Gosh, wasn't Fyodor Dostoevsky strange? Reading the deeply disconcerting opening segments of The Idiot has reminded me of just how very, very odd he was: the fits, the murdered father, the manic gambling, the imprisonment, the mock execution, the crazy radical ideas, the loopy conservatism, the sheer intensity. And I'm probably missing a lot out, being no expert on the subject. Would you invite him to dinner?
I would. In a grey world we need more like him.