The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

If God does not exist, then everything is permitted—this seemed to be the central point of argument Fyodor Dostoyevsky brought up in The Brothers Karamazov. Originally intended to be a trilogy, he wrote this amazing book to follow the life of a notorious family, the Karamazovs; from the father: Fyodor Pavlovich, to the three (legitimate) sons: Dmitri, Ivan, Alyosha, and (most probably) illegitimate son: Smerdyakov. They are entangled into an intricate love-suspicion-jealousy-hatred relationship throughout the story, which lead to destruction both to (most of) themselves and to people around them.

So, how did Dostoyevsky put the above argument into this nicely-woven story? From the beginning the doubt and rejection of God and immortality scattered throughout the chapters. But the most serious one is in these two famous chapters: “Rebellion” and “The Grand Inquisitor”. In “Rebellion” Ivan poured out his disappointment of God for letting injustice and suffering happened to innocent people, apparently, for nothing. While “The Grand Inquisitor” is a poem Ivan wrote to question about free will God had imposed upon man. He believed that free will is impossible burden for mankind, because we will always have to answer to our consciences; that we will never be happy whichever path of life we choose, good or evil. If that was the case, then why wasting your energy by doing good? Is that true? Dostoyevsky let us readers judge the case by following the faith of the Karamazov brothers.

Of the three (plus one—the illegitimate) sons, Alyosha was the only one who chose “good” from the beginning. However, he too had doubt—albeit small—when his beloved Father Zosima’s corpse decomposed shortly after his death, while everyone was almost sure a miracle would happen to the saintly monk. But Alyosha soon got through his doubt. Dmitri, on the other hand, started as a scoundrel and sensualist; have plunge to the lowest, but finally managed to crawl up to the light. In the crucial moment, “something inside” ripped him from the fatal act—that is conscience.

But the most interesting case is Ivan. His “conversation” with the Devils shows how strenuous the battle of his conscience was; how bad his soul has been contaminated by evil power. Ivan was not atheist; he just did not accept God’s “interference” in human life; hence his belief of if God does not exist, then everything is permitted. That way, so he believed, man could do whatever he likes without weighing his conscience, and that would make him happy. This ideology eventually provoked a murder, and Ivan did suffer from his conscience. I’m glad though that in the end his good conscience won the battle at the end.

Moral value of this book is, that man must try first to understand God’s plan for humankind; and this must not be done with mind only, but much more with reflective soul. To logical mind, conscience did make one suffer; either when he tries to be good or, even more, when he does evil. And to be good is arduous, especially when one is born from a bad family like Karamazovs. What then? Dostoyevsky answered this by writing quite lengthy passages of Father Zosima’s speeches in the early chapters—which, I confess, seemed not to be related to the story when I read it, but made sense in the end. These passages contain some aspects that were missing from Ivan’s ideology: humility, and “all responsible for one another”—the later applied not only in evil, but also in love or good deeds. Young Zosima’s turning point moment was marked by his humility to his servant whom he has beaten the night before his planned duel. The same worked for Alyosha. Remember how Alyosha, when he was disappointed at Father Zosima’s humiliation, went to Grushenka’s, and what has made him turning toward “light” again then? Is it not after Grushenka pitied him; that Alyosha was astonished that she had pity on him—he who was nobody? Is it not a remark of humility too? Lastly, the remark of all responsible for one another appeared in Ilusha and the children story. Ilusha’s sorrow was caused by Dmitri is an example of how one evil deed to one person might cause suffer to a lot of people. The same also applies to love and good deeds.

So, Ivan’s ideology might partly be right; that free will could cause suffering. But on the other hand, it is also true that from freewill too love, charity, affection, and in the end happiness, was born.

5/5 stars for this great book; I would like to reread it someday!

Mini Reviews - Animal Farm & The Age of Innocence

As usual when the last three months in the year is coming, hectic is all around me. I still can catch up with my reading pace, but not with reviews. So, here are my mini reviews of two books I have finished—the eighth and ninth of my second The Classics Club challenge (three more to go for this year!).

Animal Farm by George Orwell

This is my first Orwell; 1984 will be following soon. It is an allegory of Stalinism—a concept I have had, until now, only a vague notion of. Orwell wrote it to satirize Joseph Stalin, with whom the UK was in allegiance with when the book was published (1943-1944). Orwell did his job well, anyone who read it would clearly see the message, and the fable is convincing and entertaining. I have only one question: What has become of Snowball? While the end of the fable was quite predictable, Snowball’s condition was one thing I looked forward to when approaching the end. But that was not the main focus of this book, of course. All in all, four of five stars I granted for Animal Farm. It is not striking, but quite inspiring and entertaining, and definitely well written.

The Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton

I have no idea what criteria make a book earning Pulitzer Prize; but to me Wharton’s The House of Mirth is much finer than The Age of Innocence. The story is about old vs modern world of New York society. My favorite character is Countess Ellen Olenska. She is genuine, kind, and brave. She sets the example of being modern woman without compromising her conscience and integrity. Maybe she was to be the “victim” here, just as Lily Barth in The House of Mirth, but my sympathy, instead, is more for Newland Archer. I think he was the real victim; he was dragged by the old and the modern New York. Unlike Ellen, it seems that Newland doesn’t have a firm ground to stand on. And the ending is so devastating. I can’t imagine having a life like Newland’s: dry and hollow… for the rest of his life. All in all, it is not as I have expected, but still a treasure. Four of five stars.

Death Comes for the Archbishop by Willa Cather

It’s official! Willa Cather will join the short list of Fanda’s favorite female writers. Other than Agatha Christie, J.K. Rowling, and Edith Wharton, most of my favorite writers have been males.

Ruth has told me that it is a slow-moving read, very quiet, a-lazy-day reading. And since my previous reading is Siddharta, which was so deep and meditative, I was so grateful to get next into this book (and will definitely read more of Willa Cather!).

Actually Death is based on life and career of two historical French Catholic priests who served as missionaries on the New Mexico around 19^th century. Cather then wove them into this beautiful and quiet narrative; following neither plot, nor chronology. From scattered stories or events, Cather took us to learn not only the missionaries’ struggles against rooted faith of the Mexicans and Indians, but also the unfriendly landscape, the corrupt priests, and the injustice suffered by the innocent people.

With her slow pace, Cather was able to show vividly the raw but beautiful wild nature among the desserts and prairies. It is interesting and at the same time entertaining. And she was also brilliant in building the characters and highlighting the two priests’ sweet and mutual friendship. Their friendship, especially, is so sweet—how they were so different, but could understand each other, and always ready to support the other when needed. And through Cather’s deep scrutiny of these two personalities, we can see what make a good missionary.

Bishop (later archbishop) Latour is really fit for the post; he’s intelligent, healthy, mature, organized, with high discipline and self-respect. However he always feels lonely and unfulfilled, though he has achieved his ambition to build a cathedral, in the end his mission felt like a duty satisfyingly accomplished, and that’s all. The very opposite of his archbishop, Father Joseph “Blanchet” Vaillant is a warm, humble, and easy going person with weak health. He might not have had brilliant achievement, but he does his works with humble joy, even when he must sacrifice his own comfort. I think Father Joseph is the true missionary—he is chosen by God to do His Wish. And with his simplicity, he earned many souls. But in the end, both are really chosen by God—side by side, each with all in his power—to plough His Field in New Mexico.

What a refreshing, calm reading this has been!

The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins

This is the first time I read detective novel with Victorian background. Here I can hear you yelling: ‘What about Holmes?’ Well, Holmes is Holmes. I mean, he is a real detective, and his stories were focused mostly on the crime-solving. While The Woman in White depicted ordinary persons who were forced to perform detective tasks to solve their own problem.

In this post, I will not trying to summarize the story, but only jotting down my random thoughts while reading this awesome book.

What I realized immediately after finishing this story is the difference between Dickens’ and Collins’ style. I naturally compared them because they were close friends—Dickens published Collins’ short stories in the periodicals he founded: Household Words—and I assumed Collins style would be closely similar to Dickens. I was not completely wrong, they had a similarity, but I think I like Collins better.

Collins’ characters—at least in The Woman in White; I have not read his other books—are as strong as Dickens’ but more plausible. I felt like knowing Walter Hartright or Marian Halcombe as real persons in real life, not just characters in some tales. Hartright is a drawing master; if he was in Dickens’ novel, he would probably be portrayed as romantic and melancholic person. But Collins made him an intelligent young man with strong will and courage. Laura Fairlie, though not as strong and brave as Marian, still found, now and then, courage to resist under her tyrannical husband.

Dickens’ characters are also mostly typical. Most of his villains, especially, can be detected almost at once. But with Collins, I found that several of the characters are in grey area. Count Fosco is one example. Everybody tends to like him. Interestingly, it was Laura who first detected something artificial in him. And how he adored Marian, and acted gentlemanly towards his “enemies”. Beyond his lack of moral conscience, nobody would disagree that he is a kind gentleman. Another ambiguous character is Hartright’s Italian friend: Professor Pesca. Who would ever suspect that behind this funny and simple man with extra warm heart, laid a dark secret of being member of a secret organization (by the way, what organization can it be, indeed?)? And how very often do we, too, wrongly judge our friends or close relatives?

To summarize, I did really enjoy The Woman in White. I loved the uniqueness and originality of the characters; loved the neat and smooth plot; loved how Collins built it slowly—neither too surprising nor too predictable. And I also loved the mature love story; and enjoyed the little—just a little—twist of the plot. It is a detective story, but the highest aim is not to punish the villains, or to reveal the truth, or to excite our adventurer side; it is just what one must do for the loved ones—it is the act of love, honor, and humanity. Oh, I just love it!

The Iliad by Homer (second reading)

Thanks to Robert Fagles, I could at last really enjoy Homer’s The Iliad! (this is a very-very late post—I finished the book on May, but due to our moving-preparations lately, I haven’t been able to write a proper review for more than two months. My memory of the book has quite faded, but I’d try to recall things which I found interesting).

Years before, I have read the abridged translation of The Iliad. I knew this is a great epic poem that you should read at least once before you die. But unfortunately, this Indonesian edition that I read re-wrote the epic to a prose. Maybe it’s because my fellow citizen rarely read poems, so the publisher decided to sell it as a mere story book to make it more saleable (*sighing hard). Nevertheless, I quite enjoyed it at that time, but still didn’t get the epic. I knew that I must read the epic one day. But, honestly, I slightly dread of reading an epic poem—hence my delaying of getting to it sooner. Then I stumbled upon this Robert Fagles’ translation, and finally….read this epic poem! ^_^

Now I can say that I love The Iliad! Since it is about war, some passages can be much similar. And the names… they were so much, at the end I couldn’t follow anymore, who was on which side (apart from the big heroes). Take that aside, it was a heroic story written beautifully as a poem. Often I couldn’t help reciting it when I was alone.

Do you tend to take side when reading war stories? I do. From the beginning, I took side with the Trojan. I have no respect for most of Achaean top chiefs—especially Agamemnon, Achilles, and Menelaus. They were selfish and arrogant; and thinking how disputes about women could cause (or alter the course of) a war—! Menelaus is probably the worse—he’s such a cry-baby! When a man lost his wife because another man stole her, he should challenge him to duel, and end it between them. But no, Menelaus ran to his brother, and never stopped him when he decided to start the war. No, I could never take side with the Greeks! And Achilles… what a spoiled little brat he is!

My favorite passage is when Hercules stopped at his house for the last time, meeting his wife and playing with his son. I know he is a temperate man (maybe his only flaw), but I think I loved him more than the others because of this scene. He deserved to be a hero. While his dear little brother….. meh! -_-

That was all that I still remember from The Iliad—definitely a worthy reading, a great epic. I still have to reread The Odyssey—which I have first read also from abridged turn-to-prose Indonesian translation—but with slightly less excitement that I have felt for The Iliad. Hopefully I am wrong!

Kafka’s The Metamorphosis (and other writings)

First of all, Penguin Classics should put a subtitle “and other writings” after Metamorphosis for this edition. I have a habit of ignoring list of contents or notes, because chapters/part titles often reveal the story plot. For me, curiosity is part of reading excitement, thus I don’t like anyone to reveal anything before I read it myself. When I need a reference or anything to help me understanding a passage, I will consult the introduction or list of contents myself.

So, without any subtitle, I assumed that when I opened the first page of the story, it had to be The Metamorphosis. “The Contemplation”—printed largely on first page—I assumed to be a part title (silly me! -_-). And so I read on, chapter after chapter, yet I could not find any thread. Every chapter seemed to be independent story, though it also felt incomplete. Until I finally reached the part of The Metamorphosis. Only then I knew there’s something wrong. I consulted the “note on the text” in the front pages, and found that “The stories in this collection were written…..” Oh OK! It’s a story/journal collection then, not a single novella!

The first collection was Contemplation, written in first person POV. All of them have one same tone: wary, dejected, and lonely. The Metamorphosis itself had the same tone. The protagonist (Gregor) feels alienated and burdened by his job. But what disturbed me most is the reaction of his father, mother, and most of all, his sister, against his metamorphosis. The disgust is one thing, but how can they not feel any affection about their son/brother, that they want to get rid of him? It was Gregor who has provided for them before the metamorphosis, how easy it is for them to ignore his sacrifices!

In the next stories/journals, lack of recognition theme came again. In fact, I have jotted down aspects or themes that are interesting and quite often appeared throughout the book, here they are:

Engineer

Businessman

Lack of recognition from authority

“Life is astonishingly brief”

Huge gap between superior and inferior

Lack of gratitude > slaving

Mechanical structure

Wary

Dejected

Lonely

Suicidal behavior

No way out

Metamorphosed to animal

Caged > helplessness

So I think, to better understanding Kafka, or the meaning of his writings, is to find the connecting thread. Unfortunately I am quite hectic at present to much analysis, but I think it’s safe to conclude that Kafka wrote this book out of disappointment of his own life and maybe, of the social condition. To what and why? I have still much to analyze… or do you know? Have you read the book? What is your conclusion?

Back to the Classics 2017

After much (and rather long) consideration, I have decided to participate again in Karen’s Back to the Classics 2017. I have failed my 2015 challenge and skipped the 2016, due to my personal activities. This year I think I would have more time to reading and blogging, and I feel my love of classics need to be nurtured and satisfied once again. 

Hence, here are the nine (of twelve) categories and the books I picked for the challenge (wish me luck!)...

A 19th century classic
The Conquest of Plassans by Émile Zola

A 20th century classic 

The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton (re-read)

A classic by a woman author.
Death Comes for the Archbishop by Willa Cather

A classic in translation.  
Max Havelaar by Multatuli

A classic published before 1800.
The Iliad by Homer

A Gothic or horror classic. 

The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins

A classic about an animal or which includes the name of an animal in the title.  

The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka

 An award-winning classic. 

The Age of the Innocence by Edith Wharton

A Russian classic. 

The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

The Conquest of Plassans

Finally...another masterpiece from Zola! One of those that blow your minds.

The Conquest of Plassans follows the faiths of Marthe Rougon (daughter of Pierre and Felicité Rougon in The Fortune of the Rougons) and François Mouret (son of Ursule Macquart and a drunkard called Mouret—also depicted in The Fortune). They live peacefully with their children in a little town of Plassans, almost a perfect happy family. But one day Mouret has an idea to rent their second floor to a priest. Without their knowing, when Abbé Faujas arrived with his mother, the faiths of the Mourets have been sealed.

Little by little Faujas and his family—later on his sister and brother in law also live there—conquer Mourets household, just as Plassans being conquered by the Abbé. It all comes gradually, subtly, but cunningly, that no one realizes it until it is too late.

In this book Zola played a lot in psychological field, that is the process of madness. The seeds are already there by heredity, but it needs one trigger for it to start the process. I wonder, if someone with hereditary madness is living always a steady and peaceful life—thus never meets the trigger—could he or she be spared from the madness?

This book is very entertaining. What I like most is the way Zola patiently building the momentum. He let us know where it is going, yet we don’t know how or where it will end. And when the momentum came, it’s just…WOW! I savored the chapter of the madman very slowly, reading every sentence twice, and at the end it felt like I have had the best dinner in my life.

It was not the last chapter though… After so satisfying a chapter, I thought the last one would be slightly anti-climax (pardon me, M. Zola, for not trusting you completely!). But… lo and behold, the last sentence was absolutely unexpected. That was just brilliant! In the end I am so glad I can open this year with so nice reading experience. Again…. merci beaucoup Monsieur Zola!