Notes from Underground

I can see why Notes from Underground is considered a classic, but it’s definitely not an easy read. It’s less about the plot and more about getting inside the mind of someone who’s painfully self-aware, deeply insecure, and constantly getting in their own way. At times it’s repetitive and frustrating, but I think that’s the point—you experience the same mental loops the narrator is trapped in. What stood out to me most was how honest it is about the darker parts of being human: pride, resentment, shame, loneliness, and the way we can sabotage the very things we want most. I don’t think Dostoevsky is asking us to agree with the narrator so much as asking us to understand what happens when someone becomes imprisoned by their own thoughts. It’s not a book I’d recommend to someone looking for an exciting story, but if you’re interested in psychology, philosophy, or understanding the complexity of human nature, it’s absolutely worth reading. Challenging? Yes. Comfortable? Not at all. But unforgettable.

A visceral experience. I don’t think I’ve ever related to a book character as much as I did with Underground Man. There were times where I legitimately felt my nerves throbbing as Dostoevsky forced me to take one long, hard stare into some of the nastiest thoughts I’ve had throughout my life. I feel like I understand myself better now, and I understand humanity better too. This guy is too much of a master.

I actually quite liked the first section of the book, which was thoroughly surprising. I normally have no time for rambly, disconnected stream-of-consciousness philosophizing, but for some reason this one landed just fine with me. But I hated Part 2—the sections with actual plot & characters. I’m never sure what I’m supposed to be drawn to in a book with a fully despicable main character, especially when he’s also the narrator. There’s just nothing at all to like about this guy; he makes sure to drive that home. OK, so then what? I haven’t yet found any answer to that.

An emotionally provoking read, written with passion and self-loathing, refraining from any self-compassion whatsoever as he continuously points out his own faults and traits seemingly unable to stop himself from using ragged honesty despite multiple attempts at lying. Wrought with shame and indignance and carried out until the bitter end of his tale as if possessed to do so by his own conscience.