I finished reading notes from underground yesterday (or today?) and it was so simple that it broke my mind. Like, there is nothing to it. Literally nothing. But for some reason I was so engaged while reading it. When I think of writing something, I think about all the ways the story needs to be put up and structured and neatly tied up in the end, but no, it all seems very superfluous now. It always does, after reading Dostoevsky. Why is it that the greatest works are so simple, yet so hard to emulate? It all seems so obvious. But of course, I can’t write this “obvious” stuff on my own. Makes me wonder so many things. What would Dostoevsky be like if met him in real life? Everybody seems so similar these days. I want to meet a Dostoevsky. I want a Dostoevsky to speak to me and destroy me, just as the underground guy destroyed Liza.
The case against reading
The case against reading
The case against reading
I finished reading notes from underground yesterday (or today?) and it was so simple that it broke my mind. Like, there is nothing to it. Literally nothing. But for some reason I was so engaged while reading it. When I think of writing something, I think about all the ways the story needs to be put up and structured and neatly tied up in the end, but no, it all seems very superfluous now. It always does, after reading Dostoevsky. Why is it that the greatest works are so simple, yet so hard to emulate? It all seems so obvious. But of course, I can’t write this “obvious” stuff on my own. Makes me wonder so many things. What would Dostoevsky be like if met him in real life? Everybody seems so similar these days. I want to meet a Dostoevsky. I want a Dostoevsky to speak to me and destroy me, just as the underground guy destroyed Liza.