It would be very easy to write a 10,000 word review on this but I couldn't do it justice. So just an observation of what I believe to be the most complete book ever:
The Brothers K is, along with Oblomov (note: I lifted this from an old forum post, and in this forum I would reference Oblomov again and again. I'm in the process of tracking what I originally wrote about Oblomov down to put on this blog) the only book to make me feel some very weird things. However, whereas Oblomov basically explores and does its best to explain ennui, existentialism and, as an overall theme, how we treat our loved ones in the way we do and what that says about how we treat ourselves in a highly effective and moving away, Brothers K is so much more. In Brothers K, Dostoevsky pulls the human condition from out of your head, unfolds it, strokes it a little, then hammers that fucker into the wall and puts it on display for everybody to see. The swathes of glossy surface, its well-intentioned folds, the curls at the corners and the dirty great stains you've done your best to hide for your whole life. One chapter in particular (The Grand Inquisitor) is still the only passage I've read in any book that made me put it down halfway through to actually catch my breath. My heart was beating, I was sweating. Was that a tear or had I been staring at the page too hard? Difficult to say. Absolutely astonishing ideas and penmanship. I want that chapter to burn with me when I die. It's at once gruesome, disgusting and life-affirming. Brothers K was written soon before Dostoevsky's death and you can tell. Every single sentence is gorgeous and pregnant with the significant of a rich life.
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