Fyodor Dostoevsky

With the 400th anniversary of Shakespeare's death and the 150th anniversary of the publication of Crime and Punishment overlapping this year - it is a beautiful time for such a novel. Macbeth, Macbeth is crying for a translation, and not only into Russian.
The drawing is not a depiction of either of the Atkinsons - it depicts Shakespeare, credibly and most accurately. It is likely that Dostoevsky wrote the name together with the other letters not connected with the text of the novel randomly on the page and it happens to be quite close to his drawing of Shakespeare.
All that can be stated with any certainty is that Joe Public is currently enjoying the fruits of 70 years of peacetime. He wants for nothing; not food, water, nor easy loving. Sensorially, the totality of his life is catered for with a click of a mouse. Novels are seen as difficult excursions that can only tax unprepared minds.
I rarely meet people who share my bittersweet obsession with both Shakespeare and Dostoevsky. So when I do, the elation is boundless. That's what made me gasp as I was looking through the contents of The Demonic: Literature and Experience, newly published by Routledge.
It seems to me that frontmen principally fall into two categories: the cloyingly modest or the intolerably arrogant. Rarely is a perfect balance struck between these stereotypes and, more frequently, we find artists yo-yoing between the two like unhinged schizophrenics.