Vroom vroom

Pages read today: 143 for Meredith, 56 for Ilya

I have now read through a very famous section of Karamazov, the chapter called "The Grand Inquisitor." In the guise of a story written by one of the titular brothers, Ivan, it describes the return of Jesus Christ to Earth in the 16th century (not, I gather, the official Second Coming, merely a visit) and his interrogation by an official of the Spanish Inquisition. (Insert Monty Python-derivative joke.) Would it sully my artsy-fartsy cred to reveal that much of the time I spent reading aforesaid chapter I also spent ruminating upon the parallels with the last five episodes of the fourth season of Angel? (I mean, we start with an image of a god returned to earth, surrounded by adulating worshippers, and then spend a considerable amount of time pontificating on the distinctions between peace and free will.) Yet I think the more thrilling passages are the section immediately foregoing ("Rebellion"), which is closely related to the "Inquisitor" section, and then the section following, describing the final hours and thoughts of the character of the monk Zossima, which is diametrically opposed to the "Inquisitor."

"Rebellion" leads into the "Inquisitor" by letting Ivan describe at some length his anti-religious attitudes. Earlier passages in the book had dealt with religious philosophy as well, but the discussion found previously had seemed, for lack of a better term, old-fashioned. Saying that a world without a God is a world without morality, as some of Dostoevsky's characters seem to be saying, seems to this contemporary reader like a naive and glib answer given by a past age to the genuinely challenging question of where moral codes come from in the first place. In the "Rebellion" section, however, the narrative becomes imbued with a passion (there's that word again) and fire that earlier discussions had lacked. Ivan is asking the perennial question of why a loving God allows evil in the world, which I'm sure seems to many modern religious people to be as naive and glib and hackneyed as the earlier passages were to me, but I found the exposition of the dilemma forceful and even exciting. For a time the narrative assumes the focus that I appreciated about Underground.

After the "Inquisitor" section Dostoevsky moves on to the diametrically opposed Zossima passages. Where "Rebellion" and "Inquisitor" were bitter and skeptical, Zossima speaks in the final hours of his life of love and hope and virtue. It's a pretty wild pendulum swing from bitterness to hopefulness, and it's impressive to think that Dostoevsky's vision is broad enough, that he as a novelist is confident enough, to just let the representatives of both viewpoints speak at such length and divert the novel for so long.

So is Karamazov getting better and more exciting or  am I simply reaching sections that I am better capable of grasping and understanding? (Is there even any actual distinction to be made there? Conventionally yes, but actually? I'm not sure there is.) Whatever the cause, it's nice when your reading isn't so much of a slog. I look forward to tomorrow's reading time.