2012 Manifesto, one of my hopes was "to finally read The Brothers Karamazov." I started it in January, reading from the Constance Garnett translation that I own. I trudged along for a bit, weighted down by the heavy prose and extremely long monologues. Around page 60 I went to the library and checked out the Larissa Volokhonsky translation, as it was said to be truer to Dostoevsky's original tone. I read on, still wondering where the story was going, still determined to make it through the 750+ pages. Around page 100 I paused and read another book (The Reapers are the Angels, which was excellent, review here) to give myself some space, take a deep breath, and ready myself to jump back in. By page 140ish I had stabbed myself in the eyes repeatedly and rued the day I decided to read this book. My personal struggle with forsaking a book still is tough. At 160ish I gave up. I didn't care about anything that was going on. I suppose all Russians in the 1800s were maniacal philosophers, from the peasants to the high-ups. Not only that, they were all apparently somewhat psychotic and prone to outbursts of unequivocal rage/despair.
I quit. Mom assures me that Crime & Punishment is the better book. Mayhap I'll try it out sometime and see if my opinions of Mr. Dostoevsky change any. If so, I may consider Karamazov again. Or maybe I just need to be much older and wiser before attempting this again.
I realize how unhealthy this sounds, and believe me, I wish I didn't desire the things so much, but I do, and there's little I can do to stop myself. It's bad enough that if I see a flavor I've never had before that I impulsively buy it immediately. I'm normally a store brand kind of shopper, but with these bad boys I have to have the name brand. There's just something magical about the crunchy, cheesy bite of heaven that I find superior to any other chip on the market.