White Nights

What the book made me feel .

This story left me with a bunch of contradictions. Our protagonist is the Dreamer, and his fleeting love, Nastenka.

Their dramatic ways of talking, telling their histories, and sharing their POVs of the world and themselves felt theatrical to me. But as I was turning the pages, I could feel the weight of each exclamation mark. The desperation, the yearning to be seen, and giving everything in those fleeting moments of companionship felt human. We get embarrassingly happy and excited at times when we get what we really wanted. There is a desperation that such happiness brings with it. Like every moment of loneliness was worth it because of this one little moment. In this case, those four white nights.

I cannot call it a romantic story. It felt like they were settling for each other. How honestly Nastenka admitted that she would stop loving him over time and finally become worthy of the Dreamer’s love .I admire the honesty, but I detested the circumstances under which she wanted to be loved. Both were just looking for a way out of their misery and decided to settle for one another. But maybe it would not have ended happily. That moment of bliss, that fleeting romance, was the only reason our Dreamer could wish her well when she left him stranded, without giving her own words a second thought.

He kept calling her name , as a way of reassurance that he has someone now . How beautiful it felt to him when someone actually met his eyes while he spoke and maybe that’s true even in reality . Maybe that’s why it’s said that a name is the shortest poem.

A part of me thought, maybe he made her up. His vivid observations, his own experiences, and expectations really helped him curate a girl like her in his own head. And he allowed himself to be embarrassingly in love with her. And this time, even his dream disappointed him the way his life did. She was just a mirror of himself.

Their ways of talking and expressing themselves were similar, and he wanted her to admire him, so maybe he kept those vivid descriptions for himself while making her feel simple. But they shared the same stories and feelings. Stuck, abandoned, tied to their own selves that wouldn’t change things. And the only way he could see himself being loved was through sheer convenience. And he would take that too, even if it was the only way he’d ever be loved.

~K

I would love to what you guys thought while reading this book . This isn’t necessarily a review , I was just trying to pen down what this book made me feel .