KARAMAZOV EFFECTS - PART TWO

Half done and I’ve this feeling that I can considerably comment on the plot in itself, having seen pretty much of its development, and hence I’d go through a short sketch on what’s happened until now, and a few ploys and eccentricities I’ve noticed (as far as I could) here and there in this novel that is so hailed to be a classic. The murder could happen any moment, or maybe it has already happened (for crying out loud!) and having read Dostoevsky before, I can quite guess the convict in this case, because as illustrated in his ‘Crime and Punishment’, Dostoevsky bases ethics on conviction, stressing the thought of the crime to be punished rather than the crime in itself, for the guilt afterward is what destroys a person most, and that is what the punishment actually is. Not a life-sentence in Siberia or hard labour, which is essential in compliance to law, a necessity but not the authority in itself. Dostoevsky deems one’s conscience to be the highest law, for it happens to be the only fathomable place where one can argue about the existence of God, the so-called deciding factor on sin, retribution and pardon.

The brothers are well established as they are supposed to be, and they have individually interacted with each other at war or words, not to mention the father, Fyodor Karamazov. One of the women in the plot, Katerina Ivanovna, along with the child Lise are substantially established too, anecdotally and in form of second-person thoughts. Lise could be all that I had hoped for in this story, and as I had established in my previous article (part one) the bond between her and Alexei Karamazov is refreshing, like romance as romance has to be, with love for the sake of the same. Katerina is shown in good light too, not as the delicate damsel in distress, but as a strong woman who can love and knows honour, as presented in the sequences with and without her active participation. But what appeared queer to me at this level is the shortage of anecdotes for the other maiden, the alleged ‘Femme Fatale’ Grushenka, who I saw too less of, a lone scene amidst the excessive third-person references, which led me to think that the author was deliberating it. It’s like we’re supposed to get misled by what everyone has to say about her because that’s exactly where they are: misled. There could be a subsequent statement (yet to come) that Grushenka is not at all her dubiously-alleged self, but just one who could easily be misunderstood, or there could be one to empower the current line of thought with the turn of events to come. I can only say that I will have to read to know of this little eccentricity.

This was a boring part on many levels, by the way. Maybe one has to embrace theology to discard it, like knowing what’s in store to say you don’t want it, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to like the whole biblical allusions, although it was a masterstroke (through Ivan, the second brother) to side with the son of God to oppose the Church and its cardinals, who Dostoevsky presents to be some sort of realists (which came about to be a surprise to me) in their ‘belief’. Freedom being scarier than dependence is a thought I’ve had from long and it sort of felt empowering to see it coming from a place elsewhere. Also comforting was this idea that freedom is what people deserve although to be led is secure; suggests that I’m not entirely wasted at this point of time although I could brand myself to undoubtedly be. There’s also the teachings of the elder Zosima, everything he had to say said in a last shot, which I couldn’t help but think was a little excessive. Conflicting ideas are pretty elaborate, but I guess that’s how a classic rolls, with authors determined to waste their breath to set the wind up. Pretty agreeable too.

Writing takes the mind away from the book. I don’t know when I’d read again, but I’m sure that this time it’d be quicker.