The Idiot has been faulted for technical imperfections as a novel. Such imperfections do, indeed, exist. The novel begins well—in fact, shows outstanding promise—but as it progresses, the author’s control over his material seems to deteriorate. Consequently, the latter part of the novel, despite occasional flashes of brilliance, appears ill conceived and sloppily written. In all fairness, however, consideration must be given to the circumstances under which Fyodor Dostoevski was working when he wrote The Idiot. He was living abroad with his second wife (the first had died in 1864), moving too frequently to put down roots in any one place. During this period, he suffered severe attacks of epilepsy. His first child was born and died three months after birth. He gambled compulsively, was constantly in debt to his publisher for advances on the novel, and felt intermittent guilt about subjecting his wife and child to privation because of his gambling. Shortly after the death of the first child, whom Dostoevski mourned excessively, his wife became pregnant again, adding more worries and responsibilities to Dostoevski’s already heavy burden. Under these conditions and demands, Dostoevski wrote The Idiot.

The Idiot has also been blamed for obscurity. Without a doubt, it has languished in the shadow of its two more renowned siblings, Prestupleniye i nakazaniye (1866; Crime and Punishment, 1886) and Bratya Karamazovy (1879-1880; The Brothers Karamazov, 1912). That kind of obscurity, however, is an equivocation of the term. The obscurity charge leveled at The Idiot is really one of impenetrability, the inability of the reader to grasp what is happening in the novel. Much of this confusion is simply a failure not of the novel but of the Western mind to apprehend the essence of the Russian soul, for The Idiot is a quintessentially Russian novel. Its uniqueness—and hence its so-called obscurity—derives from the distinctive qualities of the Russian psyche unfamiliar to Western readers. At least seven such qualities can be identified.

First is the concept of Russian brotherhood. It is illustrated, among other places, in Prince Myshkin’s return from Switzerland when he is befriended en route by Parfen Rogozhin, a complete stranger, and on arrival by the Epanchins. The concept, however, is not thus limited. Myshkin’s enduring reputation as “the idiot” with the Epanchins and others throughout the novel evidences an affectionate alliance or brotherhood often underappreciated in the West.

Another trait is an unmethodical approach to life. Western people tend to place high value on social ritual and punctuality; however, Russians express themselves spontaneously and observe time schedules only when the schedules do not interfere with the more important business of living. Such a tendency leads to a rather irrational attitude toward handling the necessary trivialities as well as the serious aspects of everyday life. Hence, against all logic and reason, Myshkin proposes marriage to Natasya. Myshkin does not calculate advantages and disadvantages; he simply responds automatically to what each situation requires. His impulsive behavior, like the impulsive behavior of many others in the novel, is typically Russian.

Russian people are also compassionate and humble. The Epanchins, with affectionate compassion, refer to Myshkin as “the idiot.” Myshkin’s own compassion is demonstrated in his impulsive proposal of marriage to Natasya. In fact, Myshkin, throughout the novel, remains kindhearted and compassionate. Likewise, he is humble, just as are—ultimately—Natasya, Rogozhin, Ganya, and the Epanchins.

Religiosity is yet another Russian characteristic manifested in The Idiot . This quality is particularly demonstrated in Myshkin’s peculiar diatribe at Madame Epanchin’s party when he recollects four conversations he had concerning the matter of faith. It is evidence of the Russians’ unquestioning...