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Rating: Fundamental premise in two points:
1) Until a month ago, I wasn't an avid reader, so don't take my statements as the result of an in-depth literary knowledge (which I don't have)
2) The review won't be free of spoilers, so I advise those who haven't read it yet not to read this "review" of mine
Talking about "Crime and Punishment" without falling into clichés is difficult, especially if you have to explain why, so far, it's the most beautiful book of your life. My relationship with books was quite catastrophic, as I was always forced to read at least three books over the summer during middle school. My mother chose the books for me, and in 99% of the cases, they were crappy books. To give you an idea of the quality of the books I read during that time, the best one I read was "A Long Way Down" by Nick Hornby, a rather pretentious book for such a complex topic as suicide.
Something changed when school forced me to read three classics of Italian literature in the summer of 2015: "Zeno's Conscience" (which I loved to madness for reasons you all well know), "The Late Mattia Pascal" (another wonder of 20th-century literature), and "The House by the Medlar Tree" (which bored me terribly, to the point of making me hate Verism, despite recognizing its literary merits). However, I wasn't incentivized to continue any personal searches for new horizons. I always saw the literature book as a school imposition, not as a pastime capable of making me reflect on existence.
At the end of January this year, I told myself: "I have nothing better to do, let's read some novels." I stumbled upon the good Fyodor Dostoevsky. I had seen him at school, but he was part of a section of the program that wouldn't be important for the exam, so I almost completely ignored him, unaware that a year later, he would end up in my hands. I picked up an edition by Oscar Mondadori, which I aesthetically adore (though I don't know if the translations are valid or not).
I read the preface and got terribly bored, thinking it was the actual book. Then I saw the Latin numbers. Yeah, I'm a colossal idiot.
I start with the book, Dostoevsky's style appears fluid to me, neither too simple nor excessively intricate. It perfectly outlines the character of the protagonist Raskolnikov and boom. Nothing, it grabs me. With only 30 pages. A pastime had become something vital for me, something that could teach me about morality, life, and faith.
"Crime and Punishment" seems like just the classic religious redemption journey, but it's not. "Crime and Punishment" shows that man, often and gladly, convinces himself he can impose a morality, lights his "moral lantern," but this light is not eternal, it's destined to go out. Man, therefore, finds himself lost in the darkest and shadiest labyrinths of ideological darkness.
Raskolnikov is convinced of this: he believes that by killing the pawnbroker and stealing her wealth, he can become a Napoleon, a charismatic figure. Unfortunately, though, Raskolnikov will meet the same fate as Napoleon during his downfall in Russia. He wins the battle, but what he gains fails to satisfy him. He kills the old woman and, as he himself states to Sonya, he didn't kill the old woman, but himself. And it was a demon that took over his soul that killed the old woman. The demon should not be perceived as a malign figure, at least from my perspective. It's probably to be understood as the personification of his moral conviction, which leads him to depression, regrets, and remorse.
He realizes that to impose his morality, he deprived two sacrificial victims (the pawnbroker and her sister) of their lives to benefit from something that would satisfy him. The family context cannot help. He perceives it as a burden he can't rid himself of, and he doesn't feel worthy of the affection that his sister Dunya and his mother have for him. He can't tolerate that his sister sacrifices herself for him by marrying Luvin, a disrespectful lawyer toward him and desiring power.
The superman of "Crime and Punishment" is destined to fail. He convinces himself he can impose his own principles, which he himself validates. He lights the beacon amid existential darkness. But this light will sooner or later go out, and man will find himself in the dark. It's the fate of all these men. At this point, man will find himself making several decisions:
- flounder in the dark in delirium, only to be crushed by the adverse destiny to man, as in the case of Katerina Marmeladova (wife of the drunkard Marmeladov), who dies delirious due to tuberculosis and her miserable and deprived condition;
- escape the darkness with suicide, as Svidrigailov does, following Dunya's refusal of his love declaration;
- flounder, trying once again to impose one's own morality, miserably failing, as happens to Luvin who, after being rejected by Raskolnikov, tries to take revenge to win once and for all, trying to get Sonya into trouble, only to be neutralized and defeated again;
- accept one's own suffering as something educational, which makes man aware of his own mistakes and enables him to attempt a new path for the achievement of happiness.
But what is the new path to happiness? Solidarity among men, the capacity of Raskolnikov and Sonya, sharing the same crime, that is, murder, since both have killed themselves, albeit for different purposes. In the daughter of Marmeladov, Raskolnikov perceives his own suffering, empathizing with her. She will be the only one to whom he will reveal the murder of the pawnbroker and Lizaveta (also very friendly with Sonya).
Sonya immediately realizes the suffering in Raskolnikov's soul. Amid deeply moving and powerful pages of meaning, faith emerges, no longer seen as a dogma, but as an opportunity to change, to achieve solidarity among men, fundamental for the attainment of true happiness. She offers him a cross, which becomes a symbol of his redemption journey, and she will give it to him only when he's ready to receive it. He seems hesitant, he's even lucky because there are no tangible proofs to incriminate him. The only one who truly figured out that he is the culprit is Petrovic, a calm, composed, brilliant, cold, and rational judge. He seems to be Raskolnikov's main enemy. In reality, he urges him to confess his murders and to accept suffering as the basis of his rebirth.
He gathers his courage and confesses his crimes, justifying everything. He ends up in Siberia, seemingly subjected to his fate. But something saves him: his love for Sonya, a sincere love that motivated him to be reborn, to believe in a better future. In the last 13 pages of "Crime and Punishment," I cried streams of tears that still endure within my soul. A touching, intense ending that sends a message of hope and solidarity directed at all men.
What makes "Crime and Punishment" even more wonderful is the nearly total absence of protagonists and antagonists and a main plotline. The three narrative threads (Raskolnikov, the Marmeladov family, and Raskolnikov's family) intersect and separate continuously, with enviable mastery. It seems obvious that Tolstoy spoke poorly of it: maybe he was envious, eheheheh. Not to mention the context in which it takes place, the city of St. Petersburg, desolate and almost stripped of principles due to the decadent governance of the last tsars. There are too many scenes imprinted on my mind, but the one I will probably never forget is, without a doubt, Raskolnikov's confession to Sonya.
"Crime and Punishment" is, so far, the most beautiful book I have ever read in my life, at least so far. It might be a bold statement, true, but how I perceived it during reading left indelible sensations that neither music nor cinema has ever left me. It is simply the book that finally destroyed my almost "passive" nihilism and leaves me hopeful for the future.
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