This biography reads with the pace and interest of a well-written novel - a tribute to the translator no less than to the writer. It brings Dostoyevsky and his time to life and lends considerable perspective to his writings by relating them not only to the overall social context but also to the novelist's personal experiences and development. Quite inevitably, the mock-execution of Dostoyevsky and his companions - an act of calculated and petty sadism by Czar Nicholas I which it is hard to comprehend or to excuse, even after a century and a half of greater atrocities - stands as the watershed of the book, no less than of the writer's own life and it explains much that informs his subsequent work. Dostoyevsky's letter to his brother immediately after his reprieve still has power to move and the sense of rebirth conveyed in it goes far to explain how he somehow survived and made sense of the years of imprisonment, privation and exile that followed. The most heartbreaking sections of the book are not however those that deal with Siberia, but rather those detailing Dostoyevsky's gambling addiction, of which he appears never to have been cured, but rather to have been rescued by Bismarck's closure of the German casinos. The wonder is that during these years of degradation masterpieces were somehow produced and Dostoyevsky higher, almost mystical, vision of human potential evolved and came to full fruition in his last great work. The story, so full of contradictions, is well told against the background of a Russia groping towards modernity and reform, yet never finding it, and heading blindly for the abyss. Within this context Dostoyevsky's own identification with an ideal of conservative and regressive cultural and political nationalism cannot but jar the modern reader, contrasting as it does with the sublimity of so much else of his thought. Throughout it all however one gains an impression of a man who must have been difficult to like but impossible not to love ... In short, this is a splendid biography and a delight for any who admire the subject or have an interest in Russia, its literature and its history.

Petersburg, December 22, 1849: The convicts kiss the cross before the firing squad takes aim. Thirty seconds never took that long. Then, the hasty messenger with the tsarean pardon, given in secret three days before the squad lifted their guns. The "execution" was a sham. One convict loses his sanity, none regain their freedom. Ah - a plot in a book by Dostoyevsky? No. A day in his life. (But he described his thoughts in The Idiot, twenty years later.) At his death in 1881, Fjodor M. Dostoyevsky (b. 1821) was a famous writer in Russia, by many compared to Pushkin, Russia's late "national poet". Dostoyevsky's funeral turned out a national event; his widow was barely admitted without her forgotten ticket. "You are the sixth `Dostoyevsky's widow` demanding to get in", she was told by the annoyed head of police. Nevertheless, he was virtually unknown abroad. That changed. He is translated into 170 languages, and by 1985, the copies of his books totalled 15 million.

Who was this man, who wrote most all his fiction fighting deadlines and creditors, creating masterpieces with his back to the wall? This question is eloquently answered by the author - insofar as it is answerable. Dostoyevsky is a fascinating figure, as difficult to pin down as his most subtle characters. The symmetry between the life and the writings is hardly paralleled in a writer. Thus, this biography also gains insight from Dostoyevsky's own writings, and sheds light upon them. Dostoyevsky himselg claimed that to be a great writer, one must suffer a lot. The biography tells us how. Dostoyevsky became well-known in Russia after his debut with Poor Folks, 1846. Facing the executioners' guns three years later was a pivotal point in his life. The four years in a Siberian prison changed his outlook significantly. He turned from the nihilists (atheists) and back to the Christian faith of his youth. He was a slavophile, and deeply sceptical to the ways of the West. Concerned with the fate of goodness in this evil world, he also held that even the worst criminal must be won back to the fellowship. But the debt must be paid. At his brother's death, Dostoyevsky took upon him the responsibility for the unpaid debts. These debts sent him abroad for years to avoid the debtors' prison. But his passion for gambling didn't improve his finances, either. (The Gambler hardly needed special research, nor The Young Man's attempt to salvage a desperate situation by always playing on zero.) According to Mr. Kjetsaa, the main point for Dostoyevsky was not the money, but the thrill of the game. Actually, the guilt incurred after losing at the green tables gave Dostoyevsky a creative boost. Even if you have never read a line of Dostoyevsky's works, you will be gripped by this biography. Read it. It will draw you gently into Dostoyevsky's own writing. And he will show you joy, sorrow and profound insight into questions worth thinking about. (This review refers to the Norwegian, original version of this title.)

I like realism like the best of them, but when I got to page 8 and read about gobs of yellow mucus, I threw the book aside. Too much reality for my weak stomach. I came to Amazon's website and read some of the critiques, all very positive. Then I wondered if I should give the book a second chance. I picked it up and got a second dose of reality, this time having to do with tampon insertion. Argh! This time I planned to take the book along with other castoffs to the thrift store. Before that happened, though, and because life is full of serendipity, I stumbled upon a commentary on this novel. The critic was very compelling in his praise, so I gave in and picked up the book for the third time (besides, I hate not to finish what I start).

It seems that after those very eschatological moments, Siri Hustvedt got it all out of her and continued in a pretty clean route towards the development of her novel. I have to admit that I liked it a little bit. I think she does a very good job portraying the state of mind of a young woman who is smart but aware of her educational shortcomings. The relationship between Lily and her old neighbor Mabel is crafted in a very smart way, because little by little, and way before the end, the reader can see the interdependence that these two women develop. I was very satisfied with the ending, which was a relief after so much of the novel was spent in a dark path of anguish. I was not so interested in the "mystery" that went along most of the book, but rather Lily's thoughts and ultimately, her 'enchantment'. After all, I was happy I finished the book, and you should too.

Like 'The Blindfold' a self consciously post-modern novel filled with empty signs and cultural observation. What I felt her central goal in this novel was to capture the human content of a typical American woman, star-eyed and given to thoughts of her image more than thoughts of her self. At first, it seems that the story might be sacrificed for these random but poignant observations, but by the end you are left with a fragmented image of a woman, cut up by the short-sightedness of society and the misogynistic nature of men. As with her prior novel, she always keeps a tight focus on her heroine, but has succeeded to a much better end a carefully plotted narrative. Like Atwood's 'The Edible Woman', the image of what the heroine sees herself to be is eaten by the woman herself, or buried in this case, in order to be redefined by the woman herself. The novel is beautifully written and an engaging read.

This book reminded me a lot of the movie "Ruby in Paradise," a coming-of-age tale starring Ashley Judd. Both characters are young, female, have dead-end jobs and are on the road to becoming mature women. In the movie, Ruby is nearly raped by a guy she knows; in the book, Lily has to fend off the affections of an odd young man she knows. The book has a mysterious twist and ominous tone to it that's fun and addictive. Anyone who doesn't enjoy this book should have their head examined! I'm not sure who wrote the post about green snot and tampons but I can tell you those must each be about one line in the book. And it sounds like even that reader ended up enjoying the book "a little bit." I'd say most readers will enjoy it a lot.

The Blindflod was a very beautifully descriptive and passionate account of what it is like to be a young woman, a poor grad student, a newcomer to New York, and a migrane sufferer. If these are themes that interest you the book will be a pleasure to read. I read it straight through in one day, I was so entranced. Hustvedt has a knack for making the mundane appear incredibly bizarre, and the oddities of life appear normal in some way. The only thing I found a little disorienting is the order of the different chapters. Why are the readers left struggling with chronolgy? It is like a novel that begins in the middle of the story, or perhaps more like short stories woven together in the hope to form the full breadth of the novel form. One of the most memorable aspects of the novel is the exploration of an important, and all-too-overlooked, psychological theme of the secret human love of committing small evil acts.

Iris Vagan wanders New York in search of self. Iris first is hired as a writer to react to objects which belonged to a murdered woman. Do we have meaning and identify through our possessions? An identity so strong that it can be perceived even after death. Interesting question. She has a photograph taken and then circulated without her knowledge. She becomes the woman in the photograph. The woman in the photograph has an identity of her own separate from Iris. How many times do we remember someone through a photograph? She translates a book from German to English for a professor. She reenacts the character of the book through dressing in drag and walking the streets of New York. Towards the end of the book she has a wonderful section on perception and reality. Where does the self come from? How do we gain identity in this world of images? What is fact and what is fiction? I found her writing so enchanting that I bought her second book, The Enchantment of Lily Dahl and am working through it. (Iris is Siri spelled backwards for what that is worth)

The Blindfold is really an interesting book. It is interesting that the reader is often unaware of the intentions and situations of Iris Vegan, the main character, who throughout the novel, struggles to find her identity. Iris originally from Webster Minnesota, is a graduate student of literature at Columbia University, she is exposed to a variety of different people, at both Columbia and New York city in general. In the beginning of the novel she finds a job posted on a bulletin board in Philosophy Hall. "Wanted. Research assistant for project already under way. Student of literature preferred. Herbert B. Morning." Herbert B. Morning is a strange man, he wants Iris to orally describe objects that have once belonged to a woman, who is now deceased, into a tape recorder. Iris Vegan lies about her name and becomes Iris Davidsen. "It was a defensive act, a way of protecting myself from some amorphous danger, but later that false name haunted me; it seemed to move me elsewhere, shiftng me off course and strangely altering my whole world for a time. When I think back on it now, I imagine that lie as the beginning of the story, as a kind fo door to my uneasiness" (Page 11) It was that lie that began the identity troubles for Iris. Much later in the novel Iris identifies with and in a strane way becomes Klaus, a character in Der Brutale Junge, a German novella written by Johann Krueger in 1936. It is about a troubled boy, who is overcome by evil intentions. It is very confusing, yet fascinating when Iris becomes Klaus; she does things she does not understand. She even tells a bartender that her name is Klaus. She goes out at night in men's clothes because it makes her feel safer and more secure. The reader must make many assumptions in this novel; much of the novel is left unexplained. However, the reader is greatly enriched by the mood of the novel.

Considering the attention and praise Siri Hustvedt's novels have received, I was surprised that this book was published almost invisibly a year ago. I just discovered Yonder a few weeks ago (mid-1999) and haven't found any reviews of it outside of the trades -- which is unfortunate, since I'm pretty sure that fans of her novels (as well as Auster's novels) would enjoy these essays if they knew the book existed at all. Yonder's a quick but memorable read -- Hustvedt's essays focus on the same preoccupations as her novels: the parallel worlds of language and experience; defining self and landscape through absence and presence; etc. Best are the title essay and the other personal/autobiographical essays -- the literary essays (on Dickens and Fitzgerald) are less compelling but still have some memorable parts. I enjoyed Yonder as much as I did The Blindfold, both for its clear style and its ideas. At its best, the essays in Yonder are freed from the constraints of fiction, presenting compelling ideas and resonant images in a compact, finely made form.

i am still coming down off reading "what i loved" by siri hustvedt. as a native new yorker, i was drawn to the soho setting of this book that chronicles the life of leo hertzberg from the 1960s through the 1990s. he shares a keen friendship with a struggling but ultimately renowned artist and the changes that occur in their lives. the book succeeds on many levels. the writing is beyond exquisite. it is challenging to any reader who wants an author to push our reading experience beyond the banal, to a place where you are thrust into the lives of the characters. their emotions are your emotions. their character foibles are laid out for us to see our own foibles. the characters are deep,multi dimensional and ms hustvedt cuts no corners. her creation is magnificent. not to say the book does not get a little strange, but so does life. the characters deal with the strange twists of events in realistic fashion. characters should reveal facets of the human condition in ways that cannot be revealed by our own real lives. they resoundingly do.

i dont believe a book can appeal to all people, but if you want a truly challenging book with deep characters, this is clearly a book you should read.

This is a novel about the arts, their place in society and the role that criticism plays in the art world. If you are not interested in these things, than the focus of this narration will seem oddly skewed. For instance, the odd characters in this novel react to the mutilation of an admired painting with sincere heartfelt outrage. Their reaction to news of the mutilation and murder of a living boy later in the story is more ambivalent. The author is very much in control of this material however, and carefully draws her reader's attention to consider the parallels and distinctions between these two situations. Ultimately, this novel is a condemnation of the developments in painting, poetry, and literature that occurred in the 1970's and 1980's, particularly the rise of criticism or "deconstruction" and the disintegration of the creative impulse that this rise triggered.

Hustvedt brings into vivid focus a group of exquisitely sensitive, self-absorbed artists and critics in the first part of this novel. The entire first third of the book is devoted to making the reader familiar with the peculiar values of this world. These are the people who frequent the trendy galleries of Manhattan and teach at the prestigious universities. Our narrator, Leo, and his wife are professors who have the luxury to spend their days analyzing and deconstructing works of art. The artist that Leo discovers is soon free to spend his days constructing little boxes with symbolic things inside of them. That these characters all take these activities very seriously does not strike the reader as remarkable at all while we are in the universe of Part One. In that universe, these are serious activities indeed.

I liked Part One. I recognized these people and relished the accurate particulars of this kind of life. I was dismayed therefore when Part Two opened up with the death of a child. Oh no! Not this again! But not to worry, we are not headed toward an Oprah book club selection. Actually, the death of the art critic's child is foreshadowed in Part One. He is just a little too delicate, a little to precious for life. His death, however, sets up Leo to become involved with the artist's living creation who turns out to be a monster.

As Leo is drawn out of his sheltered idyllic universe into the places where most of life swarms, we begin to see how effete and sterile his own world has become. There is a very funny scene where Leo finds himself in the Opryland Hotel in Nashville of all places. Here is a man whose sensibilities recoil from the slightest whisper of bad taste. His encounter with Opryland completely disorients and finally disables him, so that he must retreat to New York City and take some tranquilizers. It is a little subtle, but the humor is clearly intended.

Hustvedt's novel gives narrative shape to the collapse of creativity under the weight of a particularly pernicious style of criticism. This it does excellently.

This is a superb book which is continuing to resonate for me, hauntingly, several weeks after reading it. Whilst measured and calm, the writing is extraordinarily skillful, passionate and affecting. One critical moment had me in tears while riding the tram to work.

The plot is more-than sufficiently described in the editorial reviews here and does not, I think, need recounting. What I want to stress is the simply beautiful way in which Hustvedt explores and illuminates relationships. Between adults, friends, lovers, husbands and wives. Between children. Between parent and child...between parent and a memory of a child. No novel I have read recently comes closer to echoing my own experiences of life, love ... the whole damn thing.

For me, now, "What I Loved" is the best book I have read in years. I had not heard of Hustvedt until this novel was published and I am now eagerly looking forward to reading her earlier work.