Category: Discussions

Crime and Punishment is Fyodor Dostoevsky’s gripping psychological drama that plunges into the mind of Rodion Raskolnikov, a young man torn between ambition, morality, and crushing guilt.

Set against the grim streets of St. Petersburg, the novel explores crime not as an external act but as an inner torment. Through its intense character studies, it asks timeless questions about conscience, redemption, and what it truly means to be human.

Crime and Punishment is not just a story about a murder. It is a story about a young man trying to justify something that his heart knows is wrong. Raskolnikov kills an old pawnbroker believing he is doing society a favor — he convinces himself that some “extraordinary” people have the right to break the law for a greater good. But the moment he commits the crime, everything falls apart inside him.

Dostoevsky shows the quiet truth that punishment does not come from the police — it comes from the human conscience. Raskolnikov walks freely for many chapters, but his mind becomes a prison. He cannot sleep. He cannot think. He becomes suspicious, angry, confused. His guilt eats away at him more than any court ever could. The real torture happens inside, slowly and painfully.

Another major theme is isolation.

Raskolnikov believes he is special, different, smarter — someone who doesn’t need society or its moral rules. But the more he separates himself, the more he suffers. He stops speaking honestly to anyone. He becomes trapped in his own thoughts. Dostoevsky presents this as a warning:
when a person cuts themselves off from others, they lose the very support that keeps them human.

And then comes the contrast — Sonya.

She is poor, exploited, and has suffered far more than Raskolnikov, yet she carries a kind of spiritual strength he does not understand. Sonya never claims to be extraordinary. She simply tries to survive with compassion and humility. Dostoevsky uses her to show something very simple:
the people we consider “small” often have a stronger moral core than the ones who think they are superior.

Raskolnikov’s journey is also a study of pride.

He convinces himself that he committed the crime for philosophical reasons — to prove a theory. But deep down, he did it to test his own ego, to see if he was above ordinary moral rules. When the weight of guilt becomes unbearable, what actually saves him is not clever thinking but human connection — Sonya’s faith in him, her insistence that truth is the only way forward.

By the time he confesses, the punishment has already happened. The confession is not society defeating him; it is Raskolnikov finally lowering his pride and accepting that he is just a human being, not the “extraordinary” man he imagined.

What Dostoevsky wanted to show is simple:

• • • Intelligence does not protect you from moral failure.
    • Guilt is heavier than any prison sentence.
    • No human being is strong enough to carry a crime alone.
    • Redemption begins only when you stop lying to yourself.
    • The greatest change happens inside the heart, not in a courtroom.

In the end, Crime and Punishment becomes a story about breaking and healing — how a human soul can be destroyed by pride and rebuilt through honesty, humility, and love. Raskolnikov does not become pure at the end, but he becomes real. He finally stops pretending to be extraordinary and learns to live like a person who can feel, repent, and connect.

It is a reminder that the real battle is always within us, and the real punishment is the one we carry in our conscience.

Now that you’ve gone through my analysis, what’s your take on this masterpiece? Share your thoughts in the comments !

And if you haven’t read the book yet—trust me, you’re missing something extraordinary. Pick it up and dive in.

Kafka’s The Metamorphosis looks like a strange story at first: a man wakes up one day and finds himself turned into an insect. But this unusual event is only the surface.

Underneath, Kafka is quietly talking about something very real: what happens to a person when society stops seeing their worth.

Gregor Samsa is a hardworking man who supports his family. His life is dull, repetitive, and exhausting, but he does his duty without complaint. The moment he can no longer earn money — the moment he becomes “a burden” — everything changes. His family’s love becomes weaker. Their patience becomes thinner. They start to avoid him, and eventually they want him gone. It is painful because Gregor has done nothing wrong. He is the same person inside, but the outside world now sees him differently. His value drops the moment he is not “useful.”

Kafka is showing how society often treats people like machines. When you are productive, you are celebrated. When you cannot produce, you become invisible, or worse, unwanted. This happens to people who fall sick, lose their jobs, grow old, or simply fail to meet expectations. The world rarely asks, “What do you feel?” It only asks, “What do you give?”

Another idea in the story is alienation — the feeling of being disconnected from everyone around you. Gregor was actually lonely even before his transformation. His whole life was about paying bills, rushing to work, and supporting others. He never had time for himself. Kafka uses the insect body as a symbol of how Gregor already felt inside: unwanted, ignored, and trapped. The transformation only made visible what was hidden all along.

There is also a quiet sadness in how the family slowly adapts to life without him. At first, they are shocked. Later, they become annoyed. Finally, they move on.

Kafka suggests that modern life is so demanding and self-centered that even close relationships can fade when they become inconvenient. People forget, adjust, and continue living, sometimes without guilt. Gregor’s death is not treated as a tragedy but as a relief — a moment that allows the family to breathe again.

So what was Kafka trying to tell us?

That human value cannot be measured only by usefulness. That people often suffer silently under responsibilities that no one else sees. That loneliness does not always come from being alone, but from not being understood. And that society can be gentle on the surface but cruel in its expectations.

The Metamorphosis is not a story about an insect. It is a story about how easily a person can lose their place in the world, and how deeply people long to be accepted for who they are, not for what they produce.

Franz Kafka’s The Trial is often read as a story about one man trapped in a legal nightmare. But when we look deeper, it becomes a mirror of the modern world. Kafka shows that in today’s society, the biggest enemy is not a king, not a villain, not even a visible person. The enemy is a “system” — something without a clear face, without a clear name, and without a clear place where you can knock and ask for justice.

In the novel, Josef K. wakes up one morning and is suddenly declared “under arrest.” The most frightening part is not the arrest itself but the complete absence of answers. He does not know what crime he has committed. He does not know who has filed the charges. He does not know how to defend himself. Throughout the story he tries to meet officials, lawyers, court workers, and anyone who can help him. But every time he gets a little closer, the path becomes more confusing. Every step leads to more rules, more waiting rooms, more strange procedures, and more people who cannot actually help him. The deeper he goes, the more hopeless he becomes. Eventually he surrenders — not to a person, not to a judge, but to an invisible machinery that has already decided his fate.

If we look around today, this experience feels familiar.

When someone loses their job in a mass layoff, whom do they blame? The HR team? The CEO? The market? The economy? Artificial intelligence? Global competition? No one knows exactly. There is no single person to hold accountable. It is a chain of decisions made by many people, many pressures, many rules. It becomes a “system decision,” and the individual simply gets crushed under it.

Think of discrimination at workplaces or in society. A person may feel unfairly treated, but whom do they fight? A hiring manager who follows a company policy? A company policy that follows a market trend? A market trend shaped by social biases going back decades? Again, the enemy is not a single person but an environment built over time — a system.

When people struggle with getting a visa, with insurance claims, with healthcare approvals, they face the same uncertainty. Long forms, unclear criteria, automated decisions, call-center agents reading from scripts — no one you can actually speak to, no one who can tell you “why.” You feel the same frustration that Josef K. felt: someone, somewhere has made a decision about you, but you cannot find who that someone is.

Even when we look at bigger issues like pollution, inflation, housing prices, or privacy concerns, it becomes impossible to point to a single cause. Governments blame corporations, corporations blame regulations, regulators blame loopholes, and everyone blames “global forces.” Meanwhile, ordinary people feel helpless, because the problem has no clear source.

When we think about larger questions like poverty, the same pattern appears. Nearly half the world still struggles to meet basic needs such as food, healthcare, safety, and education. But if someone asks, “Who is responsible?”, there is no simple answer. You cannot point to one leader, one policy, one era, or one institution. Poverty is shaped by many layers—history, geography, unequal access to resources, global markets, war, corruption, climate change, and even luck. Each part influences the others, and no single person controls all of it. This creates a system where millions of individuals suffer consequences produced by forces they did not create and cannot easily change. It becomes almost impossible to hold any one source accountable. And just like Josef K., people end up fighting an invisible structure that affects their lives but never shows its face.

This is the brilliance of Kafka. He saw this long before our lives became filled with paperwork, passwords, online forms, automated messages, and giant institutions. In 1925, he already understood that the real power in society would move away from individuals and into the hands of large, faceless structures — courts, offices, banks, corporations, governments, data systems. And once power hides behind a structure, it becomes impossible to confront.

Kafka’s message is not just about fear. It is a quiet warning : when systems grow without transparency or empathy, human beings start to feel like strangers in their own lives. They stop trusting their own voice. They begin to surrender without knowing why.

That is why The Trial still speaks to us today. It reminds us that modern life often feels like a struggle against something we cannot name. Kafka gives shape to this feeling and forces us to see it clearly. Even after a hundred years, his story matches our reality — maybe even more now than in his own time.