Dostoyevsky

I’ve finally put myself to reading Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment (€ 3.33 – I love FNAC) which doesn’t look that impressive in a cheap paperback edition. And like with millions before me he clouds my day. I can see where this weekend is going: One unanswered call and many hours on a cold concrete bench at Plaza Mayor; in the shade so the pages don’t blind my eyes. Already he made me do an entire round on line 6 (Circular).

And I know that this post, in a slightly altered form, will end up in my upcoming (fictional!) novel because it’s just too beautiful. Twenty-something and the ambition to become a writer people actually read but I haven’t read most of the world’s greatest literature myself. The good thing about being in Spain is that the average bookshop only has the world’s greatest literature in English, so I’m more or less forced to decently educate myself.

Fifteen thousand words in this “weighty tome” (thanks Hank) I’m staggering on I feel like I’m getting somewhere. Dialogue and description harmonize and some scenes actually do work out the way I want them to. But then I pick up Dostoyevsky again and I feel small and insignificant. The desire to become a writer means to have the guts to face the handful of geniuses that fill FNAC’s English section. And they’re tough. Will I ever manage to take my place there, even if it's just for € 3.33?