Fyodor Dostoyevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov is everything teenagers don’t want in a book: convoluted sentences, indecipherable dialogue, heavy religious and existential themes, lack of excitement, uninteresting plot, and frequent trips to the appendix section to translate the never-ending stream of French phrases and allusions to other Russian poets.

And yet, it’s one of the most heavily praised books ever written, considered as one of the shining benchmarks of world literature. Even Vladimir Putin, the world’s most famous cold-blooded psychopath, considers the book one of his favorites. Other notable admirers include Leo Tolstoy, Hillary Clinton, and Sigmund Freud.

So what makes this sleep-inducing paperweight so attractive and brilliant among intellectuals? Seeking to expand my horizons this past summer, I decided to find out. Having read some lesser known Dostoyevsky novels previously, I had an idea of what to expect going in — a long exposition and confusing narrative, almost as if Dostoyevsky sought to “weed out” unprepared readers from his future masterpiece, much like the Moby Dick summer reading for AP English 3 students here at NASH.

Don’t be fazed by this brief challenge. The book is one of the most rewarding in the world, as Dostoyevsky presents his refutation of Western materialism, embracing the spirituality of the old Russia in an era of change.

Unlike his other works, TBK starts to take off much more quickly, as you’re introduced to Fyodor Karamazov, a deplorable but wealthy miser, as well as his three vastly different sons, representing the three aspects of man: Dmitri, the eldest, is a sensualist, representing the body, and both hates and resembles his father. Ivan, the second born, representing the mind, is an intellectual who subscribes to the “new” ideals of the Western world. He is developed into the primary antagonist of the book, through which Dostoyevsky presents his targets of nihilism, atheism, socialism, and utilitarianism to be refuted.

This refutation comes in the form of the third son, Alexei, better known as Alyosha (an affectionate form of his name). Having left his home to join the nearby monastery under the guidance of Elder Zosima, Alyosha is presented as a naive, but absolutely pure, Christ-like figure, impossible to hate, and loved by everyone around him.

The brothers are initially separated, and have been for most of their lives, but a series of coincidences and events result in Alyosha leaving the monastery to experience the world, and the brothers, in a series of meetings, begin to share their views. Dmitri and Ivan, despite their differences, share a mutual hatred for their father, which is somewhat reciprocated, albeit in different ways. However, Alyosha and Fyodor are much closer, with Alyosha attempting to save a wretched old man seemingly beyond redemption.

Dostoyevsky further skews the family dynamics with Fyodor’s apparent murder, while in the midst of a clash with Dmitri. With the same crisis tormenting the brothers in differing ways, they continue to trudge down their different paths, while attempting to push and pull each other towards themselves.

My sharpest critique of this book is the sometimes exaggerated emotions and descriptions of the characters, a characteristic found in all of Dostoyevsky’s books. Some of this may be attributed to the imperfection of translation, but some is also intentional — it is a vehicle through which Dostoyevsky can ridicule the presented situation.

Something else to note is the wide variety of ideas that are touched upon. Dostoyevsky originally wrote his books serially, publishing chapters at a time. As a result, the book can feel jumpy across subjects, from psychology to religion, and right back to psychology again. However, instead of the typical end result of a lack of depth in subjects being covered, Dostoyevsky delves very deeply into every topic he breaches.

My highest praises of the book are twofold: its interrogation and defense of the Christian faith, and Dostoyevsky’s deep understanding of social psychology and family dynamics in a moral and religious context. To me, the most impactful chapters came relatively early in the book. They are “Rebellion” and “The Grand Inquisitor,” in which Ivan presents two different attacks on religion, specifically Christianity.

Although Ivan represents the evil of Western ideology, which Dostoyevsky is attempting to refute, he doesn’t dilute these attacks in the slightest, and they seem initially overwhelming both on Alyosha and the reader. However, by the end of the novel, Dostoyevsky is able to neutralize these attacks and more, an impressive feat in itself. If reading a whole brick of cellulose doesn’t sound appealing to you, then I highly recommend these two chapters to be read individually. There is no knowledge of the plot required to understand Ivan’s argument, and trying to answer him alone is a great challenge for the self and has caused me to grow as a human myself.

Out of the small library of books I’ve read, I would rate TBK an 8.5/10, and easily in the top 25. The book is sleep-inducing at times, but much more often thought-provoking. While being one of the hardest books I’ve read, it’s also been one of the most rewarding, and I hope all of you will consider this book at some point in your lives. It’s not necessarily a must-read for teenagers, but I believe it’s a must-read during everyone’s lifetime.