Dostoevsky.tumblr.com

Alright, so I haven't really posted in a bit (and by that I mean since, like, Friday) so there's a lot I can comment on here, which isn't really a problem because it's not like I have plot to catch up on. I don't think we can say this book is a novel or a story, unless of course we are to say that this isn't actually Dostoevsky (which I totally think it is) in which case he's writing the diary of a character he created, which I'm relatively certain is considered a fiction novel. The work leans more towards a philosophy book, but the issue with that is that Dostoevsky isn't writing down his philosophy for us, he's working through his philosophy on paper. We are reading some Russian dude think about stuff and put every word he thinks of on paper- when he constructs a long argument and quickly after contradicts his position entirely, that's not him contradicting himself, it's him changing his mind. Some people say it's confusing but I think those people are reading this like a book- it's a fucking blog; this guy is just writing- going from thought to thought getting it all on paper, we are watching the ramblings of a madman as he tries to understand the world around him. I think when he says stuff along the lines of "I was just saying that to be spiteful, I didn't mean it" (obviously he doesn't say that verbatim but he makes similar statements) that's him being aware of himself, he acknowledged that the thought he had was fueled by spite and was actually irrational, and more importantly it did not reflect his actual thinking. We are not reading something that is meant to be read as a book, in a book all statements are read as if they were true- they have to be, otherwise what kind of fucking story are you reading? We are reading a book of rambling thoughts that are subject to change just as our own thoughts and opinions are subject to change. This is not a man writing a story, it's a blogger having an existential crisis- or perhaps just a philosophical one.