If you come to Insancıklar expecting the explosive drama of Crime and Punishment or the philosophical frenzy of Notes from Underground , you may find it quieter. But its power lies in that quietness. It is the cry of a young Dostoyevsky who already understood that hell is not just other people—it is being forgotten, invisible, and too poor to love properly.
Dostoyevsky’s use of the epistolary form is masterful. Through Makar’s rambling, self-deprecating letters, we see a man discovering his own voice, his literary tastes (he is deeply moved by Gogol’s The Overcoat ), and his painful awareness of being looked down upon. Varvara’s letters, more restrained and melancholic, offer a parallel story of resignation and quiet strength. Insanciklar - Fyodor Dostoyevski
What makes Insancıklar unforgettable is its raw humanity. Makar is not a heroic figure; he’s awkward, insecure, and painfully aware of his worn-out boots and shabby coat. Yet his love for Varvara transforms him. He goes hungry to buy her flowers, sacrifices his last kopek for her dignity, and finds meaning in their fragile connection. But the world—indifferent, hierarchical, and cold—keeps crushing the “little people” no matter how hard they try to hold onto each other. If you come to Insancıklar expecting the explosive
★★★★☆ (4/5) – A masterpiece of empathy, if not yet the explosive genius of his later works. Dostoyevsky’s use of the epistolary form is masterful
The novel’s title, Insancıklar (“Little Humans” or “Poor Folk”), says it all. These are not grand tragic heroes but the invisible ones—clerks, seamstresses, widows, and orphans—whose inner lives are as vast and complex as any prince’s. The ending is devastating, realistic, and deeply tender. There is no miracle, only the slow, inevitable separation of two souls who once saved each other.
Here’s a review of Insancıklar (the Turkish title for Dostoyevsky’s Poor Folk ) by Fyodor Dostoyevsky: