The greatest novel of all time
Russia is celebrating Dostoevsky’s 200th birthday.
I am in California, ten thousand miles away from Moscow, my home city. Frankly, I might have missed this news if it weren’t for my mom’s message on Facebook’s messenger (that’s how we communicate a lot).
But it’s not some perfunctory “it’s cold today in Moscow, the winter is here” or “Covid is still raging in Moscow”. Mom knows that one of Dostoevsky's novels is my favorite book of all time. It’s hers too. The word “favorite” is an understatement. The greatest. The absolute greatest.