The Man Who Mustn’t Be Named: White Nights by Fyodor Dostoevsky Review Essay

La Notte (1961)

White Nights by Fyodor Dostoevsky was the first Russian literature that I have ever read. I wanted to branch out from the usual Filipino and American novels that I drown myself into almost every night.

I walked inside a bookstore and picked up White Nights. I’ve heard about it. I have been interested myself to see what the talk is all about.

Filipinos write differently than Americans. Americans write differently than the French. The French write differently than the Japanese. The Russians are no exemptions. It compels me how you can almost travel the world, see how they think, and observe the cultural differences of these countries with mere texts from papers.

Warning: Spoilers (But maybe you can stay if you don’t plan on reading it.)

It took me 2 hours to finish the book — it was underwhelming. I was disappointed for the first few days post-read.

The story was about a man. A ‘dreamer’ he was named. But no actual name. He met this woman, Nastenka, crying while wandering the St. Peterburg canals.

“I am a dreamer. I know so little of real life that I just can’t help re-living such moments as these in my dreams, for such moments are something I have very rarely experienced. I am going to dream about you the whole night, the whole week, the whole year.”

Oh, this man would go on and on about his life. Almost a little overwhelming for Nastenka, I feel. She wasn’t able to put much into the conversation, but that ended Night 1.

He was already falling.

They met again. Night 2. It was her turn. She told him the life she had in an attic with a lodger that stayed with their family. Nastenka was in love with the lodger. She was in love. They talked about marriage. Although, Mr. Lodger is to leave. He promised her that he’d comeback within a year and marry her.

On the other hand, the man called himself a ‘dreamer’ for a reason. He shared that he lives in his fantasy world. Perhaps because he was alone for too long. A phase of intense isolation can make man do such, I fear.

“Your fantastic world will grow pale, your dreams will fade and die and will fall like the yellow leaves from the trees… Oh, Nastenka! You know it will be sad to be left alone, utterly alone, and to have not even anything to regret — nothing, absolutely nothing… for all that you have lost, all that, all was nothing, stupid, simple nullity, there has been nothing but dreams!”

“I don’t know how to be silent when my heart is speaking.”

They were a perfect match! They bonded marvelously. Well, at least in terms of their shared escapism.

The Night 3 serves as the exact date the lodger left and promised her his return.

The man wanted to support Nastenka finally meet her true love.

They waited, not a lodger in sight. They waited a few more hours, still no lodger.

Nastenka was devastated.

“Why isn’t he like you? He is not as good as you, though I love him more than you.”

She explicitly compares the two men. The ‘dreamer’ was kinder, attentive, and more selfless.

It was emotional for both parties. Being told that he was better than his ‘rival’ while remaining secondary to him — he couldn’t keep his emotions from hiding. It was too heavy for him.

He confessed.

“I love you, Nastenka! There it is! Now everything is told!”

Nastenka was perhaps infatuated and accepted his feelings with reciprocation. Maybe the ‘dreamer’ is a better fit for a husband, after all.

On the 4th Night, a great sight of horror haunted the man. It was the lodger. He finally returned. He finally returned.

Nastenka, having her first and true love return after waiting for a year chose the lodger over the man. She didn’t hesitate to rush into his arms.

“Your hand is cold, mine burns like fire. How blind you are, Nastenka!”

“Here my tears are falling, Nastenka. Let them flow, let them flow — they don’t hurt anybody. They will dry Nastenka.”

The following day, the man received a letter from Nastenka apologizing for hurting him and announcing her upcoming marriage while asking to remain as friends.

The man was initially devastated as he should. However, he forgives her. He was grateful of the brief human connection he was gifted — even if it was just for four nights.

My recap was pure memory on what I remembered from the book. I never liked it initially. However, I realized that maybe I didn’t like it because I never tried viewing it from a perspective that would appreciate it. I wanted the man to have his happy ending. I really did. Oh, when I catch you, Nastenka!

But after a few months of reflection, I realized that the man’s name was never mentioned once — and yet, he mentioned Nastenka 138 times. Let that sink in. Nastenka never asked him his name.

For me, that sounds much of a representation of being a placeholder.

The story was beautifully written. I wish it was longer, and I wish people knew about it more. The message was clear. The symbolism is often overlooked.

The man was a lonesome being. He suffered intense isolation throughout his life. Alone in his imaginations and fantasies, he starved for a genuine connection.

In the story, he instantly fell in love with Nastenka from the very first night. Nastenka was just like every other woman. She showed nothing but kindness and listens to him talk about his life all night. Yet, he viewed her as someone more precious than anything in this world when all she gave was mere exchange of words and experiences.

Looking at it in the man’s perspective, it was his first interaction with a woman after an exhaustive period of being alone and isolated. If he was not a lonesome man, he wouldn’t have fallen for Nastenka that easily.

It compels me to think — should he have been an extroverted personality, the story would have been a completely different story.

In another viewpoint, I can almost see the ideal vision of love in the man. When we love, we should be selfless. However, one thing is that we should not be attached that easily because it’s a dangerous game to play.

But love doesn’t have a schedule. It is an impulsive, yet sure concept — love.

We can not blame the man for yearning the love he thought was the one for himself.

So sure, yet, so wrong.

Most of us were puppies of love at some point. Most of us were fools. From believing blatant lies just the sake of false-assurance to ignoring red flags for the sake of keeping the person and finding ourselves disappointed at the end of the day.

Love doesn’t pick a time and place. It can sometimes be self-sabotaging. It can lead us to our own demise.

Yet, despite this, humanity never ceases to play the dangerous game of attachment. Like Fyodor Dostoevsky’s lonesome man he so called ‘dreamer’ on St. Peter, we willingly gamble our emotional vulnerability just to catch a glimpse of genuine connection. Perhaps being a fool for love is the ultimate testament to being alive and seeking for life.

The narrative reminds us that a single moment of bliss will always be enough to illuminate an entire lifetime of loneliness.

“My God, a moment of bliss. Why, isn’t that enough for a whole lifetime?”