#method reading

This is a shortform series where I turn my fascination with an actor into a form of thought practice. Instead of developing a parasocial relationship or doomscrolling, I read books connected to the works they’ve done or books they’ve recommended. 

For this entry, we’re diving into The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoevsky, a novel Luke Thompson narrated for audiobook. This is the first book he narrated that is written by Dostoevsky before White Knights. 

The Brothers Karamazov mainly follows the lives of three brothers Dmitri, Ivan, and Alyosha, and their complicated relationship with their father, Fyodor Pavlovich Karamazov, a selfish and deeply immoral man who is far from an ideal patriarch.

We have Dmitri, the eldest from the first wife, who is passionate and impulsive, caught in a romantic rivalry with his own father over a woman. From the second wife, we have two. First is Ivan, who is intellectual and skeptical, constantly wrestling with reason, morality, and faith. And Alyosha, the youngest, is gentle and spiritual, the kind of person everyone seems to adore, someone people struggle to find fault in.

When Fyodor is murdered, Dmitri becomes the primary suspect, and from there, the novel unfolds into a layered exploration of how the family deals with guilt, truth, morality, faith, and justice. It blends family drama, crime, philosophy, and spiritual exploration in a way that pushes you to reflect on human nature and the complexities of morality itself.

This book is thick, and at first, I thought I wouldn’t make it to the end. But after around 40 days, switching between the physical book, my Kindle, and especially the audiobook. I finally finished this beast. The audiobook, in particular, really helped me through it. Luke’s narration gave the novel more life and made it easier for me to emotionally connect with and better understand the material.

Reading this book felt like an incredibly long episode of Law & Order mixed with intense philosophical and faith-driven conversations. It constantly asks: What is it to be good? What is evil? Are these things external forces, or do they exist within all of us? For me, as of late, the novel also explores how poor upbringing manifests differently in each of the brothers, and how people cope with the emotional and psychological consequences of the environments they were raised in. 

What amazed me most is that this book was written between 1878 and 1880, yet it still feels relevant. I also loved the little Shakespeare references sprinkled throughout the text, which, as a sidenote, once again proves how timeless Shakespeare is and how far-reaching his influence continues to be. (Case in point: there are even Shakespeare references in Off Campus. I just needed to mention that because I like the show and have been rewatching it for the nth time.)

This book left me with so many questions and reflections that it feels like the kind of novel I could revisit at different stages of my life and walk away with entirely different answers each time.

What I also learned after reading this book is that it’s better to read the introduction after finishing the book. It gave me an even deeper fascination with and appreciation for what I had just read, and that’s something I’m really happy about.

So, if you’re in the mood for deep philosophical thinking, morally complex characters, psychological depth, and explorations of faith and humanity, with a pinch of mystery and crime woven in, this might be for you.

Method Reading is a series where I turn my fascination with an actor into a form of thought practice. Because we don’t encourage the development of parasocial relationships here. We are choosing curiosity over mindless consumption in this house. Only peaceful growth, reflection, and the expansion of knowledge are welcome here.

For this entry, we’re diving into The Corrections, a novel recommended by Luke Thompson as the book he’d love to read again for the very first time, a detail he shared on The Inklings Podcast.

In the book, we follow the Lambert family, a Midwestern household at a breaking point. At its center is Enid, the mother, who is determined to gather her family for one last Christmas in their home in St. Jude, Missouri, as her husband Alfred’s health steadily declines.

The novel shifts perspectives among the family members, particularly their children: Gary, Chip, and Denise. Tracing their individual struggles, failures, and attempts at self-correction.

This book is dense, packed with personal crises, depression, consumerism, sexual identity, and moral compromise, to name a few. I won’t lie: a chapter in, I found myself questioning why I started it at all. I was genuinely aghast at what I was reading, a character so deeply unpleasant that it almost pushed me away. And yet, he remains central to the narrative.

I had to step back and reassess how I approached the book. I checked reviews, looked into interviews with the author, and tried to understand its intent. Then it clicked: that it’s supposed to feel this way. What also helped was viewing the novel through the lens of dark humor and satire. It also makes sense knowing now that Franzen was aiming to tap into a more male readership.

Family

Family, for what it means, what it demands, and how we show up for one another is a universal thing for all of us. The characters in this book are as real and flawed as they come, which makes them uncomfortably familiar. There are secrets, unspoken resentments, and yet, beneath it all, a persistent desire to still be there for each other in whatever way possible.

You’ll likely see parts of your own family or people you know reflected in the Lamberts. And despite the dysfunction and discomfort, I found myself pushing through. Not because it was easy, but because the characters began to feel real. In some ways, they felt known. And I wanted things to get better for them.

Success and Self-Perception

Throughout the novel, there’s an ongoing tension between what could have been and what should have been. The characters grapple with ideas of success. What it looks like, what it feels like, and whether it’s even real. There’s a constant performance of having it all together, even when everything is unraveling beneath the surface.

Much of what they chase feels immediate and hollow, leading to destructive coping mechanisms, like substance use, moral compromise, emotional emptiness, and ultimately, denial of their own suffering.

Corrections

The idea of “corrections”, whether as an action or a concept, appears repeatedly throughout the novel. It speaks to the human desire to fix what has already happened, to rewrite mistakes, or to escape the consequences of them. But more often than not, the characters find themselves trapped in the very systems: emotional, social, even institutional that they hoped to correct.This, more than anything, is what held me emotionally.

The Corrections is not fast-paced or lighthearted. There are no clear heroes, no easy resolutions, and I underestimated that when I picked it up. But I kept reading through. I stayed for the family dysfunction, the sharp social satire, and the deeply character-driven narrative.

Most of all, I stayed because I hoped things would get better for everyone. And somewhere along the way, I learned to empathize.