This short story had been sitting on my TBR long before it blew up on BookTok, and I'm really glad I finally picked it up. At just around 57 pages, it was the perfect palate cleanser, and I read it as part of a collection of Dostoevsky's short stories. This was actually my first time reading Dostoevsky, though I have a few more of his works on my list, and honestly, I was completely hooked. From the very first page to the final sentence, it held my full attention.
This was the first book I've picked up to read for enjoyment in a good long time, and let's just say, it didn't disappoint. Traditionally, I like to judge a story by how well it does in a few categories: its plot, its characters, its theme, and its best moments. Considering the length of the book, though, this review will only judge the book on the first two categories, mostly.
The book, while it starts a little slowly, is an interesting exploration of the Petersburg dreamer presented by Dostoevsky in an article published in the St. Petersburg Gazette in June 1847. The narrator of White Nights establishes a relationship with Nastenka and basically discusses his understanding and interpretation of their relationship. As someone who romanticises everything from the grocery store next to my house to a can of Pepsi, such a short story with this many layers relating to love, youth, and my personal favourite, summertime, makes it easier to romanticise the characters' story.
This story is basically a poetic daydream on overdrive, with dramatic descriptions and romantic longing that would make even a teenager with a guitar, or in my case, a laptop and a plate of Barbecue Pizza, blush. Dostoevsky draws from his own youthful idealism, painting every memory and emotion with the kind of intensity you'd expect from someone convinced their first heartbreak is the end of the world. The narrator, in a move of what I interpret to be as emotional dodgeball, talks about himself in the third person because nothing says "I'm fine" like pretending you're a character in your own tragic novel. He doesn't even have a name, which somehow makes him more relatable. The sheer duality of lifelessness and the rush of blood is what I loved about this book the most. Meeting the protagonist of White Nights was literally like becoming someone's best friend and knowing everything about them except their name. Since the story's…