Notes from the Underground by Fyodor Dostoevski
"Notes from the Underground" is a novella by Fyodor Dostoevski that explores the complexities of human psychology through the introspective musings of an unnamed narrator. He presents himself as a bitter, self-loathing former government official who grapples with profound feelings of alienation and resentment. The narrator's acute self-awareness leads him to reject societal norms and intellectual pursuits, instead finding a perverse pleasure in his suffering and humiliation. This existential reflection reveals a deep ambivalence towards life, as he contemplates the choices individuals make, often contrary to their own best interests.
Central to the narrative is the tension between the narrator's desire for connection and his overwhelming fear of intimacy, which is exemplified in his interactions with others, particularly with a young prostitute named Liza. His attempts to connect are marred by insincerity and a longing for power over others, ultimately leading to further isolation. Through a series of humiliating experiences, the narrator's journey raises questions about identity, self-worth, and the human condition. "Notes from the Underground" is often seen as a precursor to modern existential thought, inviting readers to ponder the darker aspects of consciousness and societal expectations.
Notes from the Underground by Fyodor Dostoevski
First published:Zapiski iz podpolya, 1864 (English translation, 1913)
Type of work: Novel
Type of plot: Impressionistic realism
Time of plot: Mid-nineteenth century
Locale: St. Petersburg, Russia
Principal Characters
The Narrator ,Simonov , his acquaintance from school daysZverkov , a young Russian officerLiza , a prostitute
The Story
The narrator, addressing an imaginary group of acquaintances, declares that after many years of life as a rude and spiteful government official, and a recluse, he is not really bitter in his heart. Something perverse in him, his acute consciousness, has led him to find pleasure in the pain of humiliating experiences. From experience, he advises against intellectual activity. The intellectual, he says, when faced with revenge, surrounds himself with a legion of doubts; then he crawls into his self-imposed rat’s nest and tortures himself with petty spite. The direct man, in wreaking revenge, might with dispatch hit his head against a wall, but he will accept the wall. The intellectual will not accept the wall; indeed, he will feel responsibility for the presence of the wall. The narrator declares that he has always had to feign taking offense and that he has had, in the face of life’s transiency, to pretend to love. Life to him is a colossal bore. He can never avenge wrongs done to him because the culprits, the culprits’ motives, and the very misdeeds themselves are all subject to overanalysis in his doubting intellect.
Given another chance at life, the narrator states, he would choose a career of complete laziness, one in which he might revel among good and beautiful things. He declares that even if a man were to know absolutely what things in life are to his best advantage, he will perversely avoid these things. The narrator advances the idea that people may be destined for creativeness, and for this reason, conscious of their fate, they perversely practice destruction to individuate themselves. Perhaps people are fearful of completion, of perfection; perhaps they find final attainment distasteful: Life consists in the attaining, not in the attainment. The narrator concludes his philosophical soliloquy by pointing out that conscious inertia is the ideal state. He provocatively insists that he does not believe a word he has written, that he has written only because the written word seems imposing and dignified. He is oppressed by memories that are evoked by the fall of snow outside.
At the age of twenty-four, the narrator has an inchoate character. He talks to no one. His intense self-consciousness causes him to be vain at one moment and self-loathing the next. He tries to look intelligent and fears any eccentricity in himself. This acute awareness of self makes him lonely, yet he feels superior to others. He becomes a recluse. He reads voraciously and begins to walk the streets at night.
One night, he sees a man thrown out the window of a billiard parlor. In envy, he goes into the billiard parlor in the hope that he, too, might be thrown out. He is humiliated when an officer shoves him aside without noticing him. He returns the next night, but, morally fearful that all the fools in the parlor will jeer at his being thrown out, he does not enter. Dedicated to revenge, for months he follows the officer who shoved him. He learns the officer’s name and writes a satirical novel in which the officer is the principal character. The novel is rejected when he submits it for publication; its style is out of date.
Two years pass. He writes a letter challenging the officer to a duel, but he does not mail it. Instead, he begins to take regular walks along the river promenade, where he revels in his resentment. One Sunday on his walk he is rudely pushed aside by the officer. Maddened at his own weakness, the narrator conceives the idea of not giving way next time. He gloats over his idea. He practices pushing aside an imaginary officer. His courage fails him once, but he finally stands his ground when the officer tries again to push him aside. Actually, the officer does not notice him at all, but he is delirious with happiness in having gained back his self-respect.
The narrator begins to daydream. In his fantasies, he brings beauty and good to the world. During the fever pitch of his dream life, feeling the need of companionship, he visits his immediate superior, Anton, and sits in silence with Anton’s family for hours.
He calls on an old schoolmate, Simonov, and finds Simonov planning, with two other old schoolmates, a farewell dinner for Zverkov, a fellow student of the direct, not too acutely conscious type, whom the narrator hates. Zverkov, a wealthy man, has been successful in the army. The narrator is greeted coldly by his boyhood acquaintances, but he invites himself to the dinner party. The other young men agree reluctantly; he is obviously not a favorite with them. Later the narrator detests himself for consciously having opened himself up to humiliation, but secretly he rather enjoys having discomfited his companions.
The next day, as he dresses for the dinner, he has misgivings. He wants to make a great impression; he wants to eclipse the popular Zverkov. Yet he knows that he really does not want to do this either. He arrives too early and is humiliated by his wait. During the dinner he antagonizes everyone and drinks too much. Having thoroughly degraded himself, he offers conciliation and seeks the love of his companions. When he apologizes to Zverkov for insulting him, Zverkov humiliates him by saying that someone such as he could not possibly insult him. Filled with the wild, unreasonable intention of slapping Zverkov and challenging him to a duel, the narrator follows the others to a brothel.
At the brothel, a young woman is brought to him in the parlor; he is pleased at the prospect of being repulsive to her. He sleeps off his drunkenness, awakes, and delivers a bookish, insincere sermon to Liza, the prostitute, on the hazards of her profession. He is grandstanding and he knows it, to his shame. He tells her of the importance of human love, something about which he actually knows nothing. Liza, to prove to him that she is not entirely lost, shows him a love letter that she has received from a young gentleman. The narrator gives Liza his address and leaves her. The next day, he regrets having given her his address. He hates himself for his insincerity with her, and he fears that she will come to his home, but she does not. He imagines an idyllic relationship between himself and Liza; he will be her tutor and will mold her into a perfect creature.
When Liza finally arrives, she is confused by the wretched condition of the poor narrator’s rooms. She says that she has left the brothel. Alarmed, the narrator confesses his insincerity and declares that he had sought power over someone because he himself had been humiliated. Liza understands his inner turmoil and takes him in her arms. Liza’s intuition soon tells her, however, that he is despicable and incapable of love. After she leaves, he runs after her to seek her forgiveness, but he never sees her again. He derives some consolation from the thought that her resentment of him will give her pleasure for the rest of her life.
Bibliography
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Jones, Malcolm V. Dostoyevsky: The Novel of Discord. London: Elek, 1976. Print.
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Paris, Bernard J. Dostoevsky’s Greatest Characters: A New Approach to Notes from Underground, Crime and Punishment, and The Brothers Karamazov. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008. Print.
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