The Possessed: Part 1 - Worrying Pretence
Thoughts On: The Possessed (Бесы, 1871-2)
A look at the first part of Andrew R Macandrew's translation of one of Dostoevsky's masterworks.
I'm currently reading Dostoevsky's The Possessed (a.k.a Demons or The Devils). This is the first Dostoevsky book I have ever read and I have just completed part 1. I would attempt to sum up what has so far occurred, but I would struggle in condensing the first 200 pages down to 50 for the fact that this has such a profuse plot that is intertwined with so many characters and side-stories. To give a very general picture, however, the first part is centred on a rich landowner, Mrs. Stavrogin, and her friend, Mr. Verhkovensky. Everything that Dostoevsky seems to be setting up with part 1 is based on this couple's queer relationship. Mrs. Stavrogin appears as a lonesome and lost, yet nonetheless very proud and quite pretentious, lady, one always masking herself in a constructed social facade. Mr. Verkhovensky is a rather pathetic and neurotic man, an academic who does not study and an intellectual who only blabbers. In reality, all he is is a teacher - who gambles and drinks quite a lot. He is supported wholly by Mrs. Stavrogin; she pays his rent, listens to his unending nonsense, tries to help him in business and is always providing him opportunities in the social sphere (he also uplifts her social status). These two are tangled in a static relationship, one that is deeply personal yet intrinsically structured around social convention. They then so often operate as a married couple of many decades in suits of steel armour: as well as they know each other and as intimately intertwined they are mentally and emotionally, try as they might, a handshake would seem impossible - the best they could manage would be an awkward salute before clashing swords or charging at each other with jousts.
Through its stiff, yet entirely transparent tone, the setting around this relationship conjures imagery and the idea of a 19th century period-piece melodrama - a European or British one to be more specific. It is only really the names of characters and their lambasting of the culture around them that signifies the Russian-ness of this book. And such seems to be part of a primary commentary Dostoevsky means to provide. We feel this in the speech and thoughts of our characters; all of which are deeply influenced and under the shadow of aristocratic, liberal European cultures - especially that of the French. It is because of this and the queer relationship at the heart of this narrative that pretence of a deeply worrying character begins to loom over everything.
Stavrogin and Verkhovensky are so often portrayed as small-minded fools who think far too big of themselves and their place in the world. There is one particularly expressive exchange in the book that goes as follows...
This is probably a quintessential exchange of dialogue between these two that not only captures both of their individual inherent characters flaws, but also demonstrates what a nonsensical mess they manifest when they come together. Here we then see their self-consumption, how they feel free to express personal thoughts - how, rather inconsequentially, Mrs. Stavrogin constantly thinks of Mr. Verkovensky - how they have the ability to recognise that they are not the centre of the universe, but distract themselves from that fact, how they casually insult and control one another, how they lean on other intellectuals and other cultures (here, French) to appear smarter, and how they like to separate themselves from Russia and their own pretence.
As is, this is a rather innocuous and benign conversation, but understanding what exactly occurs here reveals what Dostoevsky seems to be setting up. This opens up with Mrs. Stavrogin's incite from her travels out of her small world: we're not that smart. To posit this must mean that she believed, or acted as if, she and Mr. Verkhovensky were the smartest people on earth. Maybe this is just a minor joke that pokes fun at the fact that we can all assume that. Alas, Mr. Verkhovensky must agree with her by both defending himself - saying that he might not be smart but has a right to think as he wants and not be a bigot - and then summarising all with a rather irrelevant quip in French: there's always more than less reason. What Verkhovensky means with this isn't at all clear. He has said that the two are not the smartest people alive, but nonetheless are good people and have the right to be - even if the world doesn't want to accept that. He summarises with 'there's always more than less reason' to suggest that the world isn't very reasonable, yet they are. What this has to do with these two not being the smartest people alive is not too clear until we see it as a projection of ego. Mrs. Stavrogin suggests that they aren't perfect. In response, Mr. Verkhovensky accepts, but has to point out that they're better than most people; he doubles down on this by saying he is no Pascal, and that no Russian has ever said anything. Here Verkhovensky reveals himself to be incapable of true introspection, of looking inside himself as opposed to seeing his reflection on the face of the world, and decides to blame his character flaws on all of Russia and its language.
Mrs. Stavrogin's part in this conversation is equally expressive. She plays a passive role in suggesting that the two aren't the smartest people on earth - yet, to what effect? Does she mean to insult Verkhovensky? Does she mean to lament? Has she had a serious realisation? Is she fishing for a compliment? It is impossible to tell for definite, but Mrs. Stavrogin may exist in some place between each of these positions. We then see in the conversation that follows that she is not very interested in Verkhovensky's response. Here she shows herself to be indifferent to his thoughts, and so maybe she feels that he missed her wider point, that she really had a profound thought. That said, maybe she is simultaneously lamenting her place in the world with him - why must she have such idiotic conversations with him - and finding a chance to moan at and insult him. That said, she does pick up on his quote. Herein she finds something she likes about him; his knowledge of pithy quotes in French. However, she wants him to be just this; to only speak in precise aphorisms - this example, we must note, being one that compliments her in a way, suggesting that the world is unreasonable in response to her suggesting that they're not the smartest people in the world.
How meaningful this conversation is is highly debatable. It certainly seems that those having it don't care much for it. That said, Dostoevsky seems to place it in the middle of information important to the plot to remind of how the soul of individuals lies at the heart of collective networks of actions, causes and effects (a plot, for example). What we then see captured by this block of dialogue is the terribly pretentious nature of these two creatures; they are endlessly constructing as to escape proper action. This heart of character is blown up and held over the plot, events occurring and happenings to come, and this is so worrying because it is only weakness of character and/or a yearning for a ball to tip and start rolling down a hill that will have it start its increasingly unstoppable descent. Verkhovensky and Stavrogin seem to be the kind of people who'd let the ball start rolling when it should remain still, and further seem to be the kind of people who'd be too weak to stop it.
The purpose of Dostoevsky's almost obsessive detailing of character in a rather static part 1 seems to be simple: he means to tell us that all that is about to happen started here. We know this from reading the subtitle of Chapter 1: By way of an introduction; some biographical data on the worthy Stephan Trofimovich Verkhovensky. It is picking up on the flaws in our passive characters that make the actions of their children - who start much of the trouble and drama in the first part - all the more significant. Where this will descend to is hard to know...
I will draw things towards a close here and will be writing about The Possessed again when I finish part two.
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End Of The Week Shorts #69
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The Jungle Book - Live-Action?
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A look at the first part of Andrew R Macandrew's translation of one of Dostoevsky's masterworks.
I'm currently reading Dostoevsky's The Possessed (a.k.a Demons or The Devils). This is the first Dostoevsky book I have ever read and I have just completed part 1. I would attempt to sum up what has so far occurred, but I would struggle in condensing the first 200 pages down to 50 for the fact that this has such a profuse plot that is intertwined with so many characters and side-stories. To give a very general picture, however, the first part is centred on a rich landowner, Mrs. Stavrogin, and her friend, Mr. Verhkovensky. Everything that Dostoevsky seems to be setting up with part 1 is based on this couple's queer relationship. Mrs. Stavrogin appears as a lonesome and lost, yet nonetheless very proud and quite pretentious, lady, one always masking herself in a constructed social facade. Mr. Verkhovensky is a rather pathetic and neurotic man, an academic who does not study and an intellectual who only blabbers. In reality, all he is is a teacher - who gambles and drinks quite a lot. He is supported wholly by Mrs. Stavrogin; she pays his rent, listens to his unending nonsense, tries to help him in business and is always providing him opportunities in the social sphere (he also uplifts her social status). These two are tangled in a static relationship, one that is deeply personal yet intrinsically structured around social convention. They then so often operate as a married couple of many decades in suits of steel armour: as well as they know each other and as intimately intertwined they are mentally and emotionally, try as they might, a handshake would seem impossible - the best they could manage would be an awkward salute before clashing swords or charging at each other with jousts.
Through its stiff, yet entirely transparent tone, the setting around this relationship conjures imagery and the idea of a 19th century period-piece melodrama - a European or British one to be more specific. It is only really the names of characters and their lambasting of the culture around them that signifies the Russian-ness of this book. And such seems to be part of a primary commentary Dostoevsky means to provide. We feel this in the speech and thoughts of our characters; all of which are deeply influenced and under the shadow of aristocratic, liberal European cultures - especially that of the French. It is because of this and the queer relationship at the heart of this narrative that pretence of a deeply worrying character begins to loom over everything.
Stavrogin and Verkhovensky are so often portrayed as small-minded fools who think far too big of themselves and their place in the world. There is one particularly expressive exchange in the book that goes as follows...
[Mrs. Stavrogin:] "... when I was on my way back from abroad, I kept thinking of you, and I came to one conclusion."
[Mr. Verkhovensky] "What was that?"
"That we--you and I--really aren't the cleverest people earth; that there are other people cleverer that we are."
"That's both witty and correct. There are people smarter than we, and they are therefore more likely to be right than we are. Therefore, we may have erred, right? Mais, ma bonne amie, let's assume I'm mistaken; don't I still have my eternal, supreme, human right to free thought? So, I have the right not to be a hypocrite and a bigot, even if it makes certain people hate me till they're blue in the face. Et puis, comme on trouve toujours plus de moins que de raison and since I fully go along with it--"
"What was that? What did you say?"
"I said on trouve toujours plus de moins que de raison [there's always more than less reason] and since I agree--"
"I'm sure you didn't make that up. You must have borrowed it somewhere."
"Blaise Pascal said it."
"I was sure it wasn't you. Why don't you say anything to briefly and to the point yourself? You always drag everything out. I like his way of putting things much better than yours when you went on and on about administrative passion..."
"Well, I must say I agree, my dear. But, in the first place, I'm no Pascal, and then, we Russians are incapable of saying anything in our native tongue. At least, we haven't said anything thus far."
"Hm... that may not be true at all. But you ought to write down phrases like that to use in conversation... Ah, Stephan, to think that on my way here I longed to have a serious conversation with you."
This is probably a quintessential exchange of dialogue between these two that not only captures both of their individual inherent characters flaws, but also demonstrates what a nonsensical mess they manifest when they come together. Here we then see their self-consumption, how they feel free to express personal thoughts - how, rather inconsequentially, Mrs. Stavrogin constantly thinks of Mr. Verkovensky - how they have the ability to recognise that they are not the centre of the universe, but distract themselves from that fact, how they casually insult and control one another, how they lean on other intellectuals and other cultures (here, French) to appear smarter, and how they like to separate themselves from Russia and their own pretence.
As is, this is a rather innocuous and benign conversation, but understanding what exactly occurs here reveals what Dostoevsky seems to be setting up. This opens up with Mrs. Stavrogin's incite from her travels out of her small world: we're not that smart. To posit this must mean that she believed, or acted as if, she and Mr. Verkhovensky were the smartest people on earth. Maybe this is just a minor joke that pokes fun at the fact that we can all assume that. Alas, Mr. Verkhovensky must agree with her by both defending himself - saying that he might not be smart but has a right to think as he wants and not be a bigot - and then summarising all with a rather irrelevant quip in French: there's always more than less reason. What Verkhovensky means with this isn't at all clear. He has said that the two are not the smartest people alive, but nonetheless are good people and have the right to be - even if the world doesn't want to accept that. He summarises with 'there's always more than less reason' to suggest that the world isn't very reasonable, yet they are. What this has to do with these two not being the smartest people alive is not too clear until we see it as a projection of ego. Mrs. Stavrogin suggests that they aren't perfect. In response, Mr. Verkhovensky accepts, but has to point out that they're better than most people; he doubles down on this by saying he is no Pascal, and that no Russian has ever said anything. Here Verkhovensky reveals himself to be incapable of true introspection, of looking inside himself as opposed to seeing his reflection on the face of the world, and decides to blame his character flaws on all of Russia and its language.
Mrs. Stavrogin's part in this conversation is equally expressive. She plays a passive role in suggesting that the two aren't the smartest people on earth - yet, to what effect? Does she mean to insult Verkhovensky? Does she mean to lament? Has she had a serious realisation? Is she fishing for a compliment? It is impossible to tell for definite, but Mrs. Stavrogin may exist in some place between each of these positions. We then see in the conversation that follows that she is not very interested in Verkhovensky's response. Here she shows herself to be indifferent to his thoughts, and so maybe she feels that he missed her wider point, that she really had a profound thought. That said, maybe she is simultaneously lamenting her place in the world with him - why must she have such idiotic conversations with him - and finding a chance to moan at and insult him. That said, she does pick up on his quote. Herein she finds something she likes about him; his knowledge of pithy quotes in French. However, she wants him to be just this; to only speak in precise aphorisms - this example, we must note, being one that compliments her in a way, suggesting that the world is unreasonable in response to her suggesting that they're not the smartest people in the world.
How meaningful this conversation is is highly debatable. It certainly seems that those having it don't care much for it. That said, Dostoevsky seems to place it in the middle of information important to the plot to remind of how the soul of individuals lies at the heart of collective networks of actions, causes and effects (a plot, for example). What we then see captured by this block of dialogue is the terribly pretentious nature of these two creatures; they are endlessly constructing as to escape proper action. This heart of character is blown up and held over the plot, events occurring and happenings to come, and this is so worrying because it is only weakness of character and/or a yearning for a ball to tip and start rolling down a hill that will have it start its increasingly unstoppable descent. Verkhovensky and Stavrogin seem to be the kind of people who'd let the ball start rolling when it should remain still, and further seem to be the kind of people who'd be too weak to stop it.
The purpose of Dostoevsky's almost obsessive detailing of character in a rather static part 1 seems to be simple: he means to tell us that all that is about to happen started here. We know this from reading the subtitle of Chapter 1: By way of an introduction; some biographical data on the worthy Stephan Trofimovich Verkhovensky. It is picking up on the flaws in our passive characters that make the actions of their children - who start much of the trouble and drama in the first part - all the more significant. Where this will descend to is hard to know...
I will draw things towards a close here and will be writing about The Possessed again when I finish part two.
Previous post:
End Of The Week Shorts #69
Next post:
The Jungle Book - Live-Action?
More from me:
amazon.com/author/danielslack
