"What's more, even fools are by genuine sorrow turned into wise men."

- Demons, Fyodor Dostoevsky, VII, Chapter 5

Demons by Fyodor Dostoevksy responses to Part I. Part II.

i.

My dear, the real truth is always improbable, do you know that? To make truth sound probable you must always mix in some falsehood with it. Men have always done so. Perhaps there's something in it that passes our understanding.

Even though it is more in the beginning of the second part, the initial encounter with Fedka has haunted my mind throughout my days. Nikolai suddenly finding himself on a bridge, the middle of the night, and awakened from his deep thoughts – he hears a voice next to him. The combination of the humor which permeates Fedka's way of talking (-"What are you doing here?"- "Watching the clock go round.")  with the eeriness of the dark, "empty space" in which the encounter takes place has implanted itself deeply into my psyche.

The whole buildup to the fête is most scary, because it's a Dostoevsky novel you think: "...oh boy what's gonna happen there?"

ii.

I always fall for the wrong people, and in this case it is Stavrogin. I know he will do and admit to terrible things before we are through here, but I find his inscrutable motives and obvious pain to be very moving. His baffling refusal to explain himself gives him his power. So much of being in any society is signalling our intentions to one another (whether true or not)--his ability to move between morally good and morally reprehensible actions without creating a narrative--a "story of self"--is what seems to inspire so much fear of him. He seems to act without regard for consequence, and yet we know he is suffering--his self-punishing actions, his seemingly pre-emptive self-scorn. ("I thought you yourself were seeking a burden" Kirillov asks him after the duel. And moments later "Bear the burden. Otherwise there's no merit.") He seems tortured and baffled by his own behaviour, painfully self-aware, while remaining above all other characters. His need for reputation and countervailing scorn for the admiration he inspires is heartbreaking to me.

In Part 2 of the novel, there seems to be a shift in tone between the ensemble scenes--satirical, frivolous, almost hysterical--and the intensity and lack of frivolity in the one-on-one scenes, beginning with each of Stavrogin's encounters throughout his long, wet night, and continuing through the post-duel conversation with Kirillov. The conversations with Kirillov and Shatov feel heavy with longing, though each of them long for a different version of what they think is Stavrogin's spiritual philosophy (I say spiritual because all longing seems to have a spiritual or sacred component to me) or faith(?). They are each begging to communicate with him in some real way, and it seems like he cannot. He may want to--he seems not to have the contempt for these two that he has for others--but he can't.

The encounter with Marya is has a haunted quality; she sees directly through him, and sets up clearly the notion of him as a double, an actor, a mask. He is not her Prince.

The economy of the conversation with Dasha--so full of restraint and emotion--is Shakespearean in its ability to condense a world of plot and feeling.

I don't know. Stavrogin does not strike me as evil, but violently unknown to himself, and seeking to transcend somehow.

iii.

If you have the guillotine in the foreground of your programme and are so enthusiastic about it too, it's simply because nothing's easier than cutting of heads, and nothing's harder than to have an idea.

I would like to propose that one of the “demons” in Demons is society’s quickness to “see,” rather than to understand. The moment that brought this to my attention is when the narrator joins Lizaveta Nikolaevna and a group of people who are on their way to pay a visit to the famous “holy fool,” Semyon Yakovlevich. Their collective reaction to him is revealing of this inclination: “Gay and greedily curious eyes turned towards Semyon Yakovlevich, as did lorgnettes, pince-nez, and even opera glasses; Lyamshin, at least, was observing through opera glasses. Semyon Yakovlevich calmly and lazily glanced around with his small eyes” (329). Shown within the magnification of the eyes is the exaggeration of an eagerness to perceive — even on the part of the “holy fool” — and little more. It almost seems as if the vast majority of Semyon Yakovlevich’s visitors, including this particular party, come to him for the clout of having made the journey, rather than to truly be imparted with his supposed wisdom. Prior to seeing Semyon Yakovlevich, the group is informed of a nineteen-year-old boy who had died by suicide in their same hotel, and “at once the idea was voiced of having a look at the suicide. The idea met with support: our ladies had never seen a suicide” (326). Present in this moment is a desire within the characters to behold that which is thrilling. The scene turns into a sort of theater, and Lyamshin even steals some grapes from the young man’s room, prompting several onlookers to follow suit. There is no real emotional impact felt by those who see the dead boy, for their purpose in seeing him is not to understand, but to take part in the spectacle.

Throughout the novel, the rapid development and spreading of rumors is another example of its society’s lack of a desire for a deeper knowledge or truth, but rather for surface-level gossip and intrigue, as is the intense focus upon physiognomy and its relationship to how one is perceived; for instance, both Stavrogin’s and Lizaveta Nikolaevna are described rather ominously, and in great detail, when they are introduced. Stavrogin is stated to be “…the very image of beauty… and at the same time repulsive, as it were” (43), while about Lizaveta Nikolaevna it is said that “… there was in this face something so conquering and attracting! Some sort of power told itself in the burning look of her dark eyes; she appeared ‘as a conqueror, and to conquer’” (109). Both of these descriptions are sinister in nature, and though they contain a great amount of detail, most of those details are, ultimately, the subjective observations of the narrator, Anton Lavrentievich, which, alongside his recurring snarky tone, speaks to the general eagerness of the people of Demons to pass judgement based on physical appearance, and, more broadly, that which is easily seen.

iv.

It’s unbearable to read how these characters suffer so deeply on the basis of nothing. Perhaps the true devil is their hallucination of all the pain they project. Each one of them is only just a change in view away from freedom.

What fuels this passion to go deeper and deeper inside the chaos? On the basis of so much wrong and history, they abide in these fortresses of pain. Somehow it seems as though only Stavrogin has the courage to go into their minds and try to explode it? To break through the ordinary, the dull?

This ferocity of being… how else might a being like this have been born?

Kirilov’s notion of suicide is a grand one, if interpreted as the death of the self. Perhaps this is his meaning. Because who can remember pain once it is over? Nothing that is flesh remains, only ideas.

To read him and Shatov speak is to read the idea of worship, but to not encounter faith. If they can see God in everything, why can’t they keep it a secret?

Marya has traded the balance of two earths. She prays for forgiveness for all. Stavrogin is not married to her by accident, there is a power there to which he is beholden.

The stench of impending death is heavy and strong here. It is good to remember that the forces at play are bigger than Fedka’s will.

I keep thinking about how it is easier to kill an ant than it is to kill a horse. An ant is so small that you wouldn't know how its legs are crushed or how its eyes burst out. But you can see how a horse gives its last breath, how blood runs out from its belly.

This is to say that it’s easy to forget that the devil is hidden in the details.

Meaning, for as long as we look to one person to blame for this vast, inconceivably damaged way of being, the person looking for the demon amongst this narrative, becomes the devil, itself.

v.

Only one thing is lacking in the world; obedience. The thirst for education is already an aristocratic thirst. As soon as there’s just a tiny bit of family or love, there’s a desire for property. We’ll extinguish desire: we’ll get drinking, gossip, denunciations going; we’ll get unheard-of depravity going; we’ll stifle every genius in infancy. Everything reduced to a common denominator, complete equality.

Ah, yes, and now as we enter and exit Part 2, we’re getting deeper and deeper into the mess, the chaos, the need for change, enlightenment, revenge, abolition, and freedom in subordination.

It’s mucky, and dark and hauntingly familiar.

(January 6th 2021 keeps popping into my mind)

I find that desperation that hangs off of Pyotr Stepanovich when talking to Stravrogin so captivating and gratifying . And yeah… I get it. I’m into Stravrogin in part two. He’s quiet, and distant. He’s thoughtful and lost in contemplation, careful and focused on (perhaps) evolving? His need for conversations and clarity with Shatov, Kirillov…the spinning rage with Fedka.   Marya’s words are power, truth, and he loses, again, having to soak into that reality.  I’m into it. Right now.

This idea popped up when “seeing” but not understanding was said above… it’s almost  like talking at a person, not quite “with” them.

I’d love to discuss the fivesome, as well as the very end and where we left off with Stepan. I’ll read over these sections again as well, but I think having some clarification and conversation would be helpful.

vi.

Where the scope of the action in Part 1 is laser focused on a handful of characters, Part 2 broadens that lens and we have a menagerie of people to keep account of.  No doubt remembering the names of the countless characters that have been introduced has been a challenge, it also provides a lot of depth because each character feels wholly unique and fully realized, even the lesser characters who help push the narrative by simply being there for background context.  

The relationship between Stepan and his son Pyotr has been fascinating to watch.  Though Pyotr outwardly antagonizes his father and seems to share no idealogical similarities with him, they are in fact very much alike.  They both have propensity to over talk and over explain.  Pyotr with his words, and seemingly self deprecating sensibility and Stepan with his overtly written letters.

Also of note is the duality that Nikolai possess.  Outwardly, he behaves either gentlemanly or erratically, but always in control of himself, whereas in his private meetings and thoughts, he is in fact a deeply troubled man with a very specific agenda.

A last note that I found amusing is a phrase that the narrator uses often.  He'll end a lot of sentences of paragraphs with a phrase like 'more on that later,' which doesn't always come around.  It reminds me of the Edward Albee play The Zoo Story, where one of the characters constantly refer to an event at the zoo which he'll tell the other about, but never does.  Just an interesting little correlation that I picked up...

vii.

Only one thing is lacking in the world; obedience. The thirst for education is already an aristocratic thirst. As soon as there’s just a tiny bit of family or love, there’s a desire for property. We’ll extinguish desire: we’ll get drinking, gossip, denunciations going; we’ll get unheard-of depravity going; we’ll stifle every genius in infancy. Everything reduced to a common denominator, complete equality.

I was very moved by the boy from the provinces who shoots himself after "carousing away" his family's savings. From one point of view he seems to have achieved supreme freedom in Kirillov's sense. At least that's what some of the spectators think: "that this was the best solution and that the boy even could not have come up with anything smarter; another concluded that he had lived well, if only for a moment" (327), leaving aside whether this is what they really believe or a freethinker's witticism. The sudden change in behavior of the "hitherto modest and trustworthy" boy strongly suggests the demonic the way we've defined it. I was also thinking about what Dostoyevsky intended by pairing this episode with the visit to Semyon Yakovlevich. What do these scenes have in common, apart from the detail that both are seen as forms of entertainment by Elizaveta Nikolaevna's company? One clue, I think, is that they both have to do with unexpected good fortune. Semyon Yakovlevich dispenses favor in a mysterious, apparently random or at least unmerited way, and somehow excessive (I'm thinking of the old lady who was given more sugar than she knows what to do with), that is, the same way that the boy came into his sister's dowry: one day he suddenly had the means to satisfy desires that until then were repressed. In the boy's case, unlike Semyon Yakovlevich's, we see the tragic consequences that sudden good fortune can have. If there is prophecy here, Matthew comes to mind: "For whosoever hath, to him shall be given, and he shall have more abundance: but whosoever hath not, from him shall be taken away even that he hath."

viii.

I will never forget the horror that was expressed on Varvara Petrovnas face. With an insane look she rose from her chair, holding her right hand up in front of her as to defend herself. Nikolai Vesevoldovich turned to leave and made an obvious move to run after him, but caught hold of herself and did not run but walked out quietly,

The level of contrast in this book to me is extremely interesting but also somewhat confusing at the same time. I feel as though reading this book at times is like trying to solve a puzzle in trying to decipher what the actual plot itself is. I feel as though the questions brought forward especially in part two are quite fundamentalist questions about the belief in God or political structure yet they are brought about in a fairly dark and cynical tone. With Pytors seemingly ‘radical’ plans it is a reminiscence of today's youth culture and youth political identities and how there is this stereotype of today's young people as being ‘radicalized’. I found it very interesting how assertive  Kirillov was about planning to commit suicide. The climatic dueling moment that left both parties alive to me was a prime example of the ‘threatening’’ nature that several of the characters are portrayed throughout part two. The end of Part two resulting in both the raid of Stephans home as well as the revelation that Marya is Stavrogin's wife end Part two in a tumultuous place. It was interesting to see the Governor and Varanas reaction to this news.