White Nights

Well, it's Dostoevsky's take on a love story. This was published before his four years of hard labor in Siberia, so it's much less anguishing than his later stories.

I sincerely respect the protagonist of White Nights. I see a lot of other reviews empathizing with him, which I definitely feel as well. Still, I feel a sort of distant respect for him, knowing that I couldn't do as he did. This “dreamer,” as he describes himself, has his dreams crushed and manages not to crumble under the rubble of those dreams. And it isn't out of cynicism or disdain that he carries on so admirably; rather, it's from valuing the joy he gained from those dreams, even if they might now be crushed. Sure, he feels dejected at the end, but he can cherish the temporary joy he had. As someone who has trouble valuing all things temporary and ephemeral, Dostoevsky's dreamer is the most remarkable protagonist I've read in a while.