Done: Read a delightful and fascinating David Foster Wallace review/essay (I mean he calls it a review but comethefuckon) of a Dostoevsky biography.
Not done: Read a word of Dostoevsky since limping through Crime and Punishment years and years ago, only realising embarrassingly late in the business that I had sort of totally confused two guys whose names were really really similar and, you know, really really Russian.
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