Every time I read Dostoevsky I am reminded of the value of literature. Unlike bite-sized opinions and bullet-pointed summaries, we are not given answers by an influencer or an LLM—we are immersed in the struggle. We feel it. It sits within us for days and years and decades and gnaws away at our decisions and our character. Fiction is written by humans who feel pain and fuck things up again and again, and who can therefore teach us wisdom. Demons and its vivisection of nihilism is one of the best examples I know of to prove the value of fiction.