Every time I meet new people, I find myself confused about how to introduce myself, as if I can barely remember my own history. Maybe that was the reason I started writing diaries in the first place — to remind myself what being eighteen feels like before time quietly changes everything.
There were times when I got too lazy to write, letting days pass without recording anything at all, until one day I came across a quote that encouraged me to start again.
"But how could you live and have no story to tell?"
I kept that quote pinned for quite a long time in my Obsidian daily notes, which I later discovered was from White Nights, a book I just finished reading last night. It is the first book I have read in a while, after I stopped reading fiction in middle school, and yes, it was also my first time reading Dostoyevsky.
First Night
It starts with the narrator walking along the canal during St. Petersburg’s white nights. At first, his loneliness seems understandable. He feels strangely dejected watching the people of St. Petersburg leave for their summer villas while he remains behind alone. Honestly, I might feel the same way if my entire neighborhood suddenly moved somewhere else while I stayed. But as the story continues, it becomes clear that his loneliness is something else entirely. He talks to houses. Yes, actual houses. I suppose that was Dostoyevsky’s way of showing a kind of loneliness so deep that even buildings begin to feel like companions.
The story truly begins when the narrator accidentally meets a woman named Nastenka. One night, he notices her leaning quietly against the railing beside the canal before she suddenly hurries toward the pavement. A drunken man follows and harasses her, but the narrator intervenes and scares him away. From there, the two walk together toward her house, beginning the strange and fragile connection that carries the rest of the story.
On the first night, it becomes clear that the narrator is quite timid. As the two begin exchanging words, their interaction already hints at where the story might be heading. A shy, insecure narrator meets an attractive young woman, and it is easy to assume he will quickly fall in love with her. By the end of their early conversation, Nastenka’s words seem to confirm this direction.
"I assure you, I’m ready for friendship; here’s my hand… But you mustn’t fall in love with me, I beg you!" (p. 14).
Although the narrator swears he will not fall in love, I find that hard to believe. And just like that, the two part ways and promise to meet again the next day.
Second Night
On the second night, Nastenka realizes she has only just made friends with a stranger. She then asks the narrator to fully explain his story. However, he struggles to even begin. He does not even know how to talk about his own history. It is in this moment that the famous line I mentioned earlier emerges.
"Then how have you lived, if you have no history?" (p. 17).
On this night, the narrator tells his story in the third person because he is too ashamed to speak in the first person. He refers to himself as “the Dreamer.” In this account, he describes how he used to push people away because he sees himself as absurd and is often embarrassed by his own presence. He does not know how to talk to others properly. He frequently daydreams and sometimes fails to notice what is actually happening around him. As he puts it, “he has dined, though he has absolutely no notion how it has happened.” (p. 24). It is a strangely sad image.
I think this kind of loneliness is far more common than we assume. What makes it dangerous is that it becomes self-reinforcing. Being alone for a long time can make people feel absurd, afraid to speak, and hesitant to form connections, which in turn keeps them isolated. Not to mention that the Dreamer himself seems comfortable living inside his own fantasies, at least until reality collides with them.
What is interesting here is how the Dreamer explains everything as if he is reading from a book. At first, I thought it was just because I am not used to reading novels like this, but later I realized Nastenka notices the same thing as well. She even complains, saying, “listen, you describe it all splendidly, but couldn’t you perhaps describe it a little less splendidly?” (p. 21). I laughed when I heard her say that.
The second night ends with Nastenka promising to tell her story. In return, the narrator is expected to give her advice, as she believes he is smart and well-educated. I am not entirely sure why, but I find these three lines particularly interesting. It feels like two people standing at the edge of a new journey, ready to step into each other’s stories.
"Your hand," said Nastenka. "Here it is," said I, giving her my hand. "And so let us begin my history!" (p. 31).
Nastenka’s Story
On Nastenka’s story night, it is finally revealed that she is also lonely. She lives with her overprotective blind grandmother and is even punished for meeting friends behind her back. Then one day, a new lodger arrives. He becomes concerned about Nastenka’s isolation and believes she needs to go outside, meet people, and experience life beyond her home. Of course, Nastenka can only obey her grandmother, and the lodger understands this. Eventually, he even asks her grandmother for permission to take Nastenka to a performance. At this point, Nastenka begins to fall for him, even though they have barely met.
Again, Dostoyevsky highlights something that still feels very relevant in modern society. At times, families become overprotective in an effort to protect us from harmful environments. But that protection can also become excessive, unintentionally isolating us and leaving us lonely. I have experienced this in my own way.
The chapter ends with the revelation that the lodger moved away a year ago but promised to return to Nastenka. However, he has not returned yet. On the first night, Nastenka is seen crying because she believes he is already in town but has not come to see her. She is afraid that he may have abandoned her. With the help of the narrator, they finally write a letter and send it to the lodger.
Third Night
On the third night, the lodger still has not come. Nastenka grows increasingly anxious, while the narrator keeps searching for reasons to explain his absence. At some point, I find myself no longer understanding what the narrator is saying, just like Nastenka.
"Oh my goodness, my goodness," Nastenka interrupted, "what does all that mean? I don’t understand a word." (p. 47).
It was strangely funny to read, realizing I was not alone in my confusion. But there is one moment that feels especially striking. It comes in this paragraph.
"You are so kind that I should be a stone if I did not feel it. Do you know what has occurred to me now? I was comparing you two. Why isn’t he you? Why isn’t he like you? He is not as good as you, though I love him more than you." (p. 49).
I stopped for a moment. It was just… wow. In this moment, Nastenka is fully aware of the narrator’s goodness, yet she still chooses the lodger. Dostoyevsky is emphasizing a fact of life — one that I, like many others, often fail to fully understand — that affection and moral admiration do not automatically align with romantic interest.
Fourth Night
On the last night, the fourth night, the lodger still has not come. Nastenka is now heartbroken, and the narrator tries to find other explanations, but she stops him mid-thought. One not-so-unexpected thing happens — the narrator confesses his feelings to Nastenka.
"It’s impossible, but I love you, Nastenka!" (p. 54).
And of course, Nastenka is confused. The narrator wants to run away, like I did back in middle school after confessing to my crush. But Nastenka does not want him to leave and instead begins to give him hope. The reader, who has been lonely for most of his life, of course does not fully believe her.
"You are sorry for me, Nastenka, you are simply sorry for me." (p. 56).
Then Nastenka says something unexpected. She realizes that the narrator has been there for her, not for himself. Slowly, she begins to think that she might also love him.
"I love him; but I shall get over it, I cannot fail to get over it; I am getting over it, I feel that… Who knows? Perhaps it will all end today, for I hate him, for he has been laughing at me, while you have been weeping here with me, for you have not repulsed me as he has, for you love me while he has never loved me, for in fact, I love you myself…" (pp. 57–58).
At that moment, I thought it would end as a happy ending. The narrator would finally no longer be lonely after finding love, and Nastenka would finally realize she had met someone who truly loves her. That is how it seemed it would end. They walk along the pavement together, promising to stay by each other’s side.
But midway through the walk, Nastenka stops. She sees the lodger and runs toward him. Without a word to the narrator, both of them disappear from his sight. It is just another wow. And that is when everything collapses.
Some may argue that Nastenka is selfish and that she is to blame. Perhaps she is — perhaps she is at fault for giving the narrator hope and then leaving him when her old love returns. But if we look at the pattern more closely, both characters fall in love at their most vulnerable moments. The narrator falls for Nastenka after a long period of loneliness, and Nastenka, in turn, falls for the lodger in a similarly fragile state. And again, when she is heartbroken because her love does not return, she falls for the narrator.
What this suggests is not simple selfishness, but emotional dependence shaped by timing. None of them fall in love from stability — they fall in love when they are exposed and unguarded, when loneliness makes any form of attention feel like meaning. The tragedy is not that someone is cruel, but that no one is fully free from their own loneliness when they choose. I myself suffer a similar issue. I sometimes wonder whether it was ever love at all, or just affection that formed during my lowest moments.
Morning
The next morning, the narrator receives a letter from her, saying that she is sorry and still wishes to remain friends with him. She also mentions that she will be marrying the lodger next week. At this point, it would be reasonable for the narrator to curse them both, but what happens is quite the opposite.
"May your sky be clear, may your sweet smile be bright and untroubled, and may you be blessed for that moment of blissful happiness which you gave to another, lonely and grateful heart!" (p. 65).
In this final moment, the narrator, who was once consumed by loneliness, is able to let Nastenka go and returns to being the same old “dreamer”. It is not surprising to him that Nastenka leaves — in fact, he never truly believed that she loved him in the first place.