I love Alyosha
I'm an Audible.com member, and get my audiobook cravings sated there, after some anxious minutes of tricky downloading. Right now I am waiting for the computer to download War and Peace, Pride and Prejudice, and The Number One Ladies Detective Agency. I am particularly looking forward to War and Peace, since a dear friend recommended it. This friend was the one who initially recommended The Brothers Karamazov to me, the last book I listened to. When I told him in college that I hadn't read it yet, he was adamant: "How can you call yourself a Christian if you haven't read this book?" So in order to get right with God, I read it, loved it and understood what he meant.
Initially, as I listened to the book, I was a bit annoyed by the narrator's voice, which doesn't bode well for a book that is around 36 hours of listening time (just listen to The Da Vinci Code and you'll see how an awful narrator can grate on one--granted, it was an awful book anyway so it didn't deserve a better reader). Anyway, after a while I realized the reader knew the book far better than I did, as it is "narrated" by an anonymous person in the town where these events happen, and that narrator is a gossipy, somewhat affected, but tenderhearted person who is a little bit apologetic about the sordid nature of the events that transpire.
(For those of you who haven't had the pleasure of reading the book, here's a description: Fyodor Pavlovich, a drunken, lecherous, rich old sot, fathered three sons (well, four, but that one isn't quite proven). Dmitri was the oldest, abandoned by his father after his mother died and raised pell-mell until he becomes a dissipated drunken soldier. Ivan and Alyosha were born to Fyodor's second wife, and duly abandoned as well after their mother died. They were both raised by others, but took very different paths; Ivan went to university and became an intellectual, a nihilist and atheist. Alyosha, who was about twenty in the book, didn't finish his studies and was a novice when the book starts. Dmitri and his father are in love with the same capricious woman, Grushenka, who plays them off each other and drives Dmitri into a frenzy. Fyodor is brutally murdered, robbed of money he was saving for Grushenka, and all signs point to Dmitri as the murderer. The book follows each of the brothers through these ordeals, and Alyosha's crisis of faith as his spiritual guide, Father Zosima, dies.)
When Fyodor Pavlovich started to talk in this audio version, I shuddered with revulsion. A strained, slurring, insinuating voice that fully brought home how terribly evil this man was, as if I needed more proof than what the narrative already described. By contrast, I was more in love with Alyosha in this reading than when I read it by myself. It's a warm, modest, gentle voice that totally fits the beauty of his character.
The women in the book, unfortunately, are all either evil, vindictive, stupid, or hysterical (not in the funny sense, but the I'm-losing-my-already-weak-grip-on-reality sense), which is really a shame. Dostoevsky can create some incredible female characters, but none of them are here. I really want to slap all of them, for different reasons.
One of the best parts of the book is Dostoyevsky's treatment of boys. Here are people he understands to the core, from their idolization of and slavish devotion to older peers, to their attempts at cool detachment when they don't want to appear moved. "Sloppy sentimentality," as one boy, Kolya, describes any show of emotion. A perfect example of his portrayal of boys is when they are almost running back to a dead classmate's house after his funeral. They are all crying and trying to catch up with the boy's father, and one boy picks up a rock and throws it at some birds, misses them, and keeps running. When I first read it, I thought, "random?" but then I knew it was the truest expression of boy-grief I have ever read.
I felt pretty low after finishing the book, as it ends somewhat abruptly and was intended to be part one of a two-book epic. Dostoevsky died 8 months after publishing it. Plus, spending all that time with characters automatically creates an affection for them, and pain when they continue to make bad decisions. I miss Alyosha the most. Though I married Kolya.
Initially, as I listened to the book, I was a bit annoyed by the narrator's voice, which doesn't bode well for a book that is around 36 hours of listening time (just listen to The Da Vinci Code and you'll see how an awful narrator can grate on one--granted, it was an awful book anyway so it didn't deserve a better reader). Anyway, after a while I realized the reader knew the book far better than I did, as it is "narrated" by an anonymous person in the town where these events happen, and that narrator is a gossipy, somewhat affected, but tenderhearted person who is a little bit apologetic about the sordid nature of the events that transpire.
(For those of you who haven't had the pleasure of reading the book, here's a description: Fyodor Pavlovich, a drunken, lecherous, rich old sot, fathered three sons (well, four, but that one isn't quite proven). Dmitri was the oldest, abandoned by his father after his mother died and raised pell-mell until he becomes a dissipated drunken soldier. Ivan and Alyosha were born to Fyodor's second wife, and duly abandoned as well after their mother died. They were both raised by others, but took very different paths; Ivan went to university and became an intellectual, a nihilist and atheist. Alyosha, who was about twenty in the book, didn't finish his studies and was a novice when the book starts. Dmitri and his father are in love with the same capricious woman, Grushenka, who plays them off each other and drives Dmitri into a frenzy. Fyodor is brutally murdered, robbed of money he was saving for Grushenka, and all signs point to Dmitri as the murderer. The book follows each of the brothers through these ordeals, and Alyosha's crisis of faith as his spiritual guide, Father Zosima, dies.)
When Fyodor Pavlovich started to talk in this audio version, I shuddered with revulsion. A strained, slurring, insinuating voice that fully brought home how terribly evil this man was, as if I needed more proof than what the narrative already described. By contrast, I was more in love with Alyosha in this reading than when I read it by myself. It's a warm, modest, gentle voice that totally fits the beauty of his character.
The women in the book, unfortunately, are all either evil, vindictive, stupid, or hysterical (not in the funny sense, but the I'm-losing-my-already-weak-grip-on-reality sense), which is really a shame. Dostoevsky can create some incredible female characters, but none of them are here. I really want to slap all of them, for different reasons.
One of the best parts of the book is Dostoyevsky's treatment of boys. Here are people he understands to the core, from their idolization of and slavish devotion to older peers, to their attempts at cool detachment when they don't want to appear moved. "Sloppy sentimentality," as one boy, Kolya, describes any show of emotion. A perfect example of his portrayal of boys is when they are almost running back to a dead classmate's house after his funeral. They are all crying and trying to catch up with the boy's father, and one boy picks up a rock and throws it at some birds, misses them, and keeps running. When I first read it, I thought, "random?" but then I knew it was the truest expression of boy-grief I have ever read.
I felt pretty low after finishing the book, as it ends somewhat abruptly and was intended to be part one of a two-book epic. Dostoevsky died 8 months after publishing it. Plus, spending all that time with characters automatically creates an affection for them, and pain when they continue to make bad decisions. I miss Alyosha the most. Though I married Kolya.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
Links to this post:
Create a Link
<< Home