Ken’s Comments (group member since Jan 21, 2020)

Ken’s comments from the The Obscure Reading Group group.

Well, the Tockarczuk book is fairly new and only in hardcover, so I imagine there'll be competition for library copies. (And I'm assuming, Carol, this is the author of the "other book" you're discussing in July.)

Bufalino? Obscure!

Turgenev? Who knows. Maybe he's not considered famous enough for libraries to carry him any more. Compared to other Russkies of the Golden Era, his star may have set a bit (thought I still thought it was above the horizon).

World (hell, U.S. for that matter) democracy is in deep doo-doo, so I thank you, Sara!

I have two favorites, so I'm just eenying and meenying.

Stand by, everyone. You should be receiving a message from me soliciting book nominations for the group's JUNE book. Please read the guidelines carefully if you wish to participate in the nominating/voting process (both of which are voluntary and neither of which excludes you from reading the book and joining the discussion if you like the choice and want to talk about it).

This is any ole book you want -- old or new. In your case, I'd say a good plane read (though I never could read so hot in planes). Your trip sounds tres cool, btw!

Tempus fugit again, my friends.

Put your thinking caps on. In about a week's time, you'll be receiving a message from your ORG hosts looking for JUNE nominations.

Once titles are in and two polls completed, we should have a title on or around May 1st, giving folks a goodly month to procure and read the book if they so wish.

I hope everyone's healthy and that all you Northern hemisphere types are looking forward to more spring weather!

Your second paragraph, Laysee, makes me wonder if the Karamazovs can serve, to an extent, as metaphors for Russia as a whole. There's quite a variety given father and three sons!

Yes, the whole devil thing was reminiscent of The Master and Margarita, isn't it?

One thing I agreed with that also holds (and ever shall) is his Fallen-ness's remark about the "inveterate stupidity of the human race." So similar to Mark Twain's famous comment on this losing race, now running on a front page near U (kraine).

The opening to Book 10, focusing on the Schoolchildren, is a brief and refreshing break from the mania of all things Karamazov.

One thing that struck me, translation-wise, is one I'd never considered. I'm reading the Avsey translation (Oxford World's Classics edition), and in the chapter "The Schoolboy" you get this:

"And have you noticed, Smurov, that in midwinter, when it gets down to fifteen or even eighteen, it doesn't seem as cold as it does now for example at the beginning of winter, when it's suddenly and unexpectedly frosty like today, when it's twelve degrees below and without snow. That means people aren't used to it yet. With people it's all a question of what they're used to, even in the matter of the state and politics. Habit is the prime mover."

Aside from the nice observations about people, weather, and habits, I noted, as reading, that I just assumed the translator's numbers were Fahrenheit (and I think they are). But then I said, "Wait a minute. Doesn't the cheese (USA) stand alone when it comes to Fahrenheit? Isn't the whole world on Celsius, and doesn't this translation come out of the UK?"

Odd, really. Americans are such dolts when it comes to Celsius (I only know ZERO is freezing, the equivalent of 32 degrees F) and the metric system (we once tried to switch during the Jimmy Carter Administration, but it was an abject failure).

Hard to believe the Avsey translation has different numbers in the European translation -- but I suppose that's possible!

Interesting mix of books. I went through a Raymond Chandler / Dashiell Hammett phase and must revisit some day. That's how much I enjoyed their work. Chandler with his similes, especially.

Gatsby is one of those books I read because it was assigned in high school but haven't returned to since. It didn't thrill me.

Absolutely loved The Catcher in the Rye and am cheering Murakami on selecting this now out of favor book.

Kafka is the one that makes sense, if you want to match writer to his favorite reading. He even put Kafka in one of his titles.

I am about to begin Book 10, which is probably for the best, as I'll be able to react in real-time.

Last week's reading, taking matters to the court of "law" as it did, was a definite uptick in action and interest.

I second the motion on arriving fashionably late, Cindy. You're here!

As for Alyosha, what I find most interesting is Zosima's insistence that he leave his trademark "good boy" haven (the monastery) and wade out into the world -- weird brothers & father, love, marriage. Given A.'s surroundings, one wants to ask Father Z. "WHY?"

Spot on about Dmitri, Laysee. Fundamentally a good man who is prisoner to his own passionate nature.

And that quote "I love life. I've loved life too much, shamefully much." This from a man who came this close to putting a bullet in his brain. I've often thought that some suicides love life TOO much, that their expectations of themselves and others and of how happy life can be ultimately do them in. This bears that out.

Grushenka is another head case. At the arrest scene she seems torn between wanting to be the femme fatale and wanting to follow Ophelia into a nunnery. After a night with the milk toast Poles, Dmitri's passionate nature starts to look good. Or at least to Grushenka under the influence of champagne.

I'm not sure she knows what she wants, but she does seem to draw sustenance from driving men mad.

Yes, the pace definitely picks up with the interrogation. It helps that the reader is a bit confused, having recalled the Grigory blood but not the Father K. blood.

The note in this Ignat Avsey translation mentions the torments by saying "According to Russian Orthodox eschatology, souls of the departed are subjected to torments (twenty in all) by evil spirits, in preparation for the Day of Judgment. Souls of the saints are left unmolested."

Why Dosty struck on three for his chapter headings I cannot say, other than the fact that the number 3 is a holy one (along with 7, 9, 21) in Christian lore.

I was also struck by the psychological accuracy of the scene where the investigators force Dmitri to strip off his clothes as evidence behind the curtain. "[Dmitri] felt embarrassed--while everyone else was fully clothed, he was undressed; and, strangely enough, in his state of undress he began to feel vaguely guilty in front of them and, most important of all, was himself almost ready to accept that he really had become inferior to them all of a sudden and that they now had every right to despise him. 'If everybody were undressed,' the thought flashed through his mind again and again, 'I wouldn't mind so much, but I'm the only one who's undressed, while everybody else has his clothes on and is looking at me -- it's shameful. It's like a bad dream.'"

Who says clothes don't make the man? Anyone who's suffered annual physicals at the doctor's office can relate to Dmitri completely. The psychological balance in the room is completely off-putting!

The more I read into Book 7, the more I wonder what modern psychology would do with poor Dmitri. There's something afoot, that's for sure, with his wild mood swings, sudden tears, outbursts, and maniacal passion (I wouldn't call it "love" like he does) for Grushenka.

For a hefty Russian classic, the narrative has a real soap opera-like feel to it, too, but maybe that can be said of most any book.

Which reminds us that Zosima kept stressing the importance of joy -- giving it, spreading it, etc. How refreshing.

There is more than one drama king (and queen) in this book. And I hope Yul wasn't bald for the classic film.

I was really put off by the ridiculous to-do over Zosima's decaying body. Saints decay to a sweet smell? And the way the competing parties in the monasteries gloried in this revelation. Clearly Dostoevsky was having some fun at established religion's expense -- how political it is, how naive it is, how impossibly human and hypocritical it is.

Or, if Dosty wasn't using this opening scene to belittle the Church, I took it that way, as organized religion typically makes an easy mark. Of all people, they should know best the green-eyed monster and his wiles.

Darrin wrote: "Ken, do you feel that the Avsey translation better communicates this chapter than the Pevear? I remember you commenting that you were going to try Avsey this time and I have read your review from t..."

I think the Avsey is superior, yes.

Good quotes to fathom, Laysee.

I may be a bit off in this notion, but I kept thinking that Ivan's Inquisitor was stating one obvious: mankind would respond to and follow with slavish devotion a God of miracles who can fulfill their physical needs and, when necessary, take retribution (Old Testament-like) by smiting His enemies through the use of divine powers.

For God to expect mankind instead to have FAITH in an ultimate reward and to thus CHOOSE to believe in such a god's promise is another thing entirely. It's as if the Inquisitor is saying, "You don't know your customer."

Right or wrong, I surely liked the kiss (Christ to Inquisitor) that ended this chapter and how it echoes staretsy bowing before Dmitri and how it anticipates Alyosha kissing Ivan.

Only thing that threw me is the Biblical story of Judas. Didn't he identify Christ for the Roman soldiers by kissing him, too? Or maybe my catechism is so far off I'm forgetting stuff in the Ways and Means category.