Ummagumma

[ Read Part One. ] Ivan initially found Smerdyakov “very original" in his thinking and enjoyed discussion with him. He became accustomed to talking with the servant, discussed philosophical questions with him, including the light-on-the-first-day problem. But Ivan soon came to realize that Smerdyakov was not really seeking answers. "In any event a boundless vanity began to appear and betray itself, an injured vanity besides. Ivan Fyodorovich did not like that at all. Here his loathing began." (PV, page 426) Boundless, injured vanity. These are Ivan's words, delivered as a diagnosis after the fact. They are probably the most penetrating observation about Smerdyakov's psychology in the entire novel — and Ivan is, in this instance, trustworthy. He is reading someone else. It costs him nothing to see it clearly. Boundless means the vanity has no ceiling commensurate with his position. It is a claim on a scale completely incommensurate with everything the world has ...

[ Rooms in the novel. ] [ Humor in the novel. ] The narrator's apology comes early. Dostoevsky introduces Smerdyakov's birth, traces the rough facts of his origins, and then writes this: "I ought to say a little more about him in particular, but I am ashamed to distract my reader's attention for such a long time to such ordinary lackeys, and therefore I shall go back to my narrative, hoping that with regard to Smerdyakov things will somehow work themselves out in the further course of the story." (Pevear and Volokhonsky, page 168) This is not modesty. Dostoevsky is not actually ashamed. He is announcing his technique while performing it. The narrator steps in, performs exactly the dismissiveness that every character in the novel displays toward Smerdyakov, and then walks away. The reader, cued by the narrator's own embarrassment about the digression, follows. Attention moves elsewhere. Smerdyakov is left standing in the servants' cottage, waiting. What...

[ Read prior posts on this novel. ] As I have said, my first three times through The Brothers Karamazov were in the MacAndrew translation (1970). A perfectly splendid work overall, though looking back I can see it cost me something in certain chapters. My first two readings were before I went to India forty years ago. This was serious literature and I read it that way. I saw no humor in it at all. There were spiritual nuggets to be found. MacAndrew does not bring the humor to life like the newer translations. Then in 2022 I got around to reading MacAndrew again. And I noticed a couple of humorous moments. These exploded in 2026 when I discovered Dostoevsky to be flat-out funny. That is in part due to newer translations. I stumbled across the Katz 2024 translation after reading PV and McDuff simultaneously. PV was funny-ish, McDuff was noticeably funnier but the humor becomes crystal clear in Katz. Large sections of the novel loosen, not the whole thing, but clearly there is some relie...

[ See previous essays on this novel. ] I mentioned in 2022 that I wanted to write an essay on this topic the next time I read Dostoevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov . I finished it the end of January and am allowing it to sit in my mind. I have several ideas in mind for reviewing the great novel but this was the most obvious and easiest one to write. This time I actually read two English translations simultaneously. I now own a nice paperback edition of the novel in the Pevear and Volokhonsky translation from 1990. To augment it I bought the Kindle edition of the 1993 translation by David McDuff. I found PV to be superior to McDuff in terms of general reading experience though McDuff was often better at articulating dialog. I also thumbed through my old Andrew MacAndrew (1970) translation, which still serves me just fine. Before that, I have Constance Garnett’s 1912 translation, which is still noteworthy if a bit flat compared with these others. I picked up the novel again the week after...