particularly empathetic to his account of feeling left behind and in a state of a ‘strange anguish,’ finding himself befriending his own city as he wandered the streets aimlessly. I recall a time when I had my own personal loneliness and sadness, spending summer days wandering my own city and finding a particular joy and camaraderie with the landscape one can only enter when out within it walking. The poets have written on this for centuries. Another phenomenon of walking and thinking, especially in summer, is that the whole world feels possible and that around any corner everything might change, fall into place, or trigger a story. And so this tale begins.
‘I am a dreamer. I know so little of real life that I just can't help re-living such moments as these in my dreams, for such moments are something I have very rarely experienced.’
While perhaps not much occurs in this story, we also feel that it shifts the entirety of the narrators world, he who upon his first conversation with Nastenka admits ‘I will no longer think so badly of myself as I have done at times,’ simply because he had an experience with her. There is a real youthfulness blossoming on every page here with our narrator, somewhere in his twenties but feeling life already leaving him behind, and his loquacity is only matched by his awkwardness. Luckily she find him charming, sharing her own feelings of loneliness spending her days quite literally pinned to her grandmothers dress since the elder woman fears Nastenka will be taken off by a man (a bit on the nose but it works), and is more amused than bemused by his poetic way of rambling. Upon his first explanation of himself she remarks ‘You talk as though you were reading it out of a book.’ Its this sort of inability to temper one’s awkward excitement coupled with a penchant for poetic flourishing that first marks him as a dreamer, but also reminds me of the characters in early Knut Hamsun works, particularly Hunger when the narrator’s romantic prospects are dashed by the self sabotage of his grand speeches. Hunger always recalled Doestoevksy’s narrator from Notes from Underground and in White Nights we see Dostoevsky practicing the sort of long-winded storytelling he would later use for his underground man.
‘I don’t know how to be silent when my heart is speaking.’
A dreamer, our narrator tells us ‘is not a human being, but a creature of an intermediate sort.’ He lives his life dreaming but never truly living, inventing all sorts of wishes he can play out in his head but never actually having the experiences beyond imagination (perhaps one may see a dreamer as a sort of step-sibling to a reader). He casts himself as the ‘hero’ in his telling, just as in his dreaming, but is nothing but a spectator speculating. And while he has charmed himself with many fantasies of love and lovers, he has never truly known it firsthand and is beginning to regret occupying his time with what amounts to nothing.
At least with Nastenka he is experiencing life. She too has a story to tell, one of a man to whom she is promised to be wed upon his return to St. Petersberg yet he has been home a few days and has not come to her. Our dreamer, eager to please and to experience life, agrees to take a letter to him. In his dealings with Nastenka we see a sort of idyllic, altruistic purity to his love, one of a boy who puts her best interests before himself and she with no intent to deceive or use him. It feels very much like high school, doing something for your crush in a tale of unrequited love where, deep down, you know they will never be with you but you do it anyway.
It is, perhaps, what a youth would be snickered at by peers and teased for being ‘friend-zoned’, but we see that there is a sincerity here. We also see why the subtitle for this tale is ‘A sentimental story from the diary of a dreamer’ because it is indeed sentimental and tugs heartstrings that reverberate in the tune of nostalgia and young, doomed romance.
Of course our young narrator, against her wishes to not fall in love with her, does, but in her grief over the continued absence of her fiancée, she begins to bend her heart towards him as well. Why not, he clearly cares for her. The story takes a twist and we see our dreamer sad but not regretful, because he has experienced life. And life comes with loss as much as love, we just only hope the scales tip more towards sweetness when we tally up our total when the curtain falls for us. We leave the dreamer as he ponders if this one moment of happiness was worth it all.
‘My God, a whole moment of happiness! Is that too little for the whole of a man’s life?’
Doestoevsky forever holds a special place in my heart. While some authors tear out your heart, tear it to pieces and build you back stronger, Dostoevksy achieves the same results in a different way. He shows you inside your own heart and, in recognizing his words capturing inner feelings your own heart could never have expressed so eloquently, it begins to shake and vibrate in harmony with his ideas until it flies into pieces. Then he puts you back together, wiser and thankful for it. White Nights is a minor work yet it hits so soothingly and with all the bliss of a grand summer’s night. This is one for, as Kermit the Frog once sang, the lovers, the dreamers, and me.
5/5
‘[A]sk yourself again: what have you done with your best years, then? Where have you buried the best days of your life? Have you lived or not?’
Summer nights are for dreamers. The world opens itself up into lush landscapes teeming with life and the nights, so full of star light and mystery, seem as vast as the aspirations of first time lovers. Anything seems possible amidst the summer nights, as if the afterhours were a doorway that takes you into a fairy tale world where magic and mayhem await you. Such is the feeling permeating Fydor Dostoevsky’ White Nights, an early tale first published in 1848 of a nameless narrator coming to life and love under the white nights of St. Petersburg. You can read it for free in Constance Garnett's translation here. ‘I am a dreamer,’ he tells us and embarks on a story that feels as if set in a dreamscape, softly pulling us through the four nights he spends talking with the young Nastenka whom he met sobbing upon a bridge. Over these few days the pair come to know each other fondly, and despite his promise to not fall in love with her as she is engaged to another man, our narrator can’t help but blissfully trip into romantic affection in what seems Doestoevksy’s portrayal and preference of altruistic love. Learning to look and live outward instead of inwardly dreaming, the narrator breaks from isolation and sees that although living towards dreams may go awry, having lived in the world is better than loneliness.
‘It was a wonderful night, such a night as is only possible when we are young, dear reader.’
I love a good story that takes place over the span of a mere few days, the type that reminds you how life seems to slow down with every moment elevated and vibrating with implied importance when you feel like you’ve stumbled into a narrative within your own life. A handful of days you feel you’ve occupied more than entire months. White Nights excellently embodies this and you feel, as the reader, the feverish excitement of the narrator as if it is running through your own veins and not his; a talent of Dostoevsky’s I first became enamored with long ago while reading Crime and Punishment is his ability to transpose the characters emotions onto you such was the intensity of guilt and anguish I felt alongside Raskolnikov as he sweated in his bed. I was also particularly empathetic to his account of feeling left behind and in a state of a ‘strange anguish,’ finding himself befriending his own city as he wandered the streets aimlessly. I recall a time when I had my own personal loneliness and sadness, spending summer days wandering my own city and finding a particular joy and camaraderie with the landscape one can only enter when out within it walking. The poets have written on this for centuries. Another phenomenon of walking and thinking, especially in summer, is that the whole world feels possible and that around any corner everything might change, fall into place, or trigger a story. And so this tale begins.
‘I am a dreamer. I know so little of real life that I just can't help re-living such moments as these in my dreams, for such moments are something I have very rarely experienced.’
While perhaps not much occurs in this story, we also feel that it shifts the entirety of the narrators world, he who upon his first conversation with Nastenka admits ‘I will no longer think so badly of myself as I have done at times,’ simply because he had an experience with her. There is a real youthfulness blossoming on every page here with our narrator, somewhere in his twenties but feeling life already leaving him behind, and his loquacity is only matched by his awkwardness. Luckily she find him charming, sharing her own feelings of loneliness spending her days quite literally pinned to her grandmothers dress since the elder woman fears Nastenka will be taken off by a man (a bit on the nose but it works), and is more amused than bemused by his poetic way of rambling. Upon his first explanation of himself she remarks ‘You talk as though you were reading it out of a book.’ Its this sort of inability to temper one’s awkward excitement coupled with a penchant for poetic flourishing that first marks him as a dreamer, but also reminds me of the characters in early Knut Hamsun works, particularly Hunger when the narrator’s romantic prospects are dashed by the self sabotage of his grand speeches. Hunger always recalled Doestoevksy’s narrator from Notes from Underground and in White Nights we see Dostoevsky practicing the sort of long-winded storytelling he would later use for his underground man.
‘I don’t know how to be silent when my heart is speaking.’
A dreamer, our narrator tells us ‘is not a human being, but a creature of an intermediate sort.’ He lives his life dreaming but never truly living, inventing all sorts of wishes he can play out in his head but never actually having the experiences beyond imagination (perhaps one may see a dreamer as a sort of step-sibling to a reader). He casts himself as the ‘hero’ in his telling, just as in his dreaming, but is nothing but a spectator speculating. And while he has charmed himself with many fantasies of love and lovers, he has never truly known it firsthand and is beginning to regret occupying his time with what amounts to nothing.
‘Because at moments like that I start to think that I am incapable of living a proper life, I seem already to have lost any sort of judgment, any apprehension of the real and actual; because after all, I have cursed my very self; because after my nights of fantasy come moments of sobriety which are appalling…after all one matures, outgrows one’s former ideals: they are shattered into dust and fragments; and if you have no other life, it behooves you to construct one from those same fragments.’
At least with Nastenka he is experiencing life. She too has a story to tell, one of a man to whom she is promised to be wed upon his return to St. Petersberg yet he has been home a few days and has not come to her. Our dreamer, eager to please and to experience life, agrees to take a letter to him. In his dealings with Nastenka we see a sort of idyllic, altruistic purity to his love, one of a boy who puts her best interests before himself and she with no intent to deceive or use him. It feels very much like high school, doing something for your crush in a tale of unrequited love where, deep down, you know they will never be with you but you do it anyway.
‘But to imagine that I should bear you a grudge, Nastenka! That I should cast a dark cloud over your serene, untroubled happiness; that by my bitter reproaches I should cause distress to your heart, should poison it with secret remorse and should force it to throb with anguish at the moment of bliss; that I should crush a single one of those tender blossoms which you have twined in your dark tresses when you go with him to the altar…. Oh never, never! May your sky be clear, may your sweet smile be bright and untroubled, and may you be blessed for that moment of blissful happiness which you gave to another, lonely and grateful heart!’
It is, perhaps, what a youth would be snickered at by peers and teased for being ‘friend-zoned’, but we see that there is a sincerity here. We also see why the subtitle for this tale is ‘A sentimental story from the diary of a dreamer’ because it is indeed sentimental and tugs heartstrings that reverberate in the tune of nostalgia and young, doomed romance.
Of course our young narrator, against her wishes to not fall in love with her, does, but in her grief over the continued absence of her fiancée, she begins to bend her heart towards him as well. Why not, he clearly cares for her. The story takes a twist and we see our dreamer sad but not regretful, because he has experienced life. And life comes with loss as much as love, we just only hope the scales tip more towards sweetness when we tally up our total when the curtain falls for us. We leave the dreamer as he ponders if this one moment of happiness was worth it all.
‘My God, a whole moment of happiness! Is that too little for the whole of a man’s life?’
Doestoevsky forever holds a special place in my heart. While some authors tear out your heart, tear it to pieces and build you back stronger, Dostoevksy achieves the same results in a different way. He shows you inside your own heart and, in recognizing his words capturing inner feelings your own heart could never have expressed so eloquently, it begins to shake and vibrate in harmony with his ideas until it flies into pieces. Then he puts you back together, wiser and thankful for it. White Nights is a minor work yet it hits so soothingly and with all the bliss of a grand summer’s night. This is one for, as Kermit the Frog once sang, the lovers, the dreamers, and me.
5/5
‘[A]sk yourself again: what have you done with your best years, then? Where have you buried the best days of your life? Have you lived or not?’
October 18, 2008
This story, really a novella, is the one I use to introduce people to Dostoyevsky. If you like White Nights you will like Fyodor Mikailovich, I think, and if you don't you won't. In it we're introduced to a charming intelligent young man who lives on the edges of St. Petersburg life, a shy dreamer who spends almost all his time alone. The life of his observations and imagination is very full, however. He daydreams in 3d with vivid colors passionate intricate tales that engross him completely, to the point that an actual friend knocking on his door to say hello flusters him totally, leaving him nonplussed for the entire short awkward visit. Dostoyevsky, in his brilliant way makes me care deeply about our hero, and feel a total sense of identification with him.
One day, our protagonist meets an actual real-life girl, one whose temperment and situation in life are something like his. They become great friends immediately, something that has never happened to him before. The story takes off at this point, piling up so much light and darkness that I'm gasping for breath all the way through until the magnificent ending.
It's extraordinary the way Dostoyevsky can make all of us feel so much identification with his characters. I feel each time I read this story that he's plumbed the secret depths of my soul that not even I had any idea of. He slices me apart and puts me back together so that I'm somebody totally new after he's done. I feel as though he's writing about me and only me, through a century and a half of time travel and a thorough reading of my subconscious mind, and I do feel exposed by it.
My son's aunt who studied Russian literature in Russia says Dostoyevsky is evil, because he cuts us open and has a poke round our deepest selves with such complete and utter honesty. It's true he does see the whole of humanity, from our basest depravity to our highest divinity. But for me his truth is purifying, like a sacred flame, like the caress of a being who's both angel and demon at the same time. I do think Dostoyevsky is the greatest novelist of all in the whole history of western civilization.
One day, our protagonist meets an actual real-life girl, one whose temperment and situation in life are something like his. They become great friends immediately, something that has never happened to him before. The story takes off at this point, piling up so much light and darkness that I'm gasping for breath all the way through until the magnificent ending.
It's extraordinary the way Dostoyevsky can make all of us feel so much identification with his characters. I feel each time I read this story that he's plumbed the secret depths of my soul that not even I had any idea of. He slices me apart and puts me back together so that I'm somebody totally new after he's done. I feel as though he's writing about me and only me, through a century and a half of time travel and a thorough reading of my subconscious mind, and I do feel exposed by it.
My son's aunt who studied Russian literature in Russia says Dostoyevsky is evil, because he cuts us open and has a poke round our deepest selves with such complete and utter honesty. It's true he does see the whole of humanity, from our basest depravity to our highest divinity. But for me his truth is purifying, like a sacred flame, like the caress of a being who's both angel and demon at the same time. I do think Dostoyevsky is the greatest novelist of all in the whole history of western civilization.
January 26, 2024
"You know, we thank some people for merely living at the same time as we do. I thank you for the fact that I met you, that I will remember you for all my life!'
--
Someone said "you think you know love and then you read white nights" and holy moly they were right.
The yearning! The hope! The unrequited love! A new favourite short story / novella for sure.
Two lonely people bond over a series of conversations, and find momentary bliss in one another’s company. It’s a quick read but one that lingers after the final page — it warmed and hurt my heart in equal measure.
Essential reading, with absolutely gorgeous quotes I will be thinking about for a very long time!!
4.75/5 rounded up ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
--
'If you ever fall in love, then may God grant you happiness with her! But I won't wish her anything, because she will be happy with you.'
--
Someone said "you think you know love and then you read white nights" and holy moly they were right.
The yearning! The hope! The unrequited love! A new favourite short story / novella for sure.
Two lonely people bond over a series of conversations, and find momentary bliss in one another’s company. It’s a quick read but one that lingers after the final page — it warmed and hurt my heart in equal measure.
Essential reading, with absolutely gorgeous quotes I will be thinking about for a very long time!!
4.75/5 rounded up ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
--
'If you ever fall in love, then may God grant you happiness with her! But I won't wish her anything, because she will be happy with you.'
April 6, 2018
يضجرني وصف تلك الرواية وتصنيفها على إنها رواية رومانسية حالمة؛ هذه ليست رواية عن الحب، هذه رواية عن الوحدة
October 14, 2024
the intense ramblings of a virgin
January 26, 2024
Doestoevsky gave all the awkward men who have never felt the touch of a woman representation and that's all that matters
April 14, 2024
depressed man gets friend zoned twice.
March 14, 2023
White Nights is a melancholy trip… It is an elegy of solitude… White nights… Sad days…
Returning home after purposelessly wandering the streets, the protagonist – a hopeless dreamer – unexpectedly encounters an unhappy crying girl and trying to comfort her, he sees her home… And he tells her about his life… And his life story is the story of his dreaming because he knows nothing else…
And she recounts him her naive life story too… And, of course, the dreamer falls in love… And, of course, his love is doomed…
Judging by the naivety of the narration the accidental encounter is just another dreamer’s reverie – no more than an amorous castle in the air…
Dreamers don’t need reality… They live in their dreams.
A strange anguish had tormented me since early morning. I suddenly had the impression that I had been left all alone, that everyone was shrinking away from me, avoiding me.
Returning home after purposelessly wandering the streets, the protagonist – a hopeless dreamer – unexpectedly encounters an unhappy crying girl and trying to comfort her, he sees her home… And he tells her about his life… And his life story is the story of his dreaming because he knows nothing else…
“There are, my dear Nastenka, in case you don’t know, some rather strange corners in Petersburg. It’s as if the sun that warms the rest of the city never shines on them, and instead another sun, especially designed for them, supplies them with a different light. In those corners, Nastenka, a life goes on quite unlike the one seething around us, a life that is possible in some far-away dreamland but certainly not here in our over-serious time. That life is a mixture of something out of pure fantasy ardently idealistic, with, alas, something bleak and dull and ordinary, not to say outright vulgar.”
And she recounts him her naive life story too… And, of course, the dreamer falls in love… And, of course, his love is doomed…
Judging by the naivety of the narration the accidental encounter is just another dreamer’s reverie – no more than an amorous castle in the air…
“And how effortlessly, how naturally the dreamer’s world of fantasy springs up! It looks so real and not at all like a mirage! In fact, sometimes he almost believes that his dream life is no figment of the imagination, no self-deception, no delusion, but something real, actual, existing.”
Dreamers don’t need reality… They live in their dreams.
February 6, 2019
Ah, Dostoyevsky's tribute to the "nice guy". Clearly he was ahead of his time.
Thanks, I hate it.
Thanks, I hate it.
June 10, 2017
خداى من، یک دقیقۀ تمامْ خوشبختى! آیا این نعمت براى سراسر زندگى یک انسان كافى نیست؟
شب های روشن
فئودور داستایوسکی
١.
مى گويند زنبور نر در تمام عمرش تنها يک بار با ملكه عشق ورزى مى كند، و بعد بى درنگ مى ميرد.
تصوّرش را بكن: در تمام عمر تنها يک بار لذّت عشق ورزى را مى چشد. تنها يک بار، امّا با ملكه. نخستين و در عين حال شكوهمندترين عشق ورزى، و بعد تمام. هدف زندگى اش همين است. بعد كه به هدف وجودى اش نائل شد، همچون ميوه اى رسيده از درخت فرو مى افتد.
٢.
در داستانی قدیمی که گوته آن را بازگو می کند، فیلسوفی الهی به نام "فاوست" با شيطان معامله اى می کند كه به موجب آن، در اين جهان شيطان به او خدمت کند، و در دوزخ او خادم شيطان شود، و از شيطان می خواهد تمام لذّات ممكن دنيوى را برايش مهيّا سازد.
اما محتواى قرارداد به همين جا ختم نمى شود. قرارداد بندى ديگر نيز دارد، بندى كه از جانب كسى كه قصدش لذّت جويى است، بى اندازه عجيب مى نمايد: فاوست با شيطان شرط مى كند هر گاه جان اندوهگينش از چيزى لذّتى حقيقى برد، همان لحظه جانش را بستاند.
٣.
مردن در لحظۀ سعادت. جاودانه كردن شادكامى.
کتاب
بزرگ ترین اشتباه یک هنرمند، خلق یک شاهکار است. وقتی یک شاهکار خلق می کنی، یوغ شاهکار تا ابد بر گردنت می ماند، صلیب شاهکار تا همیشه بر پشتت سنگینی می کند: مدام با شاهکارت مقایسه می شوی.
جناب داستایوسکی، هنوز تو را می پرستم، ولی به خاطر ابلهت، به خاطر جنایت و مکافاتت، نه به خاطر شب های روشنت.
شب های روشن
فئودور داستایوسکی
١.
مى گويند زنبور نر در تمام عمرش تنها يک بار با ملكه عشق ورزى مى كند، و بعد بى درنگ مى ميرد.
تصوّرش را بكن: در تمام عمر تنها يک بار لذّت عشق ورزى را مى چشد. تنها يک بار، امّا با ملكه. نخستين و در عين حال شكوهمندترين عشق ورزى، و بعد تمام. هدف زندگى اش همين است. بعد كه به هدف وجودى اش نائل شد، همچون ميوه اى رسيده از درخت فرو مى افتد.
٢.
در داستانی قدیمی که گوته آن را بازگو می کند، فیلسوفی الهی به نام "فاوست" با شيطان معامله اى می کند كه به موجب آن، در اين جهان شيطان به او خدمت کند، و در دوزخ او خادم شيطان شود، و از شيطان می خواهد تمام لذّات ممكن دنيوى را برايش مهيّا سازد.
اما محتواى قرارداد به همين جا ختم نمى شود. قرارداد بندى ديگر نيز دارد، بندى كه از جانب كسى كه قصدش لذّت جويى است، بى اندازه عجيب مى نمايد: فاوست با شيطان شرط مى كند هر گاه جان اندوهگينش از چيزى لذّتى حقيقى برد، همان لحظه جانش را بستاند.
٣.
مردن در لحظۀ سعادت. جاودانه كردن شادكامى.
کتاب
بزرگ ترین اشتباه یک هنرمند، خلق یک شاهکار است. وقتی یک شاهکار خلق می کنی، یوغ شاهکار تا ابد بر گردنت می ماند، صلیب شاهکار تا همیشه بر پشتت سنگینی می کند: مدام با شاهکارت مقایسه می شوی.
جناب داستایوسکی، هنوز تو را می پرستم، ولی به خاطر ابلهت، به خاطر جنایت و مکافاتت، نه به خاطر شب های روشنت.
April 10, 2018
Loneliness. We've all been there. Some of us may still be there but "My God, a whole moment of happiness! Is that too little for the whole of man's life?"
August 19, 2021
*silent weeping*
“I am a dreamer; I have so little real life that I regard such moments as this one, now, to be so rare that I can’t help repeating these moments in my dreams. I will dream of you all night, for an entire week, all year long.”
“… he desires nothing, because he is above desire, because he has everything, because he is sated, because he himself is the artist of his life and he creates it for himself every hour to suit his latest whim.”
“…and what will there be for me to dream about when I have already been so happy in real life beside you!”
“ do you know that I now like to recall and visit at certain times places where I was once happy in my own way, I like to fashion my present so that it’s in harmony with the irrevocable past, and I often wonder like a shadow without need or purpose down cast and sad, through the alleys and streets of Petersburg? And what memories!”
“You know, we thank some people for merely living at the same time as we do. I thank you for the fact that I met you, but I will remember you for all my life!”
*not so silent weeping*
“I am a dreamer; I have so little real life that I regard such moments as this one, now, to be so rare that I can’t help repeating these moments in my dreams. I will dream of you all night, for an entire week, all year long.”
“… he desires nothing, because he is above desire, because he has everything, because he is sated, because he himself is the artist of his life and he creates it for himself every hour to suit his latest whim.”
“…and what will there be for me to dream about when I have already been so happy in real life beside you!”
“ do you know that I now like to recall and visit at certain times places where I was once happy in my own way, I like to fashion my present so that it’s in harmony with the irrevocable past, and I often wonder like a shadow without need or purpose down cast and sad, through the alleys and streets of Petersburg? And what memories!”
“You know, we thank some people for merely living at the same time as we do. I thank you for the fact that I met you, but I will remember you for all my life!”
*not so silent weeping*
January 13, 2023
شب های روشن می توانست یک اثر معمولی باشد ،یک کتاب با پایان خوش ، سرخوشانه و خوشحال . اما استاد داستایفسکی آن چرخش ناگهانی را وارد داستان می کند و شادی و خوشحالی را از قهرمان بی نام و نشان و خیالباف کتاب می گیرد و به او ثابت می کند که عمر شادی کوتاه است . قهرمان داستان بعد از دقایق کوتاه شادی با معشوق ، به همان اتاق قدیمی خود باز می گردد ، اتاقی که این بار خدمتکار آنرا به طور کامل تمیز کرده است و تار عنکبوت ها را هم پاک کرده ، اما عاشق شکست خورده دیگر اتاق را زشت ، خدمتکار را پیر و آینده را سرشار از تنهایی می بیند ولی او از معشوق بی وفا ناراحت نیست واز او نفرت ندارد ، قدردان همان یک لحظه شادی ایست و آنرا برای تمام عمر کافی می داند .
February 24, 2024
eighty pages of a lonely virgin man yapping about how pathetic he is
February 24, 2024
قال الحكيم بيدبا
لا تثق أبدا في كلام المرأة عند الغضب أو الفرح أو الحاجه أو التعب أو الملل أو السفر أو الـ ..... إنت فاضي و الا وراك حاجه :)
لحظات مسروقة من عمر الزمان نختلس فيها الفرح قبل أن يتلاعب بنا القدر من جديد
سوف تلهو بنا الحياة و تسخر
فتعال أحبك الأن أكثر
مسكين أيها البطل الذي لم أعرف اسمك و مسكينة أيضا يا ناستينكا فقد جمعتكما التعاسة و فرقكما الفرح و تبقت لكما الذكرى و العبرة و لنا القصة العبقرية التي لا توفيها الكلمات
March 12, 2017
Let me preface this review by announcing that I have never read anything that had put my thoughts and feelings as a dreamer so accurately as it has been put in this story!
My dear Fyodor gets it, he really does!
A dreamer is someone who shuts himself from the rest of the world and loses himself in his own mind and dreams. His entire life has been like that. That is pretty much how he lived his life, and he does not mind it, not at all, he in fact, likes it.
“I am a dreamer. I know so little of real life that I just can't help re-living such moments as these in my dreams, for such moments are something I have very rarely experienced. I am going to dream about you the whole night, the whole week, the whole year. I feel I know you so well that I couldn't have known you better if we'd been friends for twenty years. You won't fail me, will you? Only two minutes, and you've made me happy forever. Yes, happy. Who knows, perhaps you've reconciled me with myself, resolved all my doubts.
When I woke up it seemed to me that some snatch of a tune I had known for a long time, I had heard somewhere before but had forgotten, a melody of great sweetness, was coming back to me now. It seemed to me that it had been trying to emerge from my soul all my life, and only now.”
“A fresh dream-fresh happiness! A fresh rush of delicate, voluptuous poison! What is real life to him ! To his corrupted eyes we live, you and I, Nastenka, so torpidly, slowly, insipidly; in his eyes we are all so dissatisfied with our fate, so exhausted by our life"! And, truly, see how at first sight everything is cold, morose, as though ill-humoured among us. . . . Poor things! thinks our dreamer. And it is no wonder that he thinks it! Look at these magic phantasms, which so enchantingly, so whimsically, so carelessly and freely group before him in such a magic, animated picture, in which the most prominent figure in the foreground is of course himself, our dreamer, in his precious person.”
But suddenly and quite unexpectedly, life throws something at the dreamer, and he is quite thrilled about it. He starts to think that reality is not that bad after all― that it all finally makes sense, that maybe he does not need― not anymore, to make shelter from reality in his/her dreams. Reality― for once, has become better.
Soon enough though, the cruel realization comes to him, he realizes it is not meant to last. This whole thing was a mere interlude in his/her endless world of dreams.
The dreamer is not bitter, nor s/he is resentful. S/he accepts it. This little interlude has made his/her life.
“In the end, you feel that your much-vaunted, inexhaustible fantasy is growing tired, debilitated, exhausted, because you're bound to grow out of your old ideals; they're smashed to splinters and turn to dust, and if you have no other life, you have no choice but to keep rebuilding your dreams from the splinters and dust. But the heart longs for something different! And it is vain to dig in the ashes of your old fancies, trying to find even a tiny spark to fan into a new flame that will warm the chilled heart and bring back to life everything that can send the blood rushing wildly through the body, fill the eyes with tears--everything that can delude you so well!”
At the end, it all boils down to this trice; a single little moment of sober happiness.
“My God, a whole moment of happiness! Is that too little for the whole of a man’s life?”
I cannot express how much I absolutely loved and enjoyed reading this one, it definitely had become one of my all times favorites!
Highly recommended.
My dear Fyodor gets it, he really does!
A dreamer is someone who shuts himself from the rest of the world and loses himself in his own mind and dreams. His entire life has been like that. That is pretty much how he lived his life, and he does not mind it, not at all, he in fact, likes it.
“I am a dreamer. I know so little of real life that I just can't help re-living such moments as these in my dreams, for such moments are something I have very rarely experienced. I am going to dream about you the whole night, the whole week, the whole year. I feel I know you so well that I couldn't have known you better if we'd been friends for twenty years. You won't fail me, will you? Only two minutes, and you've made me happy forever. Yes, happy. Who knows, perhaps you've reconciled me with myself, resolved all my doubts.
When I woke up it seemed to me that some snatch of a tune I had known for a long time, I had heard somewhere before but had forgotten, a melody of great sweetness, was coming back to me now. It seemed to me that it had been trying to emerge from my soul all my life, and only now.”
“A fresh dream-fresh happiness! A fresh rush of delicate, voluptuous poison! What is real life to him ! To his corrupted eyes we live, you and I, Nastenka, so torpidly, slowly, insipidly; in his eyes we are all so dissatisfied with our fate, so exhausted by our life"! And, truly, see how at first sight everything is cold, morose, as though ill-humoured among us. . . . Poor things! thinks our dreamer. And it is no wonder that he thinks it! Look at these magic phantasms, which so enchantingly, so whimsically, so carelessly and freely group before him in such a magic, animated picture, in which the most prominent figure in the foreground is of course himself, our dreamer, in his precious person.”
But suddenly and quite unexpectedly, life throws something at the dreamer, and he is quite thrilled about it. He starts to think that reality is not that bad after all― that it all finally makes sense, that maybe he does not need― not anymore, to make shelter from reality in his/her dreams. Reality― for once, has become better.
Soon enough though, the cruel realization comes to him, he realizes it is not meant to last. This whole thing was a mere interlude in his/her endless world of dreams.
The dreamer is not bitter, nor s/he is resentful. S/he accepts it. This little interlude has made his/her life.
“In the end, you feel that your much-vaunted, inexhaustible fantasy is growing tired, debilitated, exhausted, because you're bound to grow out of your old ideals; they're smashed to splinters and turn to dust, and if you have no other life, you have no choice but to keep rebuilding your dreams from the splinters and dust. But the heart longs for something different! And it is vain to dig in the ashes of your old fancies, trying to find even a tiny spark to fan into a new flame that will warm the chilled heart and bring back to life everything that can send the blood rushing wildly through the body, fill the eyes with tears--everything that can delude you so well!”
At the end, it all boils down to this trice; a single little moment of sober happiness.
“My God, a whole moment of happiness! Is that too little for the whole of a man’s life?”
I cannot express how much I absolutely loved and enjoyed reading this one, it definitely had become one of my all times favorites!
Highly recommended.
March 7, 2024
that was a very eventful week those two had
maybe i should go back to reading trashy smut, i don't think i'm smart enough to enjoy this
maybe i should go back to reading trashy smut, i don't think i'm smart enough to enjoy this
January 27, 2025
don't let the incels find this one. that's all i'm gonna say.
edit 27.01.2025:
just thought i'd add that i went to a ppt party and my presentation was titled 'the real villain of white nights: the friendzone' and the whole presentation was me ripping into the protagonist for being an incel.
edit 27.01.2025:
just thought i'd add that i went to a ppt party and my presentation was titled 'the real villain of white nights: the friendzone' and the whole presentation was me ripping into the protagonist for being an incel.
July 20, 2023
- دوستوفسكي يفجر ثقباً اسود داخلك اذا قرأته!!!....
- ما بين اليقظة والخيال... ذلك الجسر الذي ينسجه ويجعلك تركض عليه ذهاباً واياباً...
- فوضى مشاعر انسانية عاصفة وجياشة...
- زبدة الكلام في ختامها: "لحظة بكاملها من السعادة .. رباه هل تحتاج حياة إنسان إلى أكثر من هذا ؟"، وكم نركض بين ماضينا ومستقبلنا من اجل لحظة سعادة
- ما بين اليقظة والخيال... ذلك الجسر الذي ينسجه ويجعلك تركض عليه ذهاباً واياباً...
- فوضى مشاعر انسانية عاصفة وجياشة...
- زبدة الكلام في ختامها: "لحظة بكاملها من السعادة .. رباه هل تحتاج حياة إنسان إلى أكثر من هذا ؟"، وكم نركض بين ماضينا ومستقبلنا من اجل لحظة سعادة
October 30, 2025
White Nights is an emotional story told by an unknown narrator, who is the protagonist. His story is one of loneliness and unrequited love. The story deals with four nights and a day of the narrator's life, where he describes how his lonely life was forever changed by his meeting and falling in love with a young woman. The love remains unrequited as the young woman is already in love with another. Still, he is not angry nor is he in despair when he says "may you be forever blessed for that moment of bliss and happiness which you gave to another lonely and grateful heart! My God, a whole moment of happiness! Is that too little for the whole of a man's life?"
Although the story is a simple one about a young man's loneliness and unrequited love, what is amazing about it is the way Dostoevsky describes his emotions and emotional struggles so masterfully. This 'sentimental story from the diary of a dreamer' talks about a life of a loner, how he immersed in his imaginary and dream world to avoid the harsh reality of his loneliness, how his life is changed from dream to reality with the meeting of a young woman, as he falls in love and feels there is a dear heart who cares for him and that he is no longer alone, how, when his love was not returned by the young woman, the reality was turned into a dream world once again, and how in the moment of happiness he found enough contentment to sustain him through his whole life. It was just incredible!
The entire writing is superbly done by Dostoevsky that you feel that he is telling your own story. I believe all the youth, irrespective of time, country, and culture, go through similar emotional stages that this young man faces. For this reason, the story feels has a universal appeal and feels so close to readers' hearts. I have no words to describe the brilliance of Dostoevsky as an author. His outlook on life and his masterful crafting of his thoughts into beautiful prose have made him undoubtedly the best Russian author of all time.
More of my reviews can be found at http://piyangiejay.com/
Although the story is a simple one about a young man's loneliness and unrequited love, what is amazing about it is the way Dostoevsky describes his emotions and emotional struggles so masterfully. This 'sentimental story from the diary of a dreamer' talks about a life of a loner, how he immersed in his imaginary and dream world to avoid the harsh reality of his loneliness, how his life is changed from dream to reality with the meeting of a young woman, as he falls in love and feels there is a dear heart who cares for him and that he is no longer alone, how, when his love was not returned by the young woman, the reality was turned into a dream world once again, and how in the moment of happiness he found enough contentment to sustain him through his whole life. It was just incredible!
The entire writing is superbly done by Dostoevsky that you feel that he is telling your own story. I believe all the youth, irrespective of time, country, and culture, go through similar emotional stages that this young man faces. For this reason, the story feels has a universal appeal and feels so close to readers' hearts. I have no words to describe the brilliance of Dostoevsky as an author. His outlook on life and his masterful crafting of his thoughts into beautiful prose have made him undoubtedly the best Russian author of all time.
More of my reviews can be found at http://piyangiejay.com/
November 20, 2025
We usually think of Dostoevsky as the master of darkness - brilliant at digging into the twisted, messy corners of human nature. He writes about madness, despair, and suffering that feels like hell. But we often forget how beautifully he can write about “light,” about those fragile moments when life feels tender and luminous.
White Nights is definitely a curveball compared to his usual work. It is soft, melancholic, and full of quiet passion. Not the blazing sun of happiness, but the muted shimmer of twilight - a glow that flickers and fades yet leaves an imprint. This isn’t a story about shadows; it’s about the rare radiance that escapes them.
Of course, it’s still Dostoevsky. The protagonist is kinda weirdo, he calls himself a “dreamer.” He’s introverted, solitary, living behind closed doors, and asks the question that pierces the soul: “Do you know what it means to be alone?” His life is a strange mix of imagination and inertia, lofty ideals and sad stillness. Maybe he’ll become the underground man later, but for now, he’s young. It’s summer in St. Petersburg, the white nights stretch endlessly, and something inside him stirs.
He never imagined he’d speak to a woman, but when he sees Nastenka being harassed, he steps in. That’s how it begins. For 3 nights, they meet. She speaks of the man she loves, and he helps her send letters. Eventually, he confesses his feelings. A taste of love - brief, sweet, and heartbreakingly short-lived.
Sounds like a typical love story? Not quite.
This story isn’t just about love - it’s about life. The feeling doesn’t bloom because of Nastenka, but because the world itself feels too alive to ignore. Sometimes love isn’t about the person; it’s about the moment - that surge that fills you up even when you know it won’t last. On nights like that, you don’t chase forever. You just need to love. You need to live.
And that’s what White Nights captures so perfectly. Its real focus is existential and emotional awakening. The dreamer’s brief connection with Nastenka isn’t about romantic fulfillment or building a future – it’s about breaking through isolation and tasting life. There’s no jealousy, no games. Just light, warmth, and the need to connect. The person doesn’t even matter that much. It could be anyone. Sometimes we’re just grateful someone else exists alongside us.
So yes, there’s love, but not the kind that clings or conquers. It’s a love of possibility, of presence, of the sheer intensity of being alive for a fleeting moment. That’s why the ending feels bittersweet: the encounter matters not because it lasts, but because it happens.
At its core, White Nights tells us something deeply human: life isn’t measured by permanence, but by intensity. Dostoevsky uses this fragile episode to explore longing, solitude, and the shimmer of hope. Sometimes, we love because we need to feel alive - not because we expect it to endure. That’s what makes this story timeless: it speaks to anyone who has ever felt the ache of waiting and the thrill of awakening.
I know the “dreamer” isn’t an oddball. There are plenty of us - quiet lives, big imaginations. Our stories might not be dramatic, but our hearts are. And after reading this, I think many dreamers will feel the pull to step outside. To stop waiting. To start living. Even if the sun’s not out - just the soft glow of a white night.
So go on. Walk out the door. Maybe tonight, you’ll meet your Nastenka.
4.7 / 5 stars
White Nights is definitely a curveball compared to his usual work. It is soft, melancholic, and full of quiet passion. Not the blazing sun of happiness, but the muted shimmer of twilight - a glow that flickers and fades yet leaves an imprint. This isn’t a story about shadows; it’s about the rare radiance that escapes them.
Of course, it’s still Dostoevsky. The protagonist is kinda weirdo, he calls himself a “dreamer.” He’s introverted, solitary, living behind closed doors, and asks the question that pierces the soul: “Do you know what it means to be alone?” His life is a strange mix of imagination and inertia, lofty ideals and sad stillness. Maybe he’ll become the underground man later, but for now, he’s young. It’s summer in St. Petersburg, the white nights stretch endlessly, and something inside him stirs.
He never imagined he’d speak to a woman, but when he sees Nastenka being harassed, he steps in. That’s how it begins. For 3 nights, they meet. She speaks of the man she loves, and he helps her send letters. Eventually, he confesses his feelings. A taste of love - brief, sweet, and heartbreakingly short-lived.
Sounds like a typical love story? Not quite.
This story isn’t just about love - it’s about life. The feeling doesn’t bloom because of Nastenka, but because the world itself feels too alive to ignore. Sometimes love isn’t about the person; it’s about the moment - that surge that fills you up even when you know it won’t last. On nights like that, you don’t chase forever. You just need to love. You need to live.
And that’s what White Nights captures so perfectly. Its real focus is existential and emotional awakening. The dreamer’s brief connection with Nastenka isn’t about romantic fulfillment or building a future – it’s about breaking through isolation and tasting life. There’s no jealousy, no games. Just light, warmth, and the need to connect. The person doesn’t even matter that much. It could be anyone. Sometimes we’re just grateful someone else exists alongside us.
So yes, there’s love, but not the kind that clings or conquers. It’s a love of possibility, of presence, of the sheer intensity of being alive for a fleeting moment. That’s why the ending feels bittersweet: the encounter matters not because it lasts, but because it happens.
At its core, White Nights tells us something deeply human: life isn’t measured by permanence, but by intensity. Dostoevsky uses this fragile episode to explore longing, solitude, and the shimmer of hope. Sometimes, we love because we need to feel alive - not because we expect it to endure. That’s what makes this story timeless: it speaks to anyone who has ever felt the ache of waiting and the thrill of awakening.
I know the “dreamer” isn’t an oddball. There are plenty of us - quiet lives, big imaginations. Our stories might not be dramatic, but our hearts are. And after reading this, I think many dreamers will feel the pull to step outside. To stop waiting. To start living. Even if the sun’s not out - just the soft glow of a white night.
So go on. Walk out the door. Maybe tonight, you’ll meet your Nastenka.
4.7 / 5 stars
January 23, 2018
المراجعة بعد القراءة الثانية
فتح الباب وارتمى على السرير القذر في الغرفة القذرة ذات الجو القذر، ولكن كلّ هذا لا يهم. وضع يده تحت رأسه .. وأخذ ينظر إلى السطح الذّي إسودّ من دخان المصابيح الزيتية والموقد، وتدلت منه شباك العناكب .. ولكن كل هذا لا يهم . هو لا ينظر إلى السطح .. هو بالأحرى لا ينظر إلى أي شيء، فاليوم رحلت فتاة جاءت من عالم الأحلام وذهبت كحلم جميل، فتاة عرفها قبل أن يلتقي بها، تحدّث إليها وأخبرها بكل أسراره دون أن ينبس ببنت شفة، فتاة من هناك من أرضه فهو إنسان حالم والإنسان الحالم يعيش حياة طبيعية، عادية مثل الجميع ولكنه لا ينتمي إلى هذه الحياة فهو غريب عنها لأنه من هناك .. من أرض الأحلام.
رفع رأسه قليلا وتلفت يمنة ويسارا، وسرعان ما ارتسمت الدهشة على وجهه لأنّه لا يعلم كيف وصل إلى هنا ؟ وكيف استلقى هكذا ؟ وما فعل في الساعات الماضية ؟ .
لا يعلم شيئا ولا يعرف مصدر الوحل في قدميه ويده، جسده رجع غريزيا إلى البيت أماّ عقله فطار مع الحلم الجميل .. رجع إلى وضعه الأول واستلقى واضعا يده تحت رأسه .. تنهّد محاول إخراج نفس عالق داخل صدره .. نفس اختلط بأفكار وخواطر، هواجس ومشاعر لا يعرف كيف يرتبها ولا يعرف حتى كيف يقرأها .. مزيج أثقل على صدره فحاول إزاحة هذا العبء عبر التنفس ولكن لا جدوى .. الأمر عميق والمأساة كبيرة، فمشكلة الإنسان الحالم أنّه إذا أحب فإنه يحب بكل قوة وخيال، فيبني السيناريوهات المختلفة ويخترع ألاف المواقف كل يوم ويسأل ويجيب نفسه بنفسه، يهتم بالتفاصيل فيحبها وينظر إلى الحياة فيعشقها، يحب كل شيء ومن أجل لا شيء .. هكذا فقط تزهر الدنيا أمامه حتى وإن كانت ظروفه سوداء قاتمة، لأنه لا يرى الشكل فقط بل يتعداه إلى الجوهر عميقا.
التقى بها صدفة هنا في عالمنا الحقيقي .. عرفها منذ مدة هناك في عالم الأحلام .. ذهبت مع الآخر هنا في عالمنا الحقيقي .. بقيت كذكرى وحلم جميل هناك في عالم الأحلام، وما بين هنا وهناك .. حلم .. فمعرفة .. فصدفة .. فمعرفة .. فحب .. فوداع .. فحلم جميل .. وهو الآن على الفراش يصارع، لو نظرنا إليه لوجدناه هادئا تماما لا يرى فيه إلا صدر يعلو ويهبط ولكن لو اقتحمنا عقله لرأينا العجب، فوضى عارمة .. صراخ وضحك، حروب دامية، مشاعر جياشة، انفعالات وصراعات .. كل هذا وهو من الخارج جامد مثل جثة أو تمثال ..
ذكرى تلك اللحظة لم تغب عن باله، تلك الصيحة لا زال صداها يتردد في أذنه، عندما رأت ذلك الشاب قادما جرت كما لم تجري من قبل ورمت نفسها وهو ينظر ويتأمل أدق التفاصيل .. استغرب من نفسه كيف تمكن من ذلك .. لاحظ كيف تحول خدها الوردي الغني بالدماء إلى الشحوب التام .. لاحظ كيف رمت بنفسها عليه دون أن تحسب حسابا للسقوط .. لاحظ كيف سارت إلى اللامكان .. وكيف سبقت خطاها جسدها .. رآها وهي تتلاشى وتذوب .. رباه ما أصعبها من لحظة.
حاول النوم ولكنه لم يستطع، وكيف يستطيع النوم وصدره أثقل من جسمه وأثقل من سريره؟ كيف يستطيع النوم وفي النوم أحلام وهو مصنوع من مادة الأحلام نفسها ؟ كيف يستطيع النوم وسحائب من الخيالات تمر تتبعها أعاصير من الأسئلة ؟ كيف يستطيع النوم والجسر ما بين العالم الحقيقي وعالم الأحلام قد تحطم فلم يعد يعرف أهو هنا أم هناك أم غير موجود نهائيا ؟
وجاء الفجر حاملا خيوطه الذهبية والنقية .. معلنا نهاية قصة .. نهاية مزيج بين الحب والأمل، بين الحلم والحقيقة .. جاء الفجر فناداه بطلنا وأوصاه أن يقول لها عندما يلتقيها أن تعيش بسعادة وهناء وأن تحب الحياة ما استطاعت إليها سبيلا .. وصرخ أن الحب يا فجر لا يموت في لحظة ولكنه يولد ويجيء في لحظة .. تباركت يا من خلقت الحب والجمال والسعادة والفرح ..
لحظة بكاملها من السعادة .. رباه هل تحتاج حياة إنسان إلى أكثر من هذا ؟
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المراجعة بعد القراءة الأولى
تعريف الأحلام والإنسان الحالم عند دوستويفسكي :
".. السلسلة التي لا نهاية لها من الأحلام الحارة، ولكن لعلك تسألينني عن موضوع أحلامه .. هو رسالة الشاعر المغمور في أول الأمر، المتوج بأكليل المجد بعد ذلك .. هو صداقته مع هوفمان، هو ليلة سان باترلمي، هو ديان فرونون، هو السلوك البطولي الذي أذهره إيفان فانسلسفيتش عند الإستلاء على قازان، هو كلارا موفباري، هو إيفي دينز، هو أحبار المجمع البابوي وأمامهم هوس، هو يقظة الموتى في " روبير الشيطان " . هو مينا وبراند، هو معلركة بريزينا، هو قراءة قصيدة عند الكونتيسة، هو دانتون، هو كليوباترا وغرامها، هو بيت كولومنا الصغير، هو ركن صغير تجلس إلى جانبه فيه مخلوقة حبيبة تصغي إلى كلامه في أمسية من أمسيات الشتاء فاغرة فاها، محملقة بعينيها الصغيرتين.."
تعريف الشعور الألم عند دوستويفسكي :
"..نشعر بألم الآخرين شعورا أعمق حين نكون أشقياء معذبين .. إن عاطفتنا تشتد عندئذ وتقوى "
فتح الباب وارتمى على السرير القذر في الغرفة القذرة ذات الجو القذر، ولكن كلّ هذا لا يهم. وضع يده تحت رأسه .. وأخذ ينظر إلى السطح الذّي إسودّ من دخان المصابيح الزيتية والموقد، وتدلت منه شباك العناكب .. ولكن كل هذا لا يهم . هو لا ينظر إلى السطح .. هو بالأحرى لا ينظر إلى أي شيء، فاليوم رحلت فتاة جاءت من عالم الأحلام وذهبت كحلم جميل، فتاة عرفها قبل أن يلتقي بها، تحدّث إليها وأخبرها بكل أسراره دون أن ينبس ببنت شفة، فتاة من هناك من أرضه فهو إنسان حالم والإنسان الحالم يعيش حياة طبيعية، عادية مثل الجميع ولكنه لا ينتمي إلى هذه الحياة فهو غريب عنها لأنه من هناك .. من أرض الأحلام.
رفع رأسه قليلا وتلفت يمنة ويسارا، وسرعان ما ارتسمت الدهشة على وجهه لأنّه لا يعلم كيف وصل إلى هنا ؟ وكيف استلقى هكذا ؟ وما فعل في الساعات الماضية ؟ .
لا يعلم شيئا ولا يعرف مصدر الوحل في قدميه ويده، جسده رجع غريزيا إلى البيت أماّ عقله فطار مع الحلم الجميل .. رجع إلى وضعه الأول واستلقى واضعا يده تحت رأسه .. تنهّد محاول إخراج نفس عالق داخل صدره .. نفس اختلط بأفكار وخواطر، هواجس ومشاعر لا يعرف كيف يرتبها ولا يعرف حتى كيف يقرأها .. مزيج أثقل على صدره فحاول إزاحة هذا العبء عبر التنفس ولكن لا جدوى .. الأمر عميق والمأساة كبيرة، فمشكلة الإنسان الحالم أنّه إذا أحب فإنه يحب بكل قوة وخيال، فيبني السيناريوهات المختلفة ويخترع ألاف المواقف كل يوم ويسأل ويجيب نفسه بنفسه، يهتم بالتفاصيل فيحبها وينظر إلى الحياة فيعشقها، يحب كل شيء ومن أجل لا شيء .. هكذا فقط تزهر الدنيا أمامه حتى وإن كانت ظروفه سوداء قاتمة، لأنه لا يرى الشكل فقط بل يتعداه إلى الجوهر عميقا.
التقى بها صدفة هنا في عالمنا الحقيقي .. عرفها منذ مدة هناك في عالم الأحلام .. ذهبت مع الآخر هنا في عالمنا الحقيقي .. بقيت كذكرى وحلم جميل هناك في عالم الأحلام، وما بين هنا وهناك .. حلم .. فمعرفة .. فصدفة .. فمعرفة .. فحب .. فوداع .. فحلم جميل .. وهو الآن على الفراش يصارع، لو نظرنا إليه لوجدناه هادئا تماما لا يرى فيه إلا صدر يعلو ويهبط ولكن لو اقتحمنا عقله لرأينا العجب، فوضى عارمة .. صراخ وضحك، حروب دامية، مشاعر جياشة، انفعالات وصراعات .. كل هذا وهو من الخارج جامد مثل جثة أو تمثال ..
ذكرى تلك اللحظة لم تغب عن باله، تلك الصيحة لا زال صداها يتردد في أذنه، عندما رأت ذلك الشاب قادما جرت كما لم تجري من قبل ورمت نفسها وهو ينظر ويتأمل أدق التفاصيل .. استغرب من نفسه كيف تمكن من ذلك .. لاحظ كيف تحول خدها الوردي الغني بالدماء إلى الشحوب التام .. لاحظ كيف رمت بنفسها عليه دون أن تحسب حسابا للسقوط .. لاحظ كيف سارت إلى اللامكان .. وكيف سبقت خطاها جسدها .. رآها وهي تتلاشى وتذوب .. رباه ما أصعبها من لحظة.
حاول النوم ولكنه لم يستطع، وكيف يستطيع النوم وصدره أثقل من جسمه وأثقل من سريره؟ كيف يستطيع النوم وفي النوم أحلام وهو مصنوع من مادة الأحلام نفسها ؟ كيف يستطيع النوم وسحائب من الخيالات تمر تتبعها أعاصير من الأسئلة ؟ كيف يستطيع النوم والجسر ما بين العالم الحقيقي وعالم الأحلام قد تحطم فلم يعد يعرف أهو هنا أم هناك أم غير موجود نهائيا ؟
وجاء الفجر حاملا خيوطه الذهبية والنقية .. معلنا نهاية قصة .. نهاية مزيج بين الحب والأمل، بين الحلم والحقيقة .. جاء الفجر فناداه بطلنا وأوصاه أن يقول لها عندما يلتقيها أن تعيش بسعادة وهناء وأن تحب الحياة ما استطاعت إليها سبيلا .. وصرخ أن الحب يا فجر لا يموت في لحظة ولكنه يولد ويجيء في لحظة .. تباركت يا من خلقت الحب والجمال والسعادة والفرح ..
لحظة بكاملها من السعادة .. رباه هل تحتاج حياة إنسان إلى أكثر من هذا ؟
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المراجعة بعد القراءة الأولى
تعريف الأحلام والإنسان الحالم عند دوستويفسكي :
".. السلسلة التي لا نهاية لها من الأحلام الحارة، ولكن لعلك تسألينني عن موضوع أحلامه .. هو رسالة الشاعر المغمور في أول الأمر، المتوج بأكليل المجد بعد ذلك .. هو صداقته مع هوفمان، هو ليلة سان باترلمي، هو ديان فرونون، هو السلوك البطولي الذي أذهره إيفان فانسلسفيتش عند الإستلاء على قازان، هو كلارا موفباري، هو إيفي دينز، هو أحبار المجمع البابوي وأمامهم هوس، هو يقظة الموتى في " روبير الشيطان " . هو مينا وبراند، هو معلركة بريزينا، هو قراءة قصيدة عند الكونتيسة، هو دانتون، هو كليوباترا وغرامها، هو بيت كولومنا الصغير، هو ركن صغير تجلس إلى جانبه فيه مخلوقة حبيبة تصغي إلى كلامه في أمسية من أمسيات الشتاء فاغرة فاها، محملقة بعينيها الصغيرتين.."
تعريف الشعور الألم عند دوستويفسكي :
"..نشعر بألم الآخرين شعورا أعمق حين نكون أشقياء معذبين .. إن عاطفتنا تشتد عندئذ وتقوى "
June 9, 2025
Dostoevsky tells the story of a lonely, dreamy young man who fights his loneliness with long, nocturnal walks on the banks of the Neva. During one of these walks, he meets Nastenka, a 17-year-old girl waiting for her fiancé, and decides to keep him company. The young man immediately falls in love and is already planning for the future, convinced that he has finally found great love.
I would not reveal anything about the plot of this short story, as I found romanticism sometimes exaggerated. Although I struggled to get into this novel, I focused on his two tortured characters as soon as the dialogue began.
I would not reveal anything about the plot of this short story, as I found romanticism sometimes exaggerated. Although I struggled to get into this novel, I focused on his two tortured characters as soon as the dialogue began.
March 18, 2018
ليكن الله في عون أولئك الذين يكتبون عن دوستويفسكي.. كيف أكتب عن ذاك الذي يكتب عن نفسي.. إنه لمن الغرور حقاً ما أفعله، ولكن لابد أن أكتب شيئاً :) لأجل صديقي دوستويفسكي لأجل ذلك الذي منحني حب الأدب وعشق التأمل في النفس و الحياة...
لنقرء هذه الإقتباس أولاً.. قرأته مراراً وها أنا أكتبه هنا أيضاً...
" بوركت يامن وهبت لحظة من هناء وسعادة لقلبي الممتن الذي يعيش في وحشة العزلة ! لحظة بكاملها بسعادة ؟ رباه !! هل تحتاج حياة الإنسان لأكثر من هذا ؟ "
الحالم كما يصوره دوستويفسكي، الحالم هنا كما يجب أن يكون.. إنه الإنسان المتشوق المرهف الى لحظة من سعادة ،إلى بريق أمل، بل إلى لحظة خاطفة تأخده الى عالمه حيث ينتمي.. ربما لا يحتاج الى أكثر من ذلك..
لا أدري لماذا أحسست أنني أنتمي إلى ذلك الحالم.. أحسست أنه أنا نفسي، أحاسيسه شعوره حياته أحلامه، كل شئ كأنه جزء من ذاتي وأنا جزء منه....
يقال أن الشخصية الحالمة هنا في هذه القصة هي أقرب الشخصيات إلى دوستويفسكي وأكثرها تأثيراً في نفسه بل أحبها إليه أيضاً.. لقد كتب هذه القصة بصميم قلبه بذاته بوجدانه بأحاسيسه ،، نثر فيه كلماته وتصوراته وعبقريته عن الحالم عن الحب، أن تكون إنساناً لا ينتمي إلى ما يحيط بك بتفكيرك وحلمك وإنسانيتك ، أن تكون مع الناس وأنت الغريب .. أن تجد أن الوحدة والعزلة هي الأقرب إليك من نفسك ومن وجودك أيضاً..
قصة قصيرة نوعاً ما، ولكنها تحوي الكثير من المعاني والأفكار والأشياء التي لا تُقال إلا بقلم دوستويفسكي.. أشياء مختزنة في القلب نعرف أنها موجودة ومخلوقة فينا ولكن نجهل الوصول إليها.. هذه القصة توصلنا إليها، بل وتعبر بنا إلى ما وراء الحلم..
شكراً دوستويفسكي......
February 1, 2024
actual rating: 3.5 stars
August 31, 2018
"نشعر بألم الآخرين شعورًا أعمق حين نكون أشقياء معذبين"
هذه الرواية هي أفضل رد على تساؤل أم كلثوم الوجودي: "هو صحيح الهوى غلّاب؟".. دوستويفسكي لم يكتفِ بالرد الشفوي أو النظري في اثبات مشاعر القلب التي تغلب دائمًا، بل رد ردًا تطبيقيًا بوضع هذه المشاعر في يد القارئ ليؤكد ما يقول.
فيسكي ليس سوداويًا أو كئيبًا كما قد يرى البعض، بل واقعي فقط. هو أعلم بمشاعر البشر كما لو كان يعيش معاناتهم. كنت سأرى النوفيلا سخيفة إن انتهت نهاية سعيدة، حينما يصل الأمر للقلب ويصبح هو من يتحكم فيه فهذا يعني أن النتيجة معروفة: "وبدال ما أقول حرمت خلاص، بقول يارب زيدني كمان!"، هذا هو مقول القول.
"لحظة بأكملها من السعادة... رباه! هل تحتاج حياة إنسان إلى أكثر من هذا؟"
August 1, 2024
styl pisania dostojewskiego jest tak wyjatkowy i przesiakniety inteligencja, ze to miod na moje serce. obawiam sie, ze rzucilby mi on najgorsze ochlapy a i tak bylabym zachwycona, to autor tego typu. wspaniala i pelna romantycznych niuansow pozycja. mimo tego, ze watek romantyczny postepowal bardzo szybko,(co bylo wytlumaczalne ze wzgledu na specyficzne usposobienie glownego bohatera) to nie bylo to dla mnie negatywnem. jak ja nie jestem fanka historii milosnych, to kunszt i piekno uzytego jezyka zmiekczyl mi serce. bardzo, bardzo dobra ksiazka.
February 7, 2025
[5.0⭐] 𝙉𝙤𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙨 𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙖𝙨 es una novela corta escrita por Fiódor Dostoyevski en 1848. La historia se centra en un joven soñador solitario que deambula por las calles de San Petersburgo durante las noches blancas, donde el sol apenas se oculta. En una de sus caminatas, conoce a Nástenka, una joven melancólica que espera el regreso de su amado. A lo largo de cuatro noches, comparten confidencias, emociones y sueños, mientras el protagonista se enamora perdidamente de ella.
𝙉𝙤𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙨 𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙖𝙨 era un libro que tenía pendiente desde hace años, pero finalmente me animé a leerlo y debo decir que la espera valió completamente la pena. Mi edición tiene ilustraciones preciosas, lo que hizo que la lectura fuera aún más envolvente, significativa y especial.
Durante la universidad tuve un profesor que era un apasionado de Dostoyevski, por lo que analizamos con profundidad varias de sus obras. A pesar de que en ese momento no leí esta obra, tenía una idea bastante clara de su estilo y temáticas. Sin embargo, leerlo por mí misma fue algo completamente distinto y mucho más impactante.
Dostoyevski tiene una pluma excelente, algo que no sorprende considerando su genialidad como escritor. Lo que más me fascinó de esta obra es su capacidad de apelar directamente al lector, haciéndolo sentir parte de la historia, casi como si compartiera los pensamientos del protagonista. Los detalles y la precisión en la narración son impecables, lo que demuestra el nivel de maestría con el que Dostoyevski construye sus relatos. Me encantó la manera en que utiliza preguntas retóricas para ahondar en las emociones y la introspección del personaje principal, convirtiendo la lectura en una experiencia reflexiva y encantadora.
Considero que el protagonista es demasiado bueno para este mundo. Su carácter solitario y soñador me hizo sentir tan identificada con él que en varias ocasiones tuve que detenerme a procesar lo que estaba leyendo. La historia me sumergió en una sensación de melancolía y, para ser honesta, ya me acordé por qué había decidido no leer a Dostoyevski: su capacidad para provocar crisis existenciales y un dolor profundo es impresionante. Consideren que terminé esta novela hace 3 días y sigo reflexionando sobre ella.
La frase final me desgarró hasta el alma: "¡Dios mío! ¡Todo un minuto de felicidad! ¿Acaso es poco para toda una vida humana?". ¿Cómo algo tan simple y breve puede hacerte sentir tanto sufrimiento y belleza al mismo tiempo?
En cuanto a los temas de la obra, Noches blancas recoge varios de los tópicos recurrentes en Dostoyevski: el sueño y el soñador, la soledad, la introspección y el autoanálisis. Pero, sobre todo, se centra en el amor visto desde los ojos del soñador (que en este caso, sería el narrador). La obra habla de amar libremente a otra persona, aun cuando el destino indique que no pueden estar juntos y deban separarse. Es un amor puro e imposible, pero no por ello menos intenso y significativo.
Como se ha mencionado con anterioridad, la narración en primera persona es clave para generar esa conexión con el protagonista. El narrador es un narrador personaje; todo lo que conocemos de la historia es relatado a través de su perspectiva y sus pensamientos. Lo más curioso es que el nombre del protagonista se mantiene en el anonimato, lo que contribuye a que el lector pueda sentirse identificado con él. Esta ausencia de nombre no solo lo convierte en un personaje más universal e impersonal, sino que también intensifica la sensación de que sus pensamientos podrían ser los nuestros, como si estuviéramos leyendo un diario personal donde se plasman miedos y sueños compartidos.
Finalmente, puedo decir que 𝙉𝙤𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙨 𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙖𝙨 es una obra que permanecerá conmigo por mucho tiempo. Es una historia breve, pero con una intensidad emocional que la convierte en una lectura inolvidable. Le doy la máxima calificación porque pocas veces un libro me ha hecho sentir tanto en tan pocas páginas.
𝙉𝙤𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙨 𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙖𝙨 era un libro que tenía pendiente desde hace años, pero finalmente me animé a leerlo y debo decir que la espera valió completamente la pena. Mi edición tiene ilustraciones preciosas, lo que hizo que la lectura fuera aún más envolvente, significativa y especial.
Durante la universidad tuve un profesor que era un apasionado de Dostoyevski, por lo que analizamos con profundidad varias de sus obras. A pesar de que en ese momento no leí esta obra, tenía una idea bastante clara de su estilo y temáticas. Sin embargo, leerlo por mí misma fue algo completamente distinto y mucho más impactante.
Dostoyevski tiene una pluma excelente, algo que no sorprende considerando su genialidad como escritor. Lo que más me fascinó de esta obra es su capacidad de apelar directamente al lector, haciéndolo sentir parte de la historia, casi como si compartiera los pensamientos del protagonista. Los detalles y la precisión en la narración son impecables, lo que demuestra el nivel de maestría con el que Dostoyevski construye sus relatos. Me encantó la manera en que utiliza preguntas retóricas para ahondar en las emociones y la introspección del personaje principal, convirtiendo la lectura en una experiencia reflexiva y encantadora.
Considero que el protagonista es demasiado bueno para este mundo. Su carácter solitario y soñador me hizo sentir tan identificada con él que en varias ocasiones tuve que detenerme a procesar lo que estaba leyendo. La historia me sumergió en una sensación de melancolía y, para ser honesta, ya me acordé por qué había decidido no leer a Dostoyevski: su capacidad para provocar crisis existenciales y un dolor profundo es impresionante. Consideren que terminé esta novela hace 3 días y sigo reflexionando sobre ella.
La frase final me desgarró hasta el alma: "¡Dios mío! ¡Todo un minuto de felicidad! ¿Acaso es poco para toda una vida humana?". ¿Cómo algo tan simple y breve puede hacerte sentir tanto sufrimiento y belleza al mismo tiempo?
En cuanto a los temas de la obra, Noches blancas recoge varios de los tópicos recurrentes en Dostoyevski: el sueño y el soñador, la soledad, la introspección y el autoanálisis. Pero, sobre todo, se centra en el amor visto desde los ojos del soñador (que en este caso, sería el narrador). La obra habla de amar libremente a otra persona, aun cuando el destino indique que no pueden estar juntos y deban separarse. Es un amor puro e imposible, pero no por ello menos intenso y significativo.
Como se ha mencionado con anterioridad, la narración en primera persona es clave para generar esa conexión con el protagonista. El narrador es un narrador personaje; todo lo que conocemos de la historia es relatado a través de su perspectiva y sus pensamientos. Lo más curioso es que el nombre del protagonista se mantiene en el anonimato, lo que contribuye a que el lector pueda sentirse identificado con él. Esta ausencia de nombre no solo lo convierte en un personaje más universal e impersonal, sino que también intensifica la sensación de que sus pensamientos podrían ser los nuestros, como si estuviéramos leyendo un diario personal donde se plasman miedos y sueños compartidos.
Finalmente, puedo decir que 𝙉𝙤𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙨 𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙖𝙨 es una obra que permanecerá conmigo por mucho tiempo. Es una historia breve, pero con una intensidad emocional que la convierte en una lectura inolvidable. Le doy la máxima calificación porque pocas veces un libro me ha hecho sentir tanto en tan pocas páginas.
October 26, 2023
«Yo no puedo callar cuando el corazón me da gritos…»
Esta es sin ningún lugar a dudas, la más elevada y romántica historia del genial novelista ruso y una de las más recordadas de la literatura.
Luego de la exitosa publicación de "Pobres Gentes", su libro debut y del fracaso estrepitoso de su segundo libro "El Doble", ambos de 1846, Dostoievski siguió escribiendo cuentos y novelas. En su etapa inicial, entre 1846 y 1847 fueron apareciendo varios escritos que nos mostraron la temprana narrativa de Dostoievski muy inclinada hacia el amor y la compasión. El tratamiento al intercambio epistolar en "Pobres Gentes seguiría en otros relatos como "El señor Projarchin" y en la sufrida historia de "Nietochka Nezvánova", que apareciera ya en 1849.
"Noches Blancas" es el epitome del romanticismo en estado puro y una de las más claras muestras de amor, soledad y ensoñación y esto reside en que el Dostoievski más joven, exclamaba lo mismo que esa canción que dice "yo vengo a ofrecer mi corazón". Este Dostoievski se encuentra no muy lejos de experimentar las épocas más duras de su vida, como el arresto por integrar parte de un grupo revolucionario que conspiraba contra el Zar y su posterior simulacro de fusilamiento y prisión en Siberia durante cuatro años.
Sus tempranas lágrimas derramadas al leer poemas de Pushkin o apasionadas novelas de Goethe y Schiller forjarían una especial sensibilidad en su talento literario a la hora de escribir.
Pero este joven Fiódor de 1848 nos regala una pequeña nouvelle de cuatro noches y una mañana en la que un narrador sin nombre, un soñador del que podrán decir que es un soñador, pero no el único, se cruza con Nasténka y a partir de allí, su triste y solitaria vida girará hacia un instante supremo de felicidad como él declama al final, más allá de que su amor, independientemente de la carta de Nasténka no le es correspondido.
Su ingenuidad es digna de destacar, pero nos deja un cierto sinsabor puesto que a pocas páginas del final nos imaginamos otro destino para estos dos personajes.
No es la única vez que Dostoievski juega con amores no correspondidos. En otras dos novelas suyas sucede lo mismo entre dos de los personajes principales.
En primer lugar en el magnífico "Humillados y Ofendidos", cuando en las líneas finales el personaje principal, Vania lee los ojos de Nastaha y declama: «Podríamos haber sido tan felices juntos», así también como en otra de sus primeras y desconocidas novelas, "La Patrona" de 1847, donde Dostoievski crea una historia en donde el triángulo Ordinov-Murin-Katerina oscila entre el delirio místico y el ardor amoroso y culmina con ese amor trunco con un tercero en discordia como en estos dos casos anteriores.
"Noches Blancas" es uno de los relatos más hermosos que podemos leer de Dostoievski y para ello debemos hacer lo mismo que el narrador: poner en juego el corazón apostando a que seguramente perdamos la partida.
Esta es sin ningún lugar a dudas, la más elevada y romántica historia del genial novelista ruso y una de las más recordadas de la literatura.
Luego de la exitosa publicación de "Pobres Gentes", su libro debut y del fracaso estrepitoso de su segundo libro "El Doble", ambos de 1846, Dostoievski siguió escribiendo cuentos y novelas. En su etapa inicial, entre 1846 y 1847 fueron apareciendo varios escritos que nos mostraron la temprana narrativa de Dostoievski muy inclinada hacia el amor y la compasión. El tratamiento al intercambio epistolar en "Pobres Gentes seguiría en otros relatos como "El señor Projarchin" y en la sufrida historia de "Nietochka Nezvánova", que apareciera ya en 1849.
"Noches Blancas" es el epitome del romanticismo en estado puro y una de las más claras muestras de amor, soledad y ensoñación y esto reside en que el Dostoievski más joven, exclamaba lo mismo que esa canción que dice "yo vengo a ofrecer mi corazón". Este Dostoievski se encuentra no muy lejos de experimentar las épocas más duras de su vida, como el arresto por integrar parte de un grupo revolucionario que conspiraba contra el Zar y su posterior simulacro de fusilamiento y prisión en Siberia durante cuatro años.
Sus tempranas lágrimas derramadas al leer poemas de Pushkin o apasionadas novelas de Goethe y Schiller forjarían una especial sensibilidad en su talento literario a la hora de escribir.
Pero este joven Fiódor de 1848 nos regala una pequeña nouvelle de cuatro noches y una mañana en la que un narrador sin nombre, un soñador del que podrán decir que es un soñador, pero no el único, se cruza con Nasténka y a partir de allí, su triste y solitaria vida girará hacia un instante supremo de felicidad como él declama al final, más allá de que su amor, independientemente de la carta de Nasténka no le es correspondido.
Su ingenuidad es digna de destacar, pero nos deja un cierto sinsabor puesto que a pocas páginas del final nos imaginamos otro destino para estos dos personajes.
No es la única vez que Dostoievski juega con amores no correspondidos. En otras dos novelas suyas sucede lo mismo entre dos de los personajes principales.
En primer lugar en el magnífico "Humillados y Ofendidos", cuando en las líneas finales el personaje principal, Vania lee los ojos de Nastaha y declama: «Podríamos haber sido tan felices juntos», así también como en otra de sus primeras y desconocidas novelas, "La Patrona" de 1847, donde Dostoievski crea una historia en donde el triángulo Ordinov-Murin-Katerina oscila entre el delirio místico y el ardor amoroso y culmina con ese amor trunco con un tercero en discordia como en estos dos casos anteriores.
"Noches Blancas" es uno de los relatos más hermosos que podemos leer de Dostoievski y para ello debemos hacer lo mismo que el narrador: poner en juego el corazón apostando a que seguramente perdamos la partida.
June 6, 2018
"All of a sudden it seemed to me as though I, the solitary one, had been forsaken by the whole world, and that the whole world would have nothing to do with me."
No doubt that at some point in our lives, each of us can relate to the sentiment expressed by the narrator of Dostoyevsky’s short story, White Nights. A lonely soul, a young man, wanders the streets of St. Petersburg musing over a city left emptied as the crowds flee to the countryside for their holidays. He, of course, has not received an invite to escape with the masses. Despite the fact that he makes it a habit to study the faces and emotions of others, not one person really knows or understands him. He is left behind as always. He is a dreamer and finds solace in his fantasies. I imagine the white nights of midsummer, when the sun continues to shine well into the night in the northern latitudes, make one feel even more acutely the pain of being alone, as his or her solitary figure is illuminated even more glaringly by the seemingly everlasting brilliance.
One night, however, becomes different from all others as the narrator embarks on an adventure of sorts by saving a solitary young woman from pursuit by a drunken gentleman. A friendship strikes up as the two share their stories with one another. The young man is thankful for the newly discovered companionship and proclaims: "Oh, bless you, bless you a thousand times, my dear, for not having turned away from me at first, for making it possible for me to say that for at least two evenings in my life I have really lived!"
The story is quite compelling, and certainly one that is very relatable. Loneliness and unrequited love are indeed universal experiences. What I love about reading Dostoyevsky is how penetrating his observance of human emotion. However, at times I find his writing to be overly sentimental, as is the case here. I don’t like my romance with too much syrup. In fact, I’m more of a light, whipped cream kind of gal, forget the syrup altogether. I think this is a great place to start if one would like to try reading this author, before jumping into one of his rather weighty tomes. It will give you a nice feel for his style, although from what I understand this is one of his earliest works. According to the notes in my copy: “Dostoevsky was to re-write this story in his true manner of creative artist and thinker seventeen years later under the title Notes from the Underground.” I believe I have a copy of that title as well, so I think it would be interesting to make a comparison of the two pieces.
No doubt that at some point in our lives, each of us can relate to the sentiment expressed by the narrator of Dostoyevsky’s short story, White Nights. A lonely soul, a young man, wanders the streets of St. Petersburg musing over a city left emptied as the crowds flee to the countryside for their holidays. He, of course, has not received an invite to escape with the masses. Despite the fact that he makes it a habit to study the faces and emotions of others, not one person really knows or understands him. He is left behind as always. He is a dreamer and finds solace in his fantasies. I imagine the white nights of midsummer, when the sun continues to shine well into the night in the northern latitudes, make one feel even more acutely the pain of being alone, as his or her solitary figure is illuminated even more glaringly by the seemingly everlasting brilliance.
One night, however, becomes different from all others as the narrator embarks on an adventure of sorts by saving a solitary young woman from pursuit by a drunken gentleman. A friendship strikes up as the two share their stories with one another. The young man is thankful for the newly discovered companionship and proclaims: "Oh, bless you, bless you a thousand times, my dear, for not having turned away from me at first, for making it possible for me to say that for at least two evenings in my life I have really lived!"
The story is quite compelling, and certainly one that is very relatable. Loneliness and unrequited love are indeed universal experiences. What I love about reading Dostoyevsky is how penetrating his observance of human emotion. However, at times I find his writing to be overly sentimental, as is the case here. I don’t like my romance with too much syrup. In fact, I’m more of a light, whipped cream kind of gal, forget the syrup altogether. I think this is a great place to start if one would like to try reading this author, before jumping into one of his rather weighty tomes. It will give you a nice feel for his style, although from what I understand this is one of his earliest works. According to the notes in my copy: “Dostoevsky was to re-write this story in his true manner of creative artist and thinker seventeen years later under the title Notes from the Underground.” I believe I have a copy of that title as well, so I think it would be interesting to make a comparison of the two pieces.
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