This book is published as part of the Oxford Studies in philosophy and literature. The editor's detailed introduction is followed by seven well-crafted and insightful essays, written from the points of view of various philosophical and literary approaches. They do not thematically overlap in any extensive sense so that, taken together, they discuss the most diverse topics of Fedor Dostoevskii's provocative novel. The essays unquestionably demonstrate that Crime and Punishment (1886) presents a wealth of philosophical material and this collection is justifiably included in this important series.

The longest and most ambitious essay in this collection is contributed by Caryl Emerson. Its long title properly indicates the topic of the contribution: “Bakhtin's Radiant Polyphonic Novel, Raskolnikov's Perverse Dialogic World.” Emerson's essay reveals her enormous learning but it is more about Bakhtin than about Dostoevskii's novel and, personally, I would not include this essay in the collection. Bakhtin's mantra of dialogue and polyphony are presented with such devotion to the Russian literary critic that the essay is more monological and homophonic than dialogical and polyphonic. The first two essays in the collection, and perhaps the most interesting two overall, are: “Portrayals of Mind: Raskolnikov, Porfiry, and Psychological Investigation in Crime and Punishment,” by Garry L. Hagberg, and “Love, Suffering, and Gratitude for Existence: Moral and Existential Emotions in Crime and Punishment,” by Rick Anthony Furtak. I single them out because they provoked the most thoughts and displayed for me most clearly the merits of philosophical reflection about a great novel.

A collection of essays like this can stimulate us in different ways. Most obviously, it makes us want to read the novel that it discusses again, for we become aware of how many insights we missed, or how many of them could be understood in more nuanced ways. While this collection creates such an impression, this is not its main virtue. The second way to be intellectually stimulated by a collection like this is that it makes us think about some fundamental aspects of the human condition. According to the editor of this volume, Robert Guya, this was the intended purpose of this book: the included essays “share with the novel…a depth of interest in human understanding and human experience” (17). The collection certainly accomplishes this goal and its discussion of such topics would be its lasting value. But this collection stimulated me in a third and somewhat unexpected way as well, and I take that to be the greatest benefit of reading this book. Namely, these essays made me think about the nature of philosophy and its present role. Metaphorically, we can say that philosophy has been in a free fall for at least the last hundred years. The current state of philosophy justifies the old sarcastic accusation that philosophers cannot agree about anything—including what it is that they are disagreeing about. Having a novel like Crime and Punishment as its focus can help us at least agree on what it is we are trying to analyze and understand. By tying itself to great works of art, rather than to ordinary language, scientific practice, or trivial examples from common experience, philosophy acquires not only an object for analysis and reflection but also focuses on an example of something of lasting value that reminds us of the central questions concerning our humanity. Such a novel reminds philosophers that the original stimulus of our discipline is love of wisdom. Strangely, philosophy has become like Raskolnikov, the central character of Crime and Punishment. When asked by Raskolnikov's mother what her son is like, what he “wishes for” and “dreams about,” his friend Razumikhin answers: “Sullen, gloomy, haughty, proud, paranoid, generous and kind…As if two contrasting characters were taking turns inside him… never has time for anyone, yet lounges around doing nothing…” (2014, 200). Has not philosophy become exactly like that: detached from the world, obsessed with its ideas and concepts, constantly busy producing new ideas that always turn out to be misguided or irrelevant? Reading these essays made me think that, just like Raskolnikov, what philosophy requires is not “dialogue” and “polyphony,” but a confrontation with reality and gratitude for existence. In Dostoevskii's novel, Raskolnikov is forced into such a confrontation by Porfiry. This police inspector forces him to realize how detached and fantastic are the theoretical constructions that Raskolnikov publishes and how they seduce him toward the path of his utter disrespect for human life and reality. As presented to us through encounters with other human beings—from which Raskolnikov stubbornly runs away—reality has to be faced, responded to, and treated responsibly. Philosophy is in a dire need of this kind of confrontation, and focusing on a novel like Crime and Punishment can help us turn in that direction. But besides Porfiry and the confrontation with reality, Raskolnikov also needs Sonya. The misfortune of her family evokes his most genuine and compassionate feelings, and her loving patience and the affirmation of life, despite everything, reminds him of the lofty ideals toward which human beings must aspire. Like Sonya, who will meekly wait for him and offer him an example of what a loving approach to life is, philosophy also must recover its original erotic side. Who or what in our age can better remind philosophers of the Socratic erotic madness than a great work of art, like Crime and Punishment?

Reading this well-prepared and diverse collection has been thought-provoking and stimulating. Recommended.