Early in March, I was sucker punched by a Russian. A dead Russian, as a matter of fact. Let me explain. Late in December, I made a New Year’s resolution to read at least six classics that were new to me in the coming year. Sir Walter Scott’s “Ivanhoe” was my first choice, and I found that excursion into the days of King Richard and Robin Hood an agreeable adventure. Next up for investigation was Fyodor Dostoevsky’s “Devils,” the Constance Garnett translation that had sat unopened on my shelf for years. Long ago, I’d read “Notes From the Underground,“ The Brothers Karamazov,” and “Crime and Punishment,” and I later taught these last two books to my Advanced Placement Literature students. And so I began “Devils,” unfazed by the novel’s length—almost 700 pages—and inspired to make my march through that story by the book’s blurb, which proclaimed that the novel centered …
Early in March, I was sucker punched by a Russian. A dead Russian, as a matter of fact. Let me explain. Late in December, I made a New Year’s resolution to read at least six classics that were new to me in the coming year. Sir Walter Scott’s “Ivanhoe” was my first choice, and I
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