Among the contradictions, self-demeaning wit, and tearing apart human
integrity; Dostoevsky's caitiff hits basement lows - thus from the inferno of
reality, rises a phoenix of intellectual superiority. Dostoevsky has thrown the
gauntlet down for contemporary ideologists... to go forth and multiply, but do
we listen, do we care, do we understand? The novella; 'Notes from Underground'
portrays the unscrupulous reality.
My
prose is far too wayward to even cause a minor storm in a teacup; let alone
cause a durable fizz for over one hundred and fifty years. My insipid mustard
doesn't have the intention, seismic impact, nor the will to provoke
insurmountable influence, but I am surrounded by those who have been a
contributing factor to how we've become without really knowing how we got where
we are today... perhaps it is a good time to state: the deep thinkers who
surround me, are in print. The difference with Fyodor Dostoevsky was that he
achieved the unthinkable, he immersed himself with earth-shattering self doubt,
a flawed disposition. Earth-shattering? Yeah, now this is not an attempt of
'planetary demolition' hyperbole, alas, in the novella; 'Notes from Underground,'
he gravitates to an 'embarrassing vulnerability,' this is unheard of by an
author in the mid nineteenth century in Russia... naturally, the nuance led to
his greatest work of all: 'Crime and Punishment.' Although, I think Dostoevsky
probably had this meticulously planned, I've no proof, just a curious
comprehension in writing trends. Having read the novella: 'The Meek One' -
which I regard as a long suicide note from the victim's so-called spouse who
via creating inner turmoil...
'initiated' the tragic deed (passive aggression). I quickly ascertained
Dostoevsky was more of a grandeur psychologist of the human mind, incomparable
to any prose in 1864, post Pushkin.
The
novella is known as: 'Notes' and 'Underground,' I admit, I was drawn to
Dostoevsky's ability to convey supreme, invaluable advice (notes) comparable to
Rainer Rilke's letters. Y'see, I have a propensity for literature's giants;
notably, their notes and letters. The term 'underground' also has implications
of a rebellious nature, something patently unfavourable - obviously, I'm coming
at it from a modern perspective. By which, I'm sure Dostoevsky would greet
openly for he had the prowess of mind to respect prose on his works from the
future - a plethora of scholars believes his mindful knowledge is so universal,
he parades the immortal literature pathway like Orwell does, thus, I shift
uneasily at the realisation Dostoevsky isn't as renown as Orwellian thought...
still. I guess his gelidity of reality may not appeal en mass to the next generation
of indoctrinated capitalism. 'Notes' has evoked quite an emotive reaction...
Mikhaylovsky spoke of 'Notes' being a 'menagerie of beasts of prey,' and
denoted the author was the merciless trainer. Peculiar vision really, for
Russia aren't known to be first in the queue for animal rights; beasts equate
to barbarianism, disturbing analogies affiliated to humanity, who on the
surface have done far worse ills than a beastly predator. Ultimately an example
of writings uniformed restrictions in St Petersburg at the time - without
doubt, 'Notes' got the deserved recognition in the West. As always, we reside in hostile and
indifferent times even in the calmest of realms; Dostoevsky's 'Notes,' portrays
an uncanny resemblance to humanism's individualistic fluctuations. There's no
escaping of ourselves, regardless of how you project your social changes, human
nature has habitually knocked down institutions after having built them up,
altogether, this is a well-tred schadenfreude scenario, proving that the planning
and build is politically more sale-able (of value) than the actual result.
Finance being the operative word for disabling functions and capabilities;
Dostoevsky surprisingly doesn't pay the 'f' word lip-service, on grounds that
war and conflict, incessant as they are... are totally unaffordable. 'Notes'
relays the uncomfortable truth, of human inconsistencies, moral derailments and
our idée fixe for equanimity.
For
those waiting for a cosy analogy, you're going to be disconsolate - indeed, too
often the narrative complicates the value of thought, so rightly, Dostoevsky
never really engages in a diegesis; notably, the protagonist's circumstance is
more than enough meat on the bone for the intellectual might of this author. In
this instance, being in a hovel, being 'underground' is left to the author's
'mindful' devices is freedom personified. I do know, (being a less than
conventional animal, I don't just read books I follow up on authorship mindset
and inspirations); Dostoevsky was up against it time-wise in writing 'Notes;'
I'm not qualified to say for sure where this is apparent, but if I was forced
to alert my readership, I pay witness to an overflowing humanistic offering
when Dostoevsky claims rather forcefully... 'love is a torment;' his elaborations
aren't economical, not the same when he delivers prose on 'reason' or
'justification.' Other readers may blurt out books become interesting when
emotive relays the obvious back to the reader - y-es, familiarity is a cosy
blanket for book-worms - then again, if you find yourself reading the Russian
master I suspect you're like me, an unconventional animal who prefers to drown
in an ocean of prose than an ocean of narratives within narratives. At least, I
haven't got to purposefully go back and forth wondering if Mr Darcy's letter to
Elizabeth is suitably alluring enough to warrant heart-wrenching torment -
albeit, that's my literature pride and prejudice. The mistake is to simplify
'Notes' to a singular phrase or word; the novella exposes more than a mode of
moroseness; why I don't commend cultural commentator Gorky's view that 'Notes'
is a dark force of negativity, a blot on the human landscape - expressing
helplessness. Naturally, all modes of human perspectives warrants a note - it's
odious to deduce you have the luxury to cherry-pick feelings, we all don't feel
the same.
On
the other side of the coin, I dare say, Dostoevsky probably stared in a dark
room looking for reasons to why 'Notes' is deemed a spiritual guide for
something unseen and notably, non-compliant in human nature. Dostoevsky is a
rationalist; however, Rozanov seeked to denote the great man was of prophet
status... I expect this delusional prose from those possessed with pious
traits. In one swipe they claim that it is a divine gift that the supreme mind
has and conveys ludicrous ideals such as 'Notes' is a symbol of human kind's
imperfections a quest for abolishing suffering. To deflate Rozanov's balloon, I
can concur, the author actually embraces the joy of being in pain - 'there's pleasure
in agony' to surmise succinctly it breaks the spell of inertia. Emphatic
groaning catapults pleasure to the stratosphere. On the flip-side, there's
nothing better than displaying absolute angst so there may be a credible
connection with first century sacrifices in the name of supernaturalism and
writing about it for a dime in the 'Epoch' publication. All forms of
prostitution are never far away; choices eliminates certain aspects of the
correlation, but it tends to exist, i.e. raping / exhuming the feelings of an
author in a magazine is no different than one who gifts another their body. You
may laugh, and disagree, thus, consider this: 'Notes' is an insight of a
disturbed mind, in need of a thoughtful audience, one who is open minded. I
found Dostoevsky's diligently remembering a dalliance of sixteen years earlier,
complexly doleful, (speaking of his love for his late wife is blatantly too
raw); easier to recall solace from a lady of the night, namely Lisa - whom is
via definition is never able to be as he wishes. His anger surfaces towards her
client. "Sometimes my hatred reaches fever pitches that his walk alone
would almost send me into convulsions." Feelings mean something: "I'm
developing her... I'm educating her." When the love is passionately played
out, thereafter, there's a need to pretend it didn't. Dostoevsky in little
waves has unrivaled subtlety. I marvel at his disgust at himself, for falling
for Liza who's a carefree soul, a realist, who dispels his little ideas.
"Although, I may dirty myself, I'm no one's slave."
'Notes,'
worth a poke
The
glib of Dostoevsky is apparent in his second-guessing of what his readership is
thinking. A whimsical bracket response is a token gesture of his ingenuity.
I've added a couple in this review to digest. I'm not replicating the great man
of the common factor I rarely know nor can possibly be so assumptive of
another's prose - granted, some authors have the gift, however, most don't.
What I can clarify is that the novella is likely to unravel insecurities, if
you're decidedly uneasy in your skin. You can be totally irrational about
'Notes' and scorn at the lack of narrative, and for being a nugatory nomad who
tries to lecture on the laws of humanity, for his own advantage per se; or you
could lay down your spite and resentment and bathe in the masterful prose, much
like his friend and compatriot, Grigorev (1822-1864) did, a few months before
his own death. "Notes from Underground offers an extremely perceptive and
profound view of man." He also
referred to his sublime and beautiful style... has the ability to be sui
generis toxic and transgressive, many concluded the 'underground man' was
external to the point of fantasy. The thing is, in 'Notes' Dostoevsky did
indulge in an orgy of dreaming... three months at a time huddled in a corner
and in all of them among the chicken-hearted confusion he becomes a hero.
Comments
Post a Comment