
In Polzunkov, Fyodor Dostoyevsky crafts a razor-edged early tale of social cruelty disguised as entertainment. Osip Mikhailovich Polzunkov—an anxious, eager-to-please minor official—survives by turning himself into a spectacle for those with money, rank, and leisure. Yet beneath his clowning lies a fierce sensitivity and a stubborn sense of dignity that makes every laugh at his expense feel like a bruise.
Told through Polzunkov’s own breathless, performative storytelling, the narrative moves from farce into moral discomfort: a bribe, a “fatherly” patron, a thwarted engagement, and the intimate humiliations of dependency. Dostoyevsky exposes how institutions and households alike can demand abasement as the price of belonging—and how the longing to be accepted can deform character as surely as open oppression. Darkly funny and quietly devastating, the story anticipates the author’s lifelong fascination with shame, conscience, and the desperate hunger for human regard.