Crime and Punishment

By Fyodor Dostoevsky

Note: I read the Penguin Classics version (as pictured on blog post cover). I personally thought the translation was great and easy to read in the 21st century. But I haven’t read another version nor the Russian to know for sure. I get my translation recommendations from Reddit, so check there what people say!

A Descent into Guilt and Madness

If Fyodor Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment were a person, it would be that brooding, slightly unhinged friend who shows up at your flat at 3 a.m., clutching a bottle of vodka and muttering about the meaning of life. It’s a novel that doesn’t just knock on the door of your psyche—it kicks it down, drags you into the abyss, and then asks if you fancy a cup of tea while you’re down there.

At its core, Crime and Punishment is a story about a man who commits a crime and then spends the rest of the book being thoroughly punished—not just by society, but by his own conscience. Rodion Raskolnikov, our “hero” (and I use that term loosely), is a former student with a Napoleon complex, a dodgy moral compass, and a penchant for overthinking. He decides to murder a pawnbroker, because, well, why not? She’s unpleasant, and he’s convinced he’s one of those “extraordinary” people who can bend the rules. Spoiler: he’s not.

What follows is a masterclass in psychological torment. Raskolnikov’s guilt manifests as paranoia, feverish hallucinations, and a general inability to function like a normal human being. Dostoevsky takes us on a tour of his crumbling mind, and it’s not a pleasant trip.

But let’s not forget the dark humour. Yes, Crime and Punishment is bleak, but it’s also oddly funny in places. There’s something grimly amusing about Raskolnikov’s sheer incompetence as a criminal. He’s the kind of guy who would botch a shoplifting job because he forgot to bring a bag. And then there’s the supporting cast: Marmeladov, the drunken civil servant who delivers monologues so melodramatic they could give Shakespeare a run for his money, and Svidrigailov, the creepy aristocrat who’s basically the Victorian equivalent of that one bloke who always lingers too long at the pub.

Dostoevsky’s writing is dense, but it’s worth the effort. His exploration of guilt, redemption, and the human condition is as relevant today as it was in 1866. And while Crime and Punishment might not be the cheeriest read (it’s no Pride and Prejudice, let’s put it that way), it’s undeniably powerful. It’s the kind of book that stays with you.

A Personal Tangent: Why I Dove into Dostoevsky

I picked up Crime and Punishment fresh off the back of War and Peace—because apparently, I have a thing for Russian literature that doubles as a doorstop. After spending five years (yes, five years) wrestling with Tolstoy’s epic (see my other blog post for that saga), I was ready for something shorter. Or so I thought. When I saw Crime and Punishment was still a hefty 500+ pages, I braced myself for another half-decade commitment. But to my surprise, I devoured it in just a couple of weeks.

What made the difference? The prose. Dostoevsky’s writing flows like a dark, relentless river. It’s not that it’s easy—there’s still plenty of philosophical musings and existential dread—but it’s so gripping that I never found a good place to put it down. Every chapter ended with a hook that pulled me into the next. Raskolnikov’s spiralling mental state was horrifying, but impossible to look away from.

It’s funny, really. After War and Peace, I thought I’d need a break from Russian literature. Tolstoy’s sprawling cast of characters and intricate historical detail felt like running a marathon. But Dostoevsky? He’s more like a sprint through a haunted house. It’s intense, claustrophobic, and over before you know it—but it leaves you breathless and slightly shaken.

Final Thoughts: Why You Should Read It (Even If You’re Not a Masochist)

If you’re like me and have a soft spot for books that make you question your sanity, Crime and Punishment is a must-read. It’s dark, it’s witty, and it’s surprisingly accessible for a 19th-century Russian classic. Plus, it’s a great way to impress people at parties. Nothing says “I’m cultured” quite like casually dropping, “Oh, you know, Raskolnikov’s theory of the extraordinary man really resonated with me.”

So, grab a copy, settle in with a strong cup of something, and prepare to lose yourself in the twisted mind of Dostoevsky.