Fyodor Dostoyevsky reaches the soul of the reader, without a single sentimental scene. Slowly revealing the unconsciousness of his characters through a genius structure of thoughts and events, he leads you toward an introvert climax. After a long time I was deeply thrilled by a novel, when I read "The Gambler" of Dostoevsky (in an old fashion Persian translation).
Below a part of last chapter:
Mr. Astley seemed to listen to me with a sort of surprise. Evidently he had expected to see me looking more crushed and broken than I was.
"Well," he said--not very pleasantly, "I am none the less glad to find that you retain your old independence of spirit, as well as your buoyancy."
"Which means that you are vexed at not having found me more abased and humiliated than I am?" I retorted with a smile.
Astley was not quick to understand this, but presently did so and laughed.
"Your remarks please me as they always did," he continued. "In those words I see the clever, triumphant, and, above all things, cynical friend of former days. Only Russians have the faculty of combining within themselves so many opposite qualities. Yes, most men love to see their best friend in abasement; for generally it is on such abasement that friendship is founded. All thinking persons know that ancient truth. Yet, on the present occasion, I assure you, I am sincerely glad to see that you are NOT cast down. Tell me, are you never going to give up gambling?"
"Damn the gambling! Yes, I should certainly have given it up, were it not that--"
"That you are losing? I thought so. You need not tell me any more. I know how things stand, for you have said that last in despair, and therefore, truthfully. Have you no other employment than gambling?"
"No; none whatever."
Astley gave me a searching glance. At that time it was ages since I had last looked at a paper or turned the pages of a book.
"You are growing blase," he said. "You have not only renounced life, with its interests and social ties, but the duties of a citizen and a man; you have not only renounced the friends whom I know you to have had, and every aim in life but that of winning money; but you have also renounced your memory. Though I can remember you in the strong, ardent period of your life, I feel persuaded that you have now forgotten every better feeling of that period--that your present dreams and aspirations of subsistence do not rise above pair, impair rouge, noir, the twelve middle numbers, and so forth."
"Enough, Mr. Astley!" I cried with some irritation--almost in anger. "Kindly do not recall to me any more recollections, for I can remember things for myself. Only for a time have I put them out of my head. Only until I shall have rehabilitated myself, am I keeping my memory dulled. When that hour shall come, you will see me arise from the dead."