FICTION

DOSTOEVSKY’S LAST NIGHT by Cristina Peri Rossi, translated by Laura C. Dail. (Picador: $20; 180 pp.) “After work,” writes the obsessive gambler in this novel, “(I’m an editor of a wretched, mass-produced weekly magazine), the casino, with its fluffy carpets, bright lights . . . feels like home to me.” “Only in gambling,” he quotes Dostoevsky, “does nothing depend on nothing.” This utterly unabsorbing character likens himself to Dostoevsky, seeking passion and risk and escape from his dull family life in St. Petersburg. One big difference: Dostoevsky was Dostoevsky. This character is more like an insurance salesman than a writer, for all the glitzy interviews and cushy travel assignments he so nonchalantly accepts and despises. He falls in love with his analyst, harasses his ex-wife and dispenses gambling wisdom such as:”A good player is always prepared to lose before he wins” to passers-by in pool halls.

There is a fine tradition of characters who have almost no connection to anything, no robust human relationships (except with their sainted mothers), but it sure is hard to listen to a soulless character preach dutifully for his or her author on the barrenness of modern life. “Dostoevsky’s Last Night” is a well-written novel, running on empty.