It was a great idea to include these two works within the same covers, since they are thematically linked. Both deal with endurance and hope, as well as money and human dignity.
The House of the Dead is the famous fictionalised account of Dostoevsky's stint in Siberia. D made sure to cover his traces by setting Goryanchikov's 10-year imprisonment into a period way before his own time, and also casting aspersions on the mental soundness of the narrator. He is also makes a point of emphasising that, whatever the experiences of Goryanchikov, times have (surely?) changed since then.
Goryanchikov describes painstakingly the squalor of the prison life: Everything is dirty and the atmosphere is stifling. You're forced to do work that doesn't benefit yourself in any way. One has to adapt to the cynical and cruel worldview that is de rigueur among the inmates. No one gets any privacy. One has to keep oneself occupied, lest one is driven to despair. You have to garner money in order to feel like you have at least a sense of control, yet the money is bound to be confiscated unless one spends it quickly. Not to mention that you're locked up with people who are constantly inclined to display their criminal vanity and ferocious nature.
But there is also genuine humanity among the inmates, as showcased by how some of them treat our protagonist, despite the latter being seen as "a gentleman" (thus an outsider). Through these interactions, we are shown different ways in which magnanimity and humanity manifest themselves – and we are also shown what baffling deeds otherwise sensible people are capable of. The prison camp brings out extreme signs of humanity, and, mirabile dictu, it is all so very relatable.
The main thing that keeps the inmates going, even if they were assigned to the "special division" and thus were doing a life sentence, is hope and control. The prisoners become very superstitious and are likely to believe all kinds of ridiculous rumours, simply because they can't help fostering a secret wish that something radical will happen soon, something that would change everything. Despite the cynicism that pervades within the prison walls, this feeling seems to be universal. It was particularly tangible during the Christmas Eve chapter, when the holiday circumstances created painfully powerful expectations and good humour, only to be dissipated later into grim silence. Control, on the other hand, was exercised through maintaining or learning a trade during the incarceration: even though many things were forbidden and were to be punished by whipping, the prisoners went on to commit these misdemeanours in spite of the risks. They kept themselves occupied and exercised defiance against the authorities. Occasionally they would also get drunk – wherein the greatest expression of control becomes the loss thereof.
While the narrator is careful to point out the humanity within the walls, the sad fact is that any one of those prisoners wouldn't think twice if they were given a chance to escape and abandon all their "comrades". This is poignantly symbolised by the wounded eagle the prisoners kept as a pet, who, upon being finally released into the wild, didn't look back even one, but kept on going into the far distance.
The House of the Dead is gripping in its depictions, even if it was largely fictionalised (I simply don't know). However, in terms of literary art, it is somewhat lacking. Dostoevsky was still honing his craft, and here he inundates the page with long, painstaking descriptions that are not always very interesting. The prisoners' dialogue is, perhaps through Garnett's translation, quite stupid for the most part, and the way the characters are described becomes (perhaps aptly) monotonous. In this story, D is also unfortunately fond of fooling around with generalisations, praising the prisoners with the strongest superlatives now, and suddenly depriving these praises with a sudden and seemingly unheeding negative characterisation of the whole group. The depictions thus clash, and while it is true to life to have conflicting characteristics, in this work such descriptions speak of clumsiness and confusion.
Nonetheless, a fan of Dostoevsky would be a fool to miss this powerful work.
The Gambler is also about hope, but this time as a demonic force that deprives people of their control. Gone is the almost superhuman patience evinced by the inmates; now it's all needs-must-when-the-devil's-driving. What's particularly striking about this work, far superior to the first one, is that it's not simply about gambling. Gambling in this story is a facet of this powerful, propelling force within us that makes us dead certain that the future will bring us great rewards. It is sick hope, something that I would imagine Camus frowning at and drawing his philosophical conclusions from. This story is about Poe's imp of the perverse.
It is true that gambling per se plays a big part in the story, but it's ingenious how Dostoevsky blends it into the human psychology. The same strange force that propels people to gamble also drives people to pursue disasterous love and put their stakes on dubious contingencies. Dostoevsky also links this force to the general inexplicability of human motives, and thus creates a story that is far more nuanced and enlightening that one could imagine from the title (or from the silly blurb) alone. The story becomes a showcase of people's motives that are being driven by unvoiced hopes and passions and how, in that heady rush of hope, by-standers can only shake their heads and fail to understand.
The Gambler is also a story of money in relation to human dignity. Almost everyone in the work is counting on money, since their lives seem to depend on it. And I don't mean this in the ordinary way; they have risked a lot and are feverishly expecting their hopes to be realised. Only one character, the cruel Polina, seems to proudly refuse to sell her dignity for money. Assuredly, she has her own demons to fight with, but at least in this regard she stands out from the rest of the personae.
But as for the rest of the characters, they are the kind of feverish creatures that all lovers of Dostoevsky will instantly recognise. And the rush of their passions is quite captivating throughout. Many of them, especially our protagonist, are at times inexplicably repugnant, but in some ways this makes them all the more relatable, when one overcomes one's initial qualms. These people are almost possessed, and it is both sad and true to life. A fantastic work, even if a bit unfocused at times.