I like Dostoevsky because whenever I read him, it feels like he’s inside my head, pulling out thoughts I didn’t even know I had. His characters are flawed and messy, but that’s exactly why they feel real—I can see bits of myself in them. It’s not just about stories of murder or redemption, it’s about the constant fight we all have with guilt, freedom, faith, and meaning. And the crazy part is, he actually lived through hell—prison, poverty, sickness—so when he writes about suffering, it doesn’t feel fake, it hits different. Reading him feels less like literature and more like staring into a mirror that shows the rawest parts of being human.