Russian literature is well known for thick novels, impossible to pronounce names, and an obsession with morality over entertainment, and Crime and Punishment is no exception.
I read the 500 page novel this Christmas break on a recommendation from a friend, and it quickly made its way onto my list of favorite books.
It follows Raskolnikov, a young, poor former student who dropped out of university, as he commits murder and is overcome with guilt over his actions. His relationships with his family, friends, and his beloved suffer he ultimately must deal with the repercussions of his actions. He confesses, goes to prison, and ultimately finds a meaning in his life free of guilt.
Raskolnikov’s guiding theory throughout the novel is that there is a certain race of exceptional people, such as Napoleon, who can commit evils for the sake of doing great things. It was the first major psychological novel, as Dostoevsky published it as a warning against radical beliefs.
Like most literature, Crime and Punishment is a product of its times. Dostoevsky lived during the times when radical ideas such as Marxism were gaining traction, a time of great change in Russia. The nineteenth century in Russia saw the emancipation of the serfs, the building of railroads, the Westernization of Russian culture, and, most famously, the end of Tsar rule and the beginnings of communism.
Crime and Punishment was written in the midst of these sweeping changes, after the emancipation of the serfs in 1861 but before the revolution began to occur. With this background, Crime and Punishment becomes a brilliant illustration of the forces fighting for dominance in Dostoevsky’s Russia.
The history of a piece of literature is usually important for understanding it, but I won’t bore you with any more of it. More than anything, I enjoyed Crime and Punishment because it digs so deeply into the psychology of committing evil.
Why people commit evil has long been a question explored in philosophy, but Dostoevsky proposes an answer that’s original. Living in the head of someone who genuinely believes himself so exceptional that he can commit murder without feeling guilt is fascinating, and the idea is so complex that it carries through 500 pages without ever feeling like it drags on.
And last, the other reason I love classic literature. The memes!
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