Memoirs of a reader 
There are writers that do not need introductions. reading of their works is a risk that every player has to run individually, self: you will always find an answer, that no one else can suggest, problems, conflicts posed by his age, from their cultural level.
Dostoevsky is one of those writers.
Its research object is the imperfect human psyche, the wounded soul, rebellious soul who longs for harmony, as he struggles between good and evil that seeks its fulfillment through experience pain, distress lacerations.
With amazing courage for the years in which they live and abstract convenzioanale rejects the image of man, the external code of behavior that society accepts and imposes his contemporary, deals with mental processes more obscure and contradictory, where man can not rely on any of its usual support, the dynamics among the most disturbing individual and society, intuition and intellect, freedom and law, faith and atheism, demonic and holiness, reaffirming the essential convergence between the social, political and moral world.
" Notes From Underground" was the first book through which I came into contact with Dostoevsky.
I began to read it in June of 2008, as he was telling me about a guy who I had met a few months earlier.
Actually, they were just the first 15 lines of this book, which led me to approach this person, who had reported as presentation on a website, so for me it was impossible not to be fascinated and intrigued.
then I began to read this book, more to get closer to the boy than anything else, but as we went along with my reading, even from the early pages, I found myself unconditionally infatuated with this writer and his words, that as a river flowing under my eyes unstoppable.
His every sentence resonated with me strongly, enlivening feeling drowsy in the darkness of my basement.
And as a work of art produced in our personal thoughts and emotions, often conflicting with the artist, is so for me a book.
The latter will always be a kind of journey, if only through our imagination accompanied by the words of the author, or that it is a journey in search of something more intimate and personal.
A book is never what they say the most telling argument of those who preceded them, not even what the author meant. A book, especially when it becomes a work of art is what you find there by yourself ... It 's just a trip, research and the discovery of ourselves!
And I, in these "memories" I have rediscovered !!!!!
However, almost reached the end of the story, interrupted my reading because something in me was changing, and so for about a year this book was left out, but obviously never forgotten, even as I continued to devour books of Dostoevsky!
Yesterday, September 4, 2009, I picked this book, being able to finally finish it ... But I will tell you more about it, because it will be up to each of you be able to find out ..
To end my writing here today, I will quote the last lines of the novel, which like many of his "fragments" have given way to a multitude of silent reflections ...
"We are stillborn, and fathers more time not born alive, and the thing we like more and more.
We take taste. Soon figure out how to be born of a 'idea.
But enough, I do not want to write any more "from Underground" ...
Besides, do not end here "memories" of this lover paradoxes. He did not resist and he continued.
But it seems to us that we can Feram here. "
