Sorry! Dostoevsky

I want to tell you now, gentlemen, whether you care to hear it or not, why I could not even become an insect. I solemnly declare that I have tried many times to become an insect. But I was not even equal to that. I swear, gentlemen, that being too conscious is an illness—a real, thorough-going illness. For man’s everyday needs, it would have been quite sufficient to have ordinary human consciousness, that is, half or a quarter of the amount that falls to the lot of a cultivated man in our unhappy nineteenth century, especially one who has the fatal ill-luck to inhabit Petersburg, the most theoretical and intentional town on the entire terrestrial globe. (There are intentional and unintentional towns.) —Dostoevsky

I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but according to many people, Dostoevsky is considered one of the great writers. Even though I didn’t read much, and according to my teachers, not at all, I grew up reading Charles Dickens (I love David Copperfield), Munshi Premchand, Rabindranath Tagore, and many others who left such a strong impression that I still remember key parts of their stories to this day. Who can forget the comb in The Gift of the Magi? Who can forget how a little child perceives the world in David Copperfield? Don’t even get me started on Tagore and Premchand. If you can read Hindi or Bengali (I can’t read Bengali), you might agree with me that Dostoevsky is “okay,” but I wouldn’t rank him among the best. The text above is from Notes from the Underground.

I finished the second chapter and returned to the book, re-reading just to ensure my opinion wasn’t biased by a bad mood. Although, it seems like you couldn’t enjoy this book in a good mood anyway. Too many short sentences, too many commas. Or perhaps it’s just that the character in the first two chapters is the kind of person I hate in real life. Or maybe I’m simply an idiot who can’t connect with this book, or subconsciously, he sounds like my inner thoughts? (I may try to pick it up again in the future, but I can’t promise.)

I want to try another of his books. I read somewhere in the comments that his works are well-written and deep. Well, this one isn’t. Sorry, Dostoevsky.

What do you think, did I start with a wrong book or It is way too early for me to come to this conclusion ?