‘The Idiot’ is the story of Prince Myshkin, a young Russian noble. In his infancy, he was diagnosed with a form of ‘idiocy’ and sent to Switzerland to be cured. The book begins with his return to Russia as a young man, apparently cured. However, he is still labelled an ‘idiot’ because his sheltered upbringing abroad means that he doesn’t understand the complex rules governing social interactions among the Russian middle classes, and approaches these interactions with a simple good-heartedness and a willingness to do the right thing.
The main story involves the competition of several young men for Nastasya Fillipovna, a self-destructive beauty whom the rules of society have labelled a fallen woman through no fault of her own. She is forced to choose between a happiness that she is told that she doesn’t deserve with Myshkin, a dangerous existence with the unstable Rogozhin and a loveless life with Gavril Ardilionivich. The rules of society tell her one thing, her heart another. She becomes increasingly agitated, precipitating a descent into near madness and a truly shocking conclusion.
The clash between Myshkin’s ‘idiocy’ (really Dostoevsky’s image of the perfect Christian) and the realities of nineteenth century Russian society is repeated throughout the book. Dostoevsky never tells just one story where a half dozen can be fitted in, and narratives about money, social status, religion and love are all intertwined to illustrate his point. This can become a little disorientating, but Dostoevsky never loses the thread of the book, keeping one eye firmly on his message throughout. The result is a rather complex series of narratives, requiring a lot of concentration, making ‘The Idiot’ a fairly involved read. However, Dostoevsky never allows ‘The Idiot’ to meander or sprawl, sticking closely to his central themes. It is perhaps less concise than ‘Crime and Punishment’, but I found it every bit as powerful, and although Dostoevsky’s language and pace can be slow and ponderous I was gripped throughout. The ending in particular is breathtaking and shocking, hauntingly written and desperately sad.
The only negative was that the translation I read (Wordsworth) was clumsy, starchy and, at times nonsensical. This was annoying, because it did make certain passages slow and even difficult to work out what was going on. I was caught up enough for this not to be a big problem, but I would advise against the Wordsworth edition (though the translator is wisely anonymous, so I can’t tell if there are other editions using the same translation). This aside, ‘The Idiot’ is brilliant. Dostoevsky at his best, and the very definition of a 5 star read.