Tag: Philosophy

November 20, 2025 – Kazakhstan and Dostoevsky

It’s been over a decade since my last Dostoevsky, and I’m glad this month’s travel destination prompted me to pick him up again and pointed to this lesser-known work, one which is ironically seen as the start of his forceful return to literature, which Turgenev compared to Dante’s Inferno, and which Tolstoy thought to be his most outstanding piece.

I began reading this on November 11 (Dostoevksy’s birthday) and finished reading it on November 16 (my birthday). Dostoevsky may not be the most popular choice for a birthday read, but I maintain that, despite the horrors described in his novels, his works are ultimately about spiritual redemption. Dark, yes, but also, glorious. Besides, birthdays are existential!

Notes from a Dead House is a harrowing account of prison life that is not without Russian dark humor. If not for the fictional character’s crime, most of it is autobiographical as Dostoevsky writes from his experiences as a political prisoner in Siberia. The passage that will remain embedded in my mind, is the part where the main character is finally allowed to acquire books after seven years of being prohibited from reading and owning any! Isn’t that the worst kind of punishment, especially for someone like Dostoevsky?! One can only imagine the quenching that ensued!

Dostoevsky being Dostoevsky provoked the powers that be by putting up a printing press and publishing a letter that offended the Orthodox Church and Imperial Russia, and was arrested for participating in a secret socialist society. In 1849, he was sentenced to hard labor. His sentence was revised to four years in Siberia, followed by four years of military service in Kazakhstan.

It was here in Kazakhstan where he served as a private, ripe with experience and brimming with ideas and plans for writing. Nearing the end of his sentence, he started writing Notes from a Dead House.

As a playful juxtaposition, in the background is the Orthodox Cathedral of Christ the Savior in Uralsk. Its foundation stone was laid by Tsarevich Nicholas, who would later become Tsar Nicholas II, the last tsar of the Russian Empire.

Kazakhstan is not globally known as a place of literary significance, but I hope to dust off a bit of snow from that reputation.

My Initiation to László Krasznahorkai

As if in sync with my protracted pace in gathering enough courage to take on a Krasznahorkai, it also took a while for my order to arrive. 

When at last his books occupied the Hungarian section of my shelf, I timidly went for The World Goes On to sample one of the short stories. Catching the name of my favorite city in the table of contents, I immediately turned the pages to The Swan of Istanbul.

The Swan of Istanbul (seventy-nine paragraphs on blank pages)

In memoriam Konstantinos Kavafis

My excitement was fueled upon seeing it dedicated to the writer of my favorite poem! (Too excited, in fact, that my eyes skipped the words in parentheses.)

What greeted me was the literary counterpart of John Cage’s 4′33″. Blank pages, ladies and gentlemen.

These thoughts assailed me as I flipped through the emptiness of each page: Doesn’t Krasznahorkai have a reputation for composing entire books with a single sentence? Where was the intimidating muchness of which they spoke? Should I lazily call this pretentious without giving it much thought and expose my limited knowledge of post-modernism and deconstructivism? But also; László, I like you already.

And yet, after “reading” the blank pages, I closed The World Goes On and tried my hand at The Last Wolf. There I found the labyrinthine thoughts and lines for which he is known, a philosophy professor who thinks he is mistakenly hired to write about the last wolf of Extremadura, a wasteland in Spain that was once part of what the Romans called Lusitania, and yes, the solitary period at the very end.

As the story spirals out, the reader is made to ponder on the hunter and the hunted, how the two are very much alike and are part of the same thing; gentrification, not just among humans but among animals; bestiality and humanity intermingling; the incomprehensibility of existence, and how man is a prisoner of thought.

If John Cage’s 4’33″ was meant to be the embodiment of the composer’s idea that any auditory experience may constitute music, what if reading Krasznahorkai is to explore, to be surprised, to question what constitutes a reading experience, and to challenge what else literature can be?