Classics and the Western Canon discussion

Okay, I'm bummed. After such a rich, emotionally powerful and at times devastating novel, why does he finish it with this sappy-sweet Panderean everybody reconcile with everybody let's all sing Kumbaya ending? It would have been a much better novel, at least in my mind, if he had left it at the end of Book 12 let us imagine the future for all the characters for ourselves.

But oh well.

And I am waiting for everybody to take shots at me and tell me why I'm all wet in this opinion. Have at it!

One thing I found particularly interesting is the contrast of Dimitri and Socrates. Both unjustly convicted. Both claim to love their countries (though Dimitri is going to come back under another name and lie to the authorities of this country he claims to love). Both face the decision whether to accept their punishment, even if unjust, because accepting it is a statement of belief in the rule of law even if it errs, or let their friends commit a real crime of bribery and help them escape. And they make very different decisions. Who is right? What is right? Is there a right, or just one person's right and another person's wrong?

Everyman wrote: "It would have been a much better novel, at least in my mind, if he had left it at the end of Book 12 let us imagine the future for all the characters for ourselves.."

I can think of two reasons why he did it this way:
1. If TBK ended with Book 12, "the hero" would not be Alyosha, but Dimitri (really, it's all about him, isn't it?)
2. The epilogue would have provided a segue for Dostoevsky's next novel, if he had lived to write it.

I was disappointed by the "To be continued" ending, too. Especially since there was no sequel!

I agree, the novel ends much too abruptly. I think that the author was just tired of it. For me, the comparison of Dimitri and Socrates is a bit of a stretch. Mostly because of the great difference in their ages will have some bearing on their respective attitudes toward state imposed death, either just or unjust. (And, as an aside, how innocent was Socrates?)

Mark wrote: "..how innocent was Socrates?..."

Innocent of what?

There is a sense that Dimitri was morally responsible for his father's death, like his brother Ivan, though not physically responsible perhaps --"We don't know, You and I were not there", to quote the defense lawyer in a real life murder trial.

Dimitri submitted to the sentence partly because he acknowledged his responsibility, and partly because he believed suffering is necessary for his and others moral regeneration. In other words, the sentence on him is just on both counts.

Borum wrote: "I was disappointed by the "To be continued" ending, too. Especially since there was no sequel!"

Truth be told, TBK is six books too many to me, so I'm fine with no sequel. :)

Nemo wrote: "Mark wrote: "..how innocent was Socrates?..."

Innocent of what?

There is a sense that Dimitri was morally responsible for his father's death, like his brother Ivan, though not physically responsi..."
Innocent of the "charges" he was convicted of.
(I apologize I remembered incorrectly about Dimitri's sentence.)

Nemo wrote: "The epilogue would have provided a segue for Dostoevsky's next novel, if he had lived to write it."

Do we know this is the case? Was it meant as a segue for a sequel or was it a hasty attempt by D to tidy things up a bit by suggesting a few resolutions thinking he may never live long enough or want to complete a sequel?

There are many loose ends. I was hoping to read a little bit more of Father Ferapont.

Star Wars spoiler: (view spoiler)[I was hoping to hear of Father Farapont's death when Fyodor throws him down a reactor shaft to save Alyosha. (hide spoiler)]

However, if we are to treat this as a philosophical work of an existential flavor, maybe there are no answers, resolutions, rights or wrongs but what we, the reader, make of it ourselves. It may make for less satisfying literature and it was probably not what D was going for at all, especially in the light of any planned sequel. However, we are free to choose to look at it that way, or not. :)

David wrote: "Nemo wrote: "The epilogue would have provided a segue for Dostoevsky's next novel, if he had lived to write it."

Do we know this is the case? Was it meant as a segue for a sequel or was it a hasty..."
"...a hasty attempt...to tidy things up..." gets my vote.

David wrote: "Nemo wrote: "The epilogue would have provided a segue for Dostoevsky's next novel, if he had lived to write it."

Do we know this is the case? Was it meant as a segue for a sequel or was it a hasty..."

I think it was Rex who said that Dostoevsky had planned to write a sequel in which Aloysha becomes a revolutionary of some sort. There are hints in the book that point to some future development for Alyosha, so I wouldn't put it past D.

Everyman wrote: "Okay, I'm bummed. After such a rich, emotionally powerful and at times devastating novel, why does he finish it with this sappy-sweet Panderean everybody reconcile with everybody let's all sing Kum..."

Would the novel be more emotionally powerful if it ended with Dimitri's death sentence and execution? Mark's comment got me wondering... What kind of funeral oration would Alyosha make in his honour?

Nemo wrote: "I think it was Rex who said that Dostoevsky had planned to write a sequel in which Aloysha becomes a revolutionary of some sort. "

Yes, that is absolutely correct. But the epilogue has the feel of that horrible "final" episode of a TV show that has been canceled mid season and the writers try to force some kind of resolution into it on short notice. They are disappointing and strangely focus on irrelevant events. Could this be called an anti-climax? Either way, it was an interesting journey.

What more can Dostoevsky say that hasn't been said repeatedly already?

Does anybody think they are sure they know who the narrator is? I admit that I'm still not clear.

No I do not know who the narrator is and I don't want to be disappointed. I had such a romp throughout this book. Well, 'romp' is perhaps not fitting but ...

I have no rationale for this ending so I'm putting it to the back of my mind. Head in the sand as usual! Do we actually know that Mitya made a run for it, so to speak? I know that there was a plan, or was there? Or did I fall asleep at that point? I remember that the planning seemed a little like children detailing how they were going to run away. Dmitri will return with prematurely grey hair and a significantly longer beard. They will live in a different part of Russia when they return from their stint in America etc. Did I miss something?

In spite of some uneasiness I like this book. At times I even loved it!

Everyman wrote: "Okay, I'm bummed. After such a rich, emotionally powerful and at times devastating novel, why does he finish it with this sappy-sweet Panderean everybody reconcile with everybody let's all sing Kum.."

But he does leaves wondering what will come of the characters in my opinion. Especially with Ivan, I wanted so bad to know if he recovered.

Borum wrote: "I was disappointed by the "To be continued" ending, too. Especially since there was no sequel!"

So sad :(

Nemo wrote: "Mark wrote: "..how innocent was Socrates?..."

Innocent of what?

There is a sense that Dimitri was morally responsible for his father's death, like his brother Ivan, though not physically responsi..."

But he is going to escape prison, isn´t he? He wants to be reedemed in prison and thinks he deserves it, but his love for Grushenka is too strong

Yes, the ending was also too abrupte to me, but I don´t recall the ending of a book diminishing the work as a whole to me.
I really liked the book, but I felt something was missing. My expectations were really high because Crime and Punishment is one of my favorite books

Luiz wrote: "he does leaves wondering what will come of the characters in my opinion. Especially with Ivan, I wanted so bad to know if he recovered. ."

I suppose the narrative is "to be continued", not in a novel, but in the lives of the readers, the Dimitris, the Ivans and the Alyooshas among us. We are all "work in progress", as was Dostoevsky, who expressed himself through the novel, the end of which approximates the end of his life.

Everyman wrote: "
One thing I found particularly interesting is the contrast of Dimitri and Socrates.

It is always interesting to me to see what other classic literature people have in mind when they are reading. For myself, the scene with the boys reminded me of Shakespeare's Henry V St Crispen's speech (we band of brothers..). Remember, these boys were stone throwing thugs when Alyosha first encountered them. Most of us would have steered clear of them, but not Alyosha.

Alyosha is the hero of the story, as D says in the beginning. He forges his own brotherhood outside the monastery (as well as a brotherhood outside his own family of half-brothers). I liked the ending. I didn't find it sentimental. I found the discussions of religion and philosophy somewhat tedious throughout the book but the ending showed us a kind of living faith. Alyosha finds and creates some meaning out of the meaningless death of an important character. it think it makes an important point about the brotherhood of men.

Hilary wrote: "No I do not know who the narrator is and I don't want to be disappointed. I had such a romp throughout this book. Well, 'romp' is perhaps not fitting but ...

I have no rationale for this ending s..." I was under the impression that Grushenka was withholding her forgiveness of Katerina for when and if the plan materialized.

In the Epilogue, the novel comes full circle. In the beginning we were introduced to Fyodor Pavlovich Karamazov, a man so vile and base that the reader could not help but cringe each time he developed his character to a new level of depravity and degeneracy. The running theme throughout the book, however, is that whatever wickedness and depravity exists in this Karamazov, we are led to believe that it exists naturally in each of his sons, whether one believes that number is three or four.

Regardless of the number, there is a great deal of talk about this from three of them and we see a familiar baseness of action in Dmitri early on, albeit with a curious admixture of nobility. In Ivan, it is reason and logic that leads to an exclusion of his heart in the matters of the world and although he wrestles with things a great deal, they are, for the most part, only on the intellectual level. In Alyosha, spiritual from the beginning, but essentially cast out of the monastery and back into the world by his dying teacher, he is perhaps the most cognizant of the eternal wrestling match that is taking place. While he suffers some setbacks, they never seem to last very long and he recovers and forges ahead to be the book's spiritual superintendent, without assuming any position of great leadership.

John 12:24 Verily, verily, I say unto you, Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone: but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit.

This epigraph of this novel is significant at this point in the same ways in which it has always been significant: suffering in faith is necessary for redemption. This is, at its depth, a matter of what Dostoevsky has provided for the last 12 books of this magnificent novel. Moreover, D has created a masterpiece of literature in having the writer move all over his chessboard only to see the pieces masterfully come together at the end. Katerina finally gives up on her pride and seeks real forgiveness from Dmitri and Grushenka as well as seeking to take care of the demolished Ivan, Dmitri recognizes that pain and suffering are not ends in themselves but that goodness may grow out of his life yet with Grushenka and Grushenka herself is continuing on her difficult journey to rid herself of her pride and be wed to Dmitri. It is, of course, significant that Alyosha himself seems to have a foothold in not only the moral order of things, but is beginning to develop a greater social consciousness toward a bigger picture. It is supposed that this was where the second volume, still in its planning stages when D died, would take him, but that, of course is conjecture.

The key part of understanding here is the change from the beginning to the end, not just changes, but the growth and the bearing of fruit, so to speak. In Fyodor Pavlovitch, we initially see foulness and corruption and he dies, but does he pass on his rotten fruit as an inheritance?
We know there is a baseness, a Karamazov nature. Can it be denied? No, and this is Dostoevsky's issue with freedom. In turn, it affects his his three sons. However at the end, Dmitri is regenerating from a libertine into a spiritual human being with social consciousness. One cannot doubt that he his life has turned towards the light, not only in a spiritual sense. Ivan, the intellectual, has been demolished and is suffering greatly, his logical world smashed into shards of incomprehension. According to Alyosha, he is near death. However, for the first time, he is in the care of someone, Katerina, who does understand, or is beginning to understand, what love and concern for others really is. The positive note is that perhaps these two need one another more than each even knows. While Katerina has sought out her true forgiveness and seeks her own redemption, perhaps this leads to Ivan's healing and redemption too through authentic love and understanding. Christ's version of love shines through as hope and vindicates all of that which Zossima has passed on to Alyosha.

Nothing is more seductive for man than his freedom of conscience, but nothing is a greater cause of suffering.

We have always known that Alyosha was the main subject of this book and one may fairly say that he does become, in the spirit of the epigraph, the fruit of the Karamazovs. While one may not ever understand why some undergo different kinds of suffering and at different times, the issue is that in the battleground between the devil and God for the very soul of man, man has always been able to exhibit a sense of choice. Alyosha has made it clear that he has made choices in his life that others in this book have not. Hence, just as Rakitin turns on the Karamazovs for personal gain through a series of choices, so does Alyosha recognize that at some point that they are no longer friends. Alyosha has moved from a follower to a leader, but one who harbors no resentment toward his enemies, but only understanding. One senses that he moves to the place where it is important for him to be and that finally brings him to the funeral of Illyusha.

In the issue of the death of Illyusha, I believe that Dostoevsky created this story for a much greater purpose than a seemingly maudlin climax to his otherwise stunning novel. While there is no doubt one could write long essays on the subject of Illusha's name being a transliteration of Elijah, I will leave that to a more imaginative scholar. The greater issue seems to to an amplified version of the epigraph in which Dostoevsky is speaking of the younger generation being infused with hope of honesty, care and sense of direction.
At some past comment, I mentioned how Smerdyakov was referred to as Balaam's ass. I regret that there was no more apt time to pursue that epithet, but it is significant that Dostoevsky intended it to serve as a warning for the new generation of Russians, not only in how a father treats a son or how a man treats any other man, but concerning the treatment of the upper classes of the peasants in Russia. Dostoevsky, who was a great admirer of Dickens, understood the great chasm between the classes and envisioned that peasants, even after the reforms of the 1860's, were being terribly abused by the wealthy and this would inevitably result in class warfare. he expected this revolution to come about, interestingly enough, not from the peasants, but from the upper classes who would have enough good sense to welcome much greater reforms.
In the end, it is Illusha dying that binds the young boys together in spirit. As young and unsettled and still angry as they are at the social order of things, one senses that they are becoming wise beyond their years, growing up very quickly. Kolya, for example, seems to be much older than a mere 14 years. We are left with not a mawkish scene, as I envision it, but instead one for which there is, at long last, a great deal of hope for the future.

There was one scene in the book that was so strange and not explained later that the book somehow feels incomplete - the meeting with Lise and Ivan. I didn't understand why these two were suddenly on such intimate terms. And the imagery that Lise uses - a Jew cutting off the fingers of a four year old and crucifying him. And then watching in fascination. I have a four year old daughter. I've been haunted and disturbed by this passage for weeks.

Another part of the book I didn't understand is why Dostoevsky comes down so hard on the socialists a few different times. My understanding is that Dostoevsky was a socialist at some point and was arrested. I'm off to read Dostoevsky: A Writer in His Time by Joseph Frank in search of answers.

Finally, I never warmed up to Dmitri, which I think led to a different reading experience than others had. (I didn't care much for Zosima either, but that's another post). Dmitri reminded me of the privileged white kids who keep popping up in the U.S. media. The kind that can rape an unconscious woman and walk away with a slap on the wrist. I don't think Dmitri killed his father, but I was glad to see the jury stood firm and convicted him based on what appeared to be damning circumstantial evidence.

Jeremy wrote: "Finally, I never warmed up to Dmitri, which I think led to a different reading experience than others had. (I didn't care much for Zosima either, but that's another post). Dmitri reminded me of the privileged white kids who keep popping up in the U.S. media ..."

He sometimes reminded me of rich kids on instagram https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e8Eey... (sorry if I've posted that here before, I might have). I agree about Zosima. It may just be that we have discussed Zosima here more than I would have thought warranted or it may be that too much was made of him in the novel. I can't quite separate my impression of the character from my impression of the group comments in so far as his importance in the novel goes. No matter, it is always better to read along with the group because of the alternative points of view that are offered.

I particularly appreciated the discussion about the value of money - the discussion of the 200 r and what it was worth. It made me aware of just how unreal money is to both the poor as well as the very rich in any era.

Theresa wrote: "Alyosha is the hero of the story, as D says in the beginning. He forges his own brotherhood outside the monastery (as well as a brotherhood outside his own family of half-brothers). I liked the end..."

He's the hero, yes, but I wonder what kind of life he can find for himself outside the (or a) monastery. He doesn't seem to have the personality for any career, except maybe teaching. What was Zosima's purpose in sending him out of the monastery, and was that purpose fulfilled?

Theresa wrote: "I agree about Zosima. It may just be that we have discussed Zosima here more than I would have thought warranted or it may be that too much was made of him in the novel. ."

I think perhaps that the focus on Zosima was because he was so formative in Alyosha's life and as has been noted, Alyosha was intended to be (and in many ways was) the hero of the novel. But it is in his interactions with Zosima and the teachings of Zosima (whom he hero worshiped, didn't he?) that I think we get an insight into Alyosha that we couldn't get otherwise.

Everyman wrote: "Theresa wrote: "I agree about Zosima. It may just be that we have discussed Zosima here more than I would have thought warranted or it may be that too much was made of him in the novel. ."

I think..."

I think his destiny is to be a teacher and/or role model for boys like the ones in the novel. He will also have to look out for Ivan. I don't think he will need any other career as he has surely inherited enough from his father.

I am not so sure that I, as a non-Russian, will ever be able to fully penetrate what Dostoevsky was saying in this magnificent novel. One really has to know the Russian soul intimately to ultimately "get it."

As for the brothers, this is how I see them in a nutshell:

Dimitry: he is raw passion and impulsive. He acts before he thinks, or speaks his mind before thinking of the ramifications. His ultimate physical imprisonment is really a metaphor for his lack of self-control. He was already a prisoner of his passions.

Ivan: He is probably the most complex of the brothers. His worldview is shaped by western secular philosophies and the ideal of pure reason. He reaches an impasse when he is unable to make sense, not even partially, of human suffering. He believes in God but is unable to accept the solutions religion offers. In the end he has a meltdown from which he has yet to recover at the end of the novel. Just like Dimitry he is a prisoner, not of his passions, but of his mind.

Alyosha: he is faith, heart, and soul. He is the glue who connects everyone. He is the peacemaker. His days are filled crisscrossing the town on behest of others, such as his brothers and the women involved, or running errands. His own personal desires rarely come to the forefront. All like him with few exceptions, because of his unthreatening, unobtrusive manner. And here comes the paradox. Despite having spent his days in service of others, he is the one at the end of the novel having authentic freedom.

Jeremy wrote: "Finally, I never warmed up to Dmitri, which I think led to a different reading experience than others had. (I didn't care much for Zosima either, but that's another post).."

I never warmed up to Dmitri either, or any other character for that matter, because they don't feel like real people to me. The characters seem more like ideas, or representations of ideas, than real people. There are a couple of exceptions: Madame Khokhlakov, who is actually more of a caricature than a character, and Kolya Krasotkin. They're minor characters, but they seem less contrived to me than the major characters.

Borum wrote: "I was disappointed by the "To be continued" ending, too. Especially since there was no sequel!"

But was planned a sequel, this information is on a brazilian edition of White Nights that I finished today. This one Noites Brancas.

I have trouble seeing Alyosha as a hero, at least by the usual definitions of the term. He is not someone I would admire or idealized for his courage and did not have any outstanding achievements. He was not able to save Dmitri in court and it was Ivan who conceived of the plan for Dmitri's escape and Katerina is driving it. While Alyosha was groundlessly certain Dmitri did not kill their father, he was clueless about other possibilities and never suspected or pressed Smerdyakov about it. He was only a sounding board for Ivan for whom in the end we are told the doctors could not give positive hope for recovery . He did finally screw up enough courage to talk to an intimidating woman but he still seems to relate to children better than adults.

In short, he seems more of a witness with good intentions than a hero.

Thomas wrote: "I never warmed up to Dmitri either, or any other character for that matter, because they don't feel like real people to me. The characters seem more like ideas, or representations of ideas, than real people."

Would you go so far an call the novel an allegory?
I get the impression Dostoevsky used the structure of a novel to present us with different, even conflicting, philosophical and religious ideas we all get confronted with.

Kerstin wrote: "I get the impression Dostoevsky used the structure of a novel to present us with different, even conflicting, philosophical and religious ideas we all get confronted with.
..."

That seems to be the consensus throughout this discussion thread. I had a wave of illness move through my family in early October and didn't have time to keep up with all the comments, but it seems the majority of those who posted about the book read it as a philosophical debate in the form of a novel. Almost as if plot, character, setting, etc. were secondary to the philosophy, and for some people almost entirely dispensable, rather than the philosophy being a product of the characters, structure, and plot of the novel. So the question seems to be whether Dostoevsky set out to write about competing philosophies and chose the genre of novel over essay, or whether he set out to create a work of art and included philosophy and religion in it. Or another way of putting it - is the genre (novel) subordinate to the ideas, or are the ideas subordinate to the genre? I'd argue for the latter, which among other things means that the characters, especially the three brothers, may represent various ideas or parts of human nature, but they are fully formed characters in themselves and not only representations of an idea. One brother may emphasize one aspect of his nature over another, i.e, Ivan the rational part, Dmitri the carnal part, and Alyosha the spiritual part, but they all have a mixture of those three elements. Anyway, I recognize I'm in the minority in my views. I have a few collections of essays to work through to see what critical opinion has been over the years. Maybe I'm out of step not only with the group discussion but the wider critical views as well.

Rhonda wrote:

John 12:24 Verily, verily, I say unto you, Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone: but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit.

This epigraph of this novel is significant at this point in the same ways in which it has always been significant: suffering in faith is necessary for redemption."

I am grateful that others have mentioned the epigraph which the editors of my version neglected but does appear twice in in Book VI.

I have a different perspective on this verse/epigraph. Seeds that germinate neither die first nor seem to suffer, but they remain dormant until conditions are more suitable for survival. The analogy is more applicable to Alyosha's dormancy in the monastery until a time Zossima decided he was needed. It could also be seen as an analogy for Zosimma's vision of keeping the true Russian religion alive until the world has hit bottom and come to its senses.

Meanwhile, in their solitude, they keep the image of Christ fair and undefiled, in the purity of God's truth, from the times of the Fathers of old, the Apostles and the martyrs. And when the time comes they will show it to the tottering creeds of the world. That is a great thought. That star will rise out of the East.

Dostoyevsky, Fyodor. The Brothers Karamazov (p. 212). BookMasters. Kindle Edition.

Additionally, and I admit it may be my own bias here, but I don't see the message that suffering in faith, or anything else, is necessary for redemption and fails as an existential justification for suffering, needless or otherwise. Dostoevsky did clearly demonstrated how some actions: unbridled passion, lacerating pride, etc. may cause suffering but in my opinion failed, excepting the case of the murderer in Zossima's tale, how one might be redeemed by this suffering. In matters of conscience, it is more clear that one suffers by their sins rather than for them. Apparently one does not need faith to feel the burden on their conscience as the faithless Smerdyakov demonstrated by killing himself.

Jeremy wrote: "Kerstin wrote: "I get the impression Dostoevsky used the structure of a novel to present us with different, even conflicting, philosophical and religious ideas we all get confronted with.
..."

Th..."

Nabokov said Dostoevsky should have written plays instead of novels. Sometimes this book does feel like a play with much dialogue, few descriptions, and the fact that a good deal of the narrative takes place in a few days.

Do all of you think Ivan´s madness was caused by his failing in accepting God, or the excess of reason? Because to me it was due to his guilty for having influenced Smyerdakov with his ideas, and also for not staying to protect his father.

If Alyosha represents spirituality, Dmitry emotions, or passion, and Ivan reason, is Dostoevsky saying the spiritual side is the more important one and should be the most searched by us?

Kerstin wrote: "Would you go so far an call the novel an allegory? "

Probably not, because it's not particularly didactic, and it isn't terribly clear about some things. I've been thinking about Lise and the weird blood-libel image that Jeremy alluded to earlier, and I can make no sense of it. If this is an allegory, how do we interpret her dream? How about the pineapple compote? I suppose the dream is part and parcel of the derangement that comes from her relationship with Ivan, but the details are not exactly transparent.

Luiz wrote: "If Alyosha represents spirituality, Dmitry emotions, or passion, and Ivan reason, is Dostoevsky saying the spiritual side is the more important one and should be the most searched by us?"

Good question. I think Dostoevsky is saying that only through faith in God can a person's reason and passion, which are often in conflict with another, be harmonized and the person become whole again, i.e., having integrity, not broken and fragmented. Fyodor giving birth to three sons is an allegorical representation of his split personality.

Ivan is driven to insanity because he is at war with himself, his philosophy fighting against his conscience, and he is also alienated from his two brothers.

Kolya is a child version of Ivan, and Ilyusha Dimitri. Aloysha has been able to reconcile them with one another, so there is still hope for the Karamazov brothers.

Luiz wrote: "Do all of you think Ivan´s madness was caused by his failing in accepting God, or the excess of reason? Because to me it was due to his guilty for having influenced Smyerdakov with his ideas, and a..."

I think maybe he inherited the disease from his mother. Alyosha may also be vulnerable to mental illness.

It seems odd that everyone seems to feel that Smerdyakov is Fyodor's illegitimate son yet nobody seems to include him as one of the brothers.

Jeremy wrote: "I had a wave of illness move through my family in early October and didn't have time to keep up with all the comments,"

Welcome back, Jeremy. Hope your family is doing well now. I've missed your thoughtful comments.

"is the genre (novel) subordinate to the ideas, or are the ideas subordinate to the genre?"

It seems to me that genres provide forms and structures for artistic expression, and ideas are the content. They are interdependent, but I'm not sure what you mean by "subordinate".

"the characters, especially the three brothers, may represent various ideas or parts of human nature, but they are fully formed characters in themselves and not only representations of an idea.."

I really have trouble seeing them as "fully formed characters". It's like looking at portraits which are so out of proportion and out of joint that they don't resemble any living beings.

However, fully formed characters can still be allegorical representations of ideas, as well as real life or historical characters. In the Convivio (I highly recommend it to anyone interested in interpretation), Dante demonstrated that a literary text or sacred text can be understood in at least one of four senses: literal, allegorical, moral and anagogical/spiritual. The greatest works are those that have meanings on all four levels.

The problem with TBK is that the literal layer is largely missing, and the readers are left with only the allegorical and the moral, but without the literal, the text has no ground on which to engage the readers, at least this one, and lacks coherence.

I found this a useful closing thread, and enjoyed catching up with everyone's thoughts. Thinking back to Everyman's comment when we started this group read of The Brothers Karamazov being considered "the greatest novel ever written", it seems unlikely that anyone here would agree with that. Or am I wrong?

Here's a quick synthesis of the main criticisms I see listed above:

1. The ending: "Abrupt", "hasty attempt to tidy things up", "kumbaya" (I took this to mean naively optimistic).

2. Length: Like some others, I found the book overly long and repetitive, especially the courtroom scenes.

3. Characters: As Thomas says above, the characters don't feel like real people. In addition, all the female characters are often weak and hysterical. On top of all that, Alyosha is unconvincing as the novel's hero. I agree with Kerstin's point that he seems more to act as the "glue" that holds all the characters together. Personally speaking, I was genuinely moved by Alyosha's willingness to shoulder the responsibility for his brothers during their difficulties at the end of the novel, and not to judge them, but instead just simply to be present for them.

Given the above points, I find it hard to agree with the idea that it was the best novel ever written, and I have my own reservations about Dostoevsky's development in later life into an arch-conservative, religious nationalist (he sets up Holy Russia vs socialistic / atheistic western Europe, confuses atheism with anarchy / "everything is permitted", holds anti-Catholic and other anti ideas, is heavy-handed in his moral teaching, etc), but yet... there's something about the novel's dramatic intensity, its insights into human life and psychology, its willingness to tackle the big ideas and remain open to doubt, that I found really impressive. You can't read the novel without questioning your own beliefs and feeling a little bit battle-scarred but wiser at the end of it all.

On a final note, there was something about the book that still haunts me, and it's the character of Smerdyakov. Like Dostoevsky, Smerdyakov suffered from the "falling sickness" (epilepsy). I read too that Dostoevsky's own son Alyosha inherited epilepsy from his father and died of a seizure at the age of just 3. This tragic event was apparently the driving force behind the novel. However, it's not the fictional Alyosha that inherits the disease, but his ghostly double Smerdyakov – whose status Alyosha never once acknowledges throughout the novel. There's something eerie about it all, and it reminds me of Shakespeare (who also lost his young son, Hamnet) and the supernatural elements in Hamlet.

Jeremy wrote: "There was one scene in the book that was so strange and not explained later that the book somehow feels incomplete - the meeting with Lise and Ivan."

This episode got under my skin too.

I also found Dostoevsky's views on socialism hard to fathom, though they seem part of a wider intent to denounce atheism, progressive politics and the Western Enlightenment and to promote Holy Russia and the autocracy of the Tsar. His own trajectory seems to be radical > prisoner > born-again Christian > religious nationalist, and so he would have been particularly against the socialist idea of trying to create paradise (or social utopia) on earth, and doubly against the idea of Christian socialists.

This passage from Book 5 is particularly relevant:
"In the same way, if he [Alyosha] had decided that God and immortality did not exist, he would at once have become an atheist and a socialist. For socialism is not merely the labour question, it is before all things the atheistic question, the question of the form taken by atheism today, the question of the Tower of Babel built without God, not to mount to heaven from earth but to set up heaven on earth."

All that said, I personally don't see that this huge conflict needs to exist between religion on the one hand and socialism / materialism / science on the other, though I understand how living in such a revolutionary age might have made him become so reactionary. In the novel, Dostoevsky rails a lot against modern medicine (Bernard), science & technology, and I can see how Lyell's discoveries about deep geological time (the earth being 4bn+ years old, not the 7,000 or so that seems to be suggested in the chapter between Ivan and the Devil), or Darwin's theory of evolution, might have been very testing for him, but he shows himself to be very curmudgeonly and short-sighted in his refusal to assimilate these essential truths about the universe and humanity.

Dave wrote: "it's not the fictional Alyosha that inherits the disease, but his ghostly double Smerdyakov – whose presence Alyosha never once acknowledges throughout the novel. "

The two of them had a conversation in Bk 5 Ch 2, where it is revealed what Smerdyakov thought of the three brothers and the people around him: he despised Alyosha.

What could Alyosha have done for him?

Nemo wrote: "What could Alyosha have done for him? "

All manner of things, especially in Smerdyakov's darkest hours, but Alyosha's first step should have been to acknowledge him as a brother and not a "lackey" (his reference to Smerdyakov when telling Kolya later in the book who has killed Fyodor).

Dave wrote: "I found this a useful closing thread, and enjoyed catching up with everyone's thoughts. Thinking back to Everyman's comment when we started this group read of The Brothers Karamazov being considere..."

Thank you for summing that up. It pretty much explains what I've felt.

I also agree with Thomas's view on the characters not feeling like real people. The not fully formed people reminds me of how the people in the book - not just the young ones like Kolya and Lise, but even Ivan and Dmitri are somewhat not fully formed. All of these characters have a missing father figure (Kolya, Lise, Smerdyakov's father is dead and the Fyodor wasn't much of a father) Alyosha has Fyodor but I think Zosima is more like a father to him.
Could the faulty character development be also attributed to the lack of childhood care and guidance? If we consider ourselves as 'not fully formed' children and God as a father figure in our lives, it may be that Dostoevsky is pointing out how we lack our full potential without God's guidance.

Nemo wrote: "David wrote: "Nemo wrote: "The epilogue would have provided a segue for Dostoevsky's next novel, if he had lived to write it."

Do we know this is the case? Was it meant as a segue for a sequel or ..."

I don't know what D may have had in mind for a sequel, but I do feel that not all of Dmitri's demons have been addressed. There is the money demon. I believe that if he were to escape, and then to return, he would have some issues with Alyosha about his portion of the inheritance. He might just demonize Alyosha for not handing it over on demand, thereby thrusting Alyosha into the role of Fyodor in Dmitri's mind.