Book Review | Poor Folk by Dostoevsky

Updated: Jul 28, 2020

Birth: November 11, 1821, Moscow, Russia

Death: February 9, 1881, St. Petersburg, Russia

Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky was born on November 11, 1821 in Moscow. Dostoevsky published his first book Poor Folk in 1846. Dostoevsky was arrested in 1849, for alleged involvement in a conspiracy against the state. The novels he wrote after exile glorified Russian literature:

I would like to share with you today; The Poor Folk by Dostoevsky.

Poor human beings!

This book reminded me of the times I lived in Slavic territory. Because Eastern European countries are cold with both their people and their city settlements, they are more oriented towards the brain and mathematics, not the heart. So what I'm trying to say is; Even if the weather is not cold, the aura is cold, even if people are not cold, the atmosphere of cities is not sincere. Reminds us Europe but in a different way.

Undoubtedly, the fact that the architecture and cities were like this inevitably caused the color of Dostoevsky's Poor Folk novel to be in shades of gray. It is for this reason that the subjects that dominate the book are pity, compassion, a love affair and intense emotional accusations.

Although people may find the money difficult even to gift a book, they still buy gifts and keep their hearts pleasant; When Varvara said that he was looking at Makar as a kindhearted person, shee reminded me of the following quote:

"If the people have no bread, let them eat cake."

In fact, we can understand the explanation of the promise that Marie Antoinette said, by looking at the sociological and demographic characteristics of the cities in the Middle Ages. The fact that those who ruled the society in the medieval period cities did not go down to the problems of the individual who played a role in the society, and each individual had his own troubles caused the cities, the architecture and the books to be depressing. Literature is of course affected when all the reasons such as the design of the streets, even the size of horse carriages, and the goals of only the upper class people are combined. Therefore, just as individuals who govern society do not think about individuals, individuals have never thought of talking about politics, government and administrators. Only subjects about their own lives and events in their environment are covered.

Poor Folk is a book in which the loser and poor people of the time are in an individual mobilization. As such, the importance of the culture of correspondence becomes evident and sincere expressions and letters are not cut back. Until the Industrial Revolution ended all the previous formations. Where we need to hug love, that moment when we run for money...

The book ends with a bittersweet ending, you want to split the last page in half for the continuation of it, to find if there is any writing left in it... If Varenka says: "Kiss me!" to Makar, Makar can't kiss her... If she says "Hug me!", he can't touch her... But if she says "Love me!", then he will love her...

Poor Folk book proved who Dostoevsky will be in the future. It is both an exciting book and a book that has successfully managed individual emotional movements.

“I don’t even know what I’m writing, I have no idea, I don’t know anything, and I’m not reading over it, and I’m not correcting my style, and I’m writing just for the sake of writing, just for the sake of writing more to you… My precious, my darling, my dearest!” /Dostoevsky
“My sweetheart! When I think of you, it's as if I'm holding some healing balm to my sick soul, and although i suffer for you, i find that even suffering for you is easy.” /Dostoevsky
“And though I suffer for you, yet it eases my heart to suffer for you.” /Dostoevsky
“Oh literature is a wonderful thing, Varenka, a very wonderful thing: I discovered that from being with those people the day before yesterday. It is a profound thing. It strengthens people’s hearts and instructs them,… Literature is a picture, or rather in a certain sense both a picture and a mirror; it is an expression of emotion, a subtle form of criticism, a didactic lesson and a document…” /Dostoevsky
“Perhaps one may be out late, and had got separated from one's companions. Oh horrors! Suddenly one starts and trembles as one seems to see a strange-looking being peering from out of the darkness of a hollow tree, while all the while the wind is moaning and rattling and howling through the forest—moaning with a hungry sound as it strips the leaves from the bare boughs, and whirls them into the air. High over the tree-tops, in a widespread, trailing, noisy crew, there fly, with resounding cries, flocks of birds which seem to darken and overlay the very heavens. Then a strange feeling comes over one, until one seems to hear the voice of some one whispering: "Run, run, little child! Do not be out late, for this place will soon have become dreadful! Run, little child! Run!" And at the words terror will possess one's soul, and one will rush and rush until one's breath is spent—until, panting, one has reached home.” /Dostoevsky

“Even if I be likened to a rat, I do not care, provided that that particular rat be wanted by you, and be of use in the world, and be retained in its position, and receive its reward. But what a rat it is!” /Dostoevsky
“Before you there lie the Steppes, my darling—only the Steppes, the naked Steppes, the Steppes that are as bare as the palm of my hand. There there live only heartless old women and rude peasants and drunkards. There the trees have already shed their leaves. There abide but rain and cold.” /Dostoevsky
“Yet as the evening of Sunday came on, a sadness as of death would overtake me, for at nine o'clock I had to return to school, where everything was cold and strange and severe—where the governesses, on Mondays, lost their tempers, and nipped my ears, and made me cry.” /Dostoevsky
“Clouds overlaid the sky as with a shroud of mist, and everything looked sad, rainy, and threatening under a fine drizzle which was beating against the window-panes, and streaking their dull, dark surfaces with runlets of cold, dirty moisture. Only a scanty modicum of daylight entered to war with the trembling rays of the ikon lamp. The dying man threw me a wistful look, and nodded. The next moment he had passed away.” /Dostoevsky
“You must not be angry with me for having been so sad yesterday; I was very happy, very content, but in my very best moments I am always for some reason sad. As for my crying, that means nothing. I don’t know myself why I am always crying. I feel ill and irritable; my sensations are due to illness. The pale cloudless sky, the sunset, the evening stillness – all that – I don’t know – but I was somehow in the mood yesterday to take a dreary and miserable view of everything, so that my heart was to fall any did the relief of tears. But why am I writing all this to you? It is hard to make all that clear to one’s own heart and still harder to convey it to another. But you, perhaps, will understand me. Sadness and laughter both at once! How kind you are really. You looked into my eyes yesterday as though to read in them what I was feeling and were delighted with my rapture.” /Dostoevsky

“I gradually begin a desk to sink into that condition which is so common with me at night in my illness, and which I call mystic care. It is the most oppressive, agonising state of terror of something that I cannot define, something ungraspable and outside of the natural order of things, but which may yet take shape this very minute, as though in mockery of all the conclusions of reason, and come to me and stand before me as an undeniable fact, hideous, horrible, and relentless… In spite of all the protests of reason, The mind loses all power of resistance. It is unheeded, it becomes useless, and this inward division intensifies the agony of suspense. It seems to me something like the anguish of people who are afraid of the dead.” /Dostoevsky
“As the proverb has it, He should have reached man's estate but not man's understanding...” /Dostoevsky
After all, one drinks tea largely to please one's fellow men, Barbara, and to give oneself tone and an air of gentility (though, of myself, I care little about such things, for I am not a man of the finicking sort)./Dostoevsky
Russian proverb: "Who diggeth a pit for another one, the same shall fall into it himself"./Dostoevsky
I declined, as I say, to play cards, and was, therefore, requested to discourse on philosophy, after which no one spoke to me at all.” /Dostoevsky

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