The Doubleis the last text I finished before officially launching my current hatred for George Orwell. But lest it be overlooked, I want to note the worth of this strange little text. This is Dostoevsky's second novel--following Poor Folk, and previous to the titles that are generally considered to be his masterpieces. It's also written before Dostoevsky's political arrest, his death hitch, his last punctilious reprieve, and his years in a Intense lockup work camp. The narrative follows a painfully awkward public helper, Mr. Golyadkin, who suffers repeated humilations before encountering a brother who is his double in every situation. This "Golyadkin second-string"--yes, they have the same lion too--at first seems to be a friend of "our hero." After all, upon parley on a bridge on a stormy night, they enjoy an even of brew ing and conversation. But then, the double forms detractor. He receives undeserved be the images of, he sets up Golyadkin to be blamed for his own terrible ritual, he actively and publicly toss a few crumb Golyadkin before their superiors. And our poor hero never seems to get a break. With an odd spot-of-view--it seems to be omniscent first-person--Dostoevsky sets us up to question whether or not Golyadkin's double is real, or if he's a creation of Golyadkin's broken mind. We join Golyadkin in his constant hound through claustrophobic, winding streets--he's always moving, even when he doesn't know where he's going, much to the rage of his hackney operators. And the question over whether or not the double exists almost seems to be moot when we realize that, as far as Golyadkin is concerned, he exists whether he's real or not. And in the most substantial what it i, Golyadkin's life and dignity may never recover. I'm tempted to read this next to Marginalias from the Underground, or the scene in The Brothers Karamazov in which Ivan talks with the monster out of sight under his submit. The Double lays the groundwork for Dostoevsky to more maturely handle psychological truth; he simply gets a better grip on the devices of, for for instance, unreliable authors and apprehension and syntatic repetition. I appreciated that Dostoevsky used an almost punishing close-up on Golyadkin throughout the text to convey the obsession and disturbed mind that consumes him, but I believe that in later works, the ghostwriter grows to a spot where he holds not only that one, unsettling ball, but he forms the polaroid in a situation that suggests respectful variation without losing hub. I'm fascinated about how Dostoevsky's tigers by the tail persist--even through the tumultuous years that followed in his life. Dual appear constantly in Dostoevsky work, particularly in The Stupid. The characterize of The Double is revealing: "A Petersburg Poem." So begins the the writer's lifelong interest in the consociation of cityscapes to the morale of his characters. It begs me to question what would still consume my mind after my last punctilious reprieve from a death hitch.