I am a literary giant in Russia

Chapter 68 Midnight
Since no specific time and place were agreed upon in advance, when Grigorovich finally found Nekrasov and Mikhail, it was actually already late.

Seeing this, Nekrasov was originally planning to put it aside and read it slowly when he had more free time. However, for some reason, Mikhail seemed to attach great importance to the manuscript of this newcomer. He even skipped dinner at Panaev's house and took him to a quiet place to read the novella.

Strange, this doesn't seem like Mikhail at all.
Although he had some suspicions that Mikhail might have been possessed by some evil spirit, it was rare to see Mikhail so enthusiastic, so Nekrasov finally became more serious and prepared to read the novella carefully.

Although Nekrasov cannot be said to have written very good works so far, this does not prevent him from having a very precise literary vision, which is also an important factor in his becoming an excellent publisher.

However, there is only one copy of the manuscript, so if you want to read it, one person can only read the first page first, and then pass it to the next person page by page.

The first person to read it was naturally Mikhail. Nekrasov was not in a hurry about this. Having known him for so long, he had no doubt at all about Mikhail's reading speed and amazing memory and learning ability.

Nekrasov knew very well that although Mikhail seemed to have nothing to do except eating all day, he actually spent a lot of time every day learning various things, sometimes languages, sometimes some fashionable ideas, sometimes religion, and sometimes social research and observation, and he did quite well in every one of them.

This is rare. After all, someone like Belinsky, although he had keen insight and unique expression in literary criticism that many critics did not possess, he really had no talent in French and had not succeeded after studying for a long time.

Precisely because he could not speak authentic French, Belinsky was indeed criticized by some people.

So getting back to the topic, just as Nekrasov expected, Mikhail passed the first page to him not long after, and judging from the expression on Mikhail's face, he seemed to think the novel looked pretty good?
Thinking of this, Nekrasov began to read carefully.

The Poor.
When Nekrasov's expression gradually changed, although Mikhail had already memorized the novel, reading it again through the manuscript now gave him a sense of wonder as if he were witnessing history, and at the same time he had a lot of feelings because of the novel.

The plot of the novel "Poor People" is not complicated. It consists of dozens of letters. Through these letters full of vivid psychological descriptions, it tells the love story between Marka, a low-ranking civil servant in a difficult situation, and the orphan girl Valenka, which is not sure whether it is love.

Although they are all in difficult situations and face the destruction of the environment and humiliation from others at all times, they are still trying to use their sincerity and kindness to resist the erosion of the human soul by this cruel and morbid society, to warm each other, and to try to get out of the current predicament together.

But they ultimately failed irretrievably.

Through the exploration of the human spiritual world, Lao Tuo's novels show the erosion and destruction of people by the cruel and morbid external reality. This is a major feature of his novels.

If you understand this, you will probably understand what Lao Tuo said:
“It is wrong to call me a psychologist; I am only a realist in the highest sense of the word; I depict only the whole depth of the human soul.”

Of course, it's likely that Lao Tuo hasn't yet developed a complete and rigorous creative philosophy. So, the question is, how did he write such a novel? It's no exaggeration to say that some writers require careful consideration and thorough preparation to complete a work of merit, while others can simply follow their instincts and create works that will be remembered by future generations.
Damn it!
Mikhail cursed in his heart, but then he thought that he was also a cheater in another sense. Oh, that's okay.
Cough
In fact, during this period Dostoevsky did behave in some ways like a young boy.

Just as he knew that it was basically impossible for his novel to get a response today, he still couldn't help but look forward to it. However, as time passed, the night gradually eroded St. Petersburg, and gradually eroded Dostoevsky's anxious heart.

When night fell completely, this sensitive young man was inexplicably shrouded in a melancholy mood. After sighing for a while, he finally turned off his light and lay down on his bed.

Although there were many things hidden in his head and one thought after another flashed through his sensitive nerves, as the night grew deeper, he eventually fell into a drowsy sleep.

At this moment, the sound of a door opening suddenly rang out, followed by the somewhat messy footsteps of several people.

These sounds suddenly woke up the blond young man who was not yet asleep. But before he could feel annoyed, he suddenly froze for a while when he thought of a possibility. When he finally came to his senses, the young man hurriedly got up and lit the candle in his room.

As the dim red light of the candle lit up, there was a knock on the door.

The sound was not loud, but it made the blond young man's heart beat wildly.

When he walked over and opened the door, two people rushed in and grabbed him without saying anything, shouting with a little restraint: "Another Mikhail!"

Although this was the praise that the young man had dreamed of hearing, at this moment, he no longer had the extra energy to pay attention to his good friend and another man he didn't know. He just stared at the man standing in the darkness outside the house.

The man seemed to notice his gaze, so he slowly walked in.

As he moved, the blond young man saw very clearly that the dim red candlelight in his hand was climbing up the figure shrouded in darkness bit by bit, until the candlelight completely illuminated the figure, until the candlelight reflected the man's light yet solemn expression, until the candlelight swayed in the man's deep black eyes.

The blond youth looked at the young man in front of him with a complex and mysterious smile, then he stretched out his hand and spoke:
"Mikhail, Mikhail Romanovich Raskolnikov."

As if awakened by the distant voice, the blond young man stretched out his slightly trembling hand, then opened his slightly trembling lips and responded:
"Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoyevsky."

(End of this chapter)