I have read about 80% of Dostoevsky's work including all the "big ones." I am still waiting for the moment of enlightenment that helps me see why many of the finest critical minds, and many favourite authors of mine have pronounced the man a genius. He is, undeniably, a strong storyteller, with definite ideas and an agenda. I find I just don't like his characters. There is almost no one with whom I feel much sympathy/empathy. Many of them are pompous, officious, verging on sociopathic, self-indulgent champions of their own worth. There are moments of superb comedy, granted, and it may be that Dostoevsky's intent is to mock the attitudes and pretensions of most of the people about whom he writes. But I find it hard to care enough about many of these characters even to laugh at their pretensions being pricked. Add to that certain more or less characteristic habits of 19th-century fiction that seem to exist wherever texts were produced in what the English call the Victorian era, and I find myself always just restless for these narratives to be over, and more or less indifferent to what happens to the characters or why. I miss the genius because I am simply not participating in what John Ciardi called "the sympathetic contract" between writer and reader.