Release Date: 30th January, 2003
Publisher: Penguin Classics
Add it: Goodreads
'Crime? What crime?...My killing a loathsome, harmful louse, a filthy old moneylender woman...and you call that a crime?'
Raskolnikov, a destitute and desperate former student, wanders through the slums of St Petersburg and commits a random murder without remorse or regret. He imagines himself to be a great man, a Napoleon: acting for a higher purpose beyond conventional moral law. But as he embarks on a dangerous game of cat and mouse with a suspicious police investigator, Raskolnikov is pursued by the growing voice of his conscience and finds the noose of his own guilt tightening around his neck. Only Sonya, a downtrodden prostitute, can offer the chance of redemption.
I’ve had this book on my shelves for a while; it was on the booklist my Literature & Psychology course in university but I just never got around to reading it
because I couldn’t be bothered. Anyway, this turned out to be a pretty readable Classic, I mostly enjoyed it.
So, what is with the Russians and abjectly depressing literature? Seriously. The main character, Raskolnikov (which I have to split into like, three different words just to be able to spell >.>) is a poor student living basically one step up from downright poverty; he suffers from a multitude of ailments, both physical and mental, and ends up killing his landlady. As you do. In the aftermath of her murder, Raskolnikov finds himself haunted by his own conscience, and is driven to the brink of madness by his guilty conscience.