Crazy book — I read it on the Shanghai metro and the murder scene is especially shocking. Clumsy, panicked, sickening; not cinematic at all. I had to put it down once.
Raskolnikov talks himself into being a Napoleon who can kill for the greater good, then unravels in fevers and guilt. I'm not sure it really lands as the takedown of utilitarianism Dostoevsky supposedly intended — a committed utilitarian could say he picked the wrong case. It still made me think about morality and the value of shared moral codes more than any philosophy seminar I've sat through.
Heavy, slow to leave my head. Glad I read it once.