Last weekend, while visiting my son, I picked up The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoevsky, first published in 1880. Although I’ve read it before, each time I discover new insights to ponder, thanks to its philosophical depth and profound exploration of human existence.
The Brothers Karamazov revolves around the brutal crime of patricide, set within what Dostoevsky calls an “accidental family” — a group of individuals bound by blood but lacking the emotional connections, shared values, or beliefs that typically define a family as we understand it today. The Karamazovs—four sons and their father—are connected by chance rather than affection. Despite their shared blood, they possess none of the qualities that foster familial love. It’s no surprise, then, that patricide occurs within this fractured household.
As the title suggests, the story centers on the Karamazov brothers. Their father, Fyodor Karamazov, is a man of extreme debauchery and neglect, competing with his eldest son for both money and a lover, stirring resentment and animosity within the family. Maxim Gorky once described Fyodor’s character as embodying cowardice and audacity, but above all, a twisted and malicious soul. He is such a terrible father that it’s hard to believe someone like him could truly exist.
Dostoevsky uses these broken family dynamics as a metaphor for the broader “father and son” relationships in Russian society at the time. After Fyodor’s murder, the novel’s tension pivots on the question of who committed the crime—whether one of his sons is responsible for the patricide, a mystery that forms the novel’s central narrative.
Set against the backdrop of 19th-century Russia, each time I revisit the novel, I am struck by the tragic disintegration of a family. In contrast, I like to believe that with the progress of civilization, families today have evolved into something closer to what they should be: warm, nurturing environments where children grow up supported by love and care. While no family is perfect, many have become the sanctuaries they are meant to be—places where love, not conflict, binds people together.
Reading Dostoevsky's dark portrayal of familial collapse reminds me of what my mother often says: 家和万事兴 (Jiā hé wàn shì xīng), meaning "Harmony in the family brings prosperity in everything." A loving and harmonious family fosters success and happiness. And in this, we see the power of family as it should be: not accidental, but intentional, filled with the warmth and love that build strong foundations for life.