Canter Bridge

Some literary works are so sweeping in their vision, so penetrating in their understanding of the human condition and its psychology, so inexhaustible with respect to their spiritual insight that a reviewer feels quite small as he turns the last page and takes up his pen to comment.

Such is Dostoevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov. Three Karamazov siblings, products of the unrestrained loins of the hapless Fyodor Karamazov, spend most of the pages alloted to them walking their ever diverging paths and become more and more unlike each other. Then, in a hundred or so pages, Dostoevsky all but forces us to see how alike they are. How alike we are, whether under the Russian sun or some other.

Just under a thousand pages prove incapable of wearying the discerning reader of this Russian masterpiece. Each chapter brings a new twist or at least a new glimpse into how passionate and calculating we are capable of becoming, all at the same time.

Along the way, one discovers the author’s uncanny predictive ability to glimpse the direction in which his Russia would go when it had loosed itself of the spiritual conviction that for centuries had held the vastness of it intact.

Dostoevsky deserves the over-used adjective ‘incomparable’. This work alone achieves that.