Reading ‘White Nights’ as an Anti-Romantic Book

When I posted an image of ‘White Nights’ on top of a coffee table in my Instagram story, my friend replied in excitement. While not one of her favourite books, she was definitely not shy of praising it, claiming that it is gut-wrenching, that it’ll leave me in tears, even going as far as saying it’ll shatter me. This part isn’t a dig at my friend, nor is it a judgement of her choice of literature — if anything, I’m honoured that she chose to show her love for the book to me, and that she took time out of her day to provide me with her insights. However, after completing it, I found that her remarks were entirely untrue; I believe this is a matter of both personal taste and my own values and perceptions of love. While I am always open to unlearning and changing my perspective after thorough discussion, ‘White Nights’ fails to make me empathise with its characters, which is the crucial first step of learning through fiction. If anything, I was perplexed by the development of their story. After some reflection, I found a reason for that: ‘White Nights’ is still relevant to our societal perception of romantic love and loneliness today — arguably, it even reflects it, as if it was written in the context of the ‘modern love’ we speak of every day — and that societal perception is one that I fundamentally disagree with.

Fyodor Dostoyevsky’s ‘White Nights’ takes us on a journey of two lonely individuals, grappling with their conflicted feelings of love; both of these individuals view love as passive, something that is fated, something that we wait for, rather than something that is built. Even Nastenka’s attempts at communicating her boundaries to maintain a close friendship are immature at best, and repression of the heart at worst; she isn’t able to take on an active role, despite her taking actions, because at her core, she believes love is something that comes to an individual. Taking up an active role—that is to say making conscious decisions, being proactive in communication, and perhaps most crucially constantly reflecting on oneself and looking for improvement — is necessary when one desires a relationship.

However, in my observations of modern love, the individual’s desire and obsession of being loved makes this active role a performance, misconstruing its intentions, and down the line, leads to commodification of the self in search of someone who will consume us. In ‘White Nights’, both characters seem to hold the belief that the cure to their loneliness is a romantic love that is like a dream — the narrator himself self-identifies as a “dreamer”, and Nastenka spends the latter half of the story yearning for the first love that she perceived as an almost mystical experience. In the good year of 2025, I had a friend claim to me that they could only truly be vulnerable in a romantic relationship, making it crucial to their livelihood, for what else could cure their loneliness? This is the perception that I heavily disagree with, that goes against everything I stand for, and is the reason why I couldn’t enjoy ‘White Nights’ to its full extent.

To provide some background to my beliefs, my values surrounding love was shaped by my queerness. Perhaps upon reading that sentence, dear reader, you assumed the word ‘love’ refers to romantic love; to an extent, I suppose it does, but in the context of myself and my experiences, I am referring to platonic love more than anything. Growing up queer in a

queer-unfriendly country meant I had an inherent need for community, a family outside of my family — for what else would fulfil the basic human need of acceptance, and emotional, open, and nurturing social interaction? Queer friendships are inherently nonconformative, not necessarily due to the queerness of the individuals involved (though that is an aspect to be considered), but the unique way in which community and friendship are valued. Feminist writer Sohel Sakar writes, “For me, queer friendships are essentially about connections and intimacies that refuse to conform to normative ideas of what relationships should look like.” Queer friendships democratise care and divert expectations of intimate relationships through the fact that the gender binary plays no role in them; as such, they break apart from heteronormativity, and traditional notions of romance aren’t considered the end-all-be-all of curing loneliness and cultivating community.

From these experiences during my formative years, I became a passionate advocate of valuing friendships as equal to familial relationships, and I adore the concept of high-effort friendships, because to me, the conscious choice of building community and providing care are fundamental to a kind of relationship of such high value. To my (very bluntly and frequently expressed) disappointment, the societal view of friendship is almost the exact opposite; the only thing that could come close to being equal to a family outside of a family is a romantic relationship; lonely people no longer consider other outlets for emotional vulnerability and openness, leading to a desperation for romance, and the insensitive dismissal of friendship and other forms of community.

When we as a society discuss love, we view it through a lens of mystique. We are reluctant to study it the same way we study anger, fear, or joy; we explain it through biological processes, the release of chemicals in our brain as a response to physical displays of affection, but we almost refuse to consider its construction within our culture. We acknowledge the prevalence of romantic love in media, but unlike other concepts in media—such as notions of gender and race — we refuse to accept that romantic love is just as equally socially constructed. In dismantling the mystique of romantic love, we simultaneously dismantle its appeal and our pre-conceived expectations of it. Perhaps that is terrifying for those who perceive romantic love as the sole site of emotional vulnerability, care, and unconditional acceptance. To that, I say: coward.

In their paper ‘The Social Construction of Love’, Beall & Stenberg (1995) outline how perceptions and expectations of romantic love shifted with the changes of culture and time periods. They note that even in the modern era, conceptions of romantic love are diverse, differing based on the context of the culture and society in which it resides. The experience of love, they argue, is partially dependent on external factors as much as it is constructed by the individual that experiences it. And while love is multidimensional and includes fundamental requirements, these requirements also change across and are defined by culture. Our expectations and ideals of love are thus socially constructed. Considering romantic love specifically, the phenomenon of our expectations can also be dissected through the idea of

“amatonormativity”, a term coined by philosophy professor Elizabeth Brake (2012), that is defined as the following:

The belief that “everyone is better off in an exclusive, romantic, long-term coupled relationship”, and that “marriage and companionate romantic love have special value”, leading to individuals overlooking the value of other caring relationships.

Brake refers to this as a disproportionate focus — and she isn’t wrong. Through this unfair bias, we fail to consider other ways of living life and experiencing relationships; we become more prone to devaluing our friendships and communities, and in turn make ourselves even more lonely. As Granger (2020) writes,

Mentalities such as putting romantic relationships above other relationship types and not recognizing the importance of other relationships in one’s life, such as family, platonic friendships, mentorship, and more. These relationships all have different roles to play in one’s network of relationships, whether it be caretaking, financial, domestic, or emotional bond. Yet despite their influence in people’s lives they can, and often do, take a back seat to romance.

In an interview, bell hooks reflects on her own parents’ marriage, and how they were able to sustain themselves. She explains, “I recognised that part of what kept them committed for sixty years was the fact that their marriage was part of their community life. It was not something that was separate from their community life.” Our pre-conceived notions of love and its social constructions have taught us that romantic love, with its heaven-high value, should be placed above community, and thus separated at least to some extent. In simpler terms, romantic love is viewed as detached from community, because its value is perceived as higher. bell hooks proceeds to explain that “we need the practice of equanimity, of balance, of how can I be both self realised and at the same time responsive to the practice and need of community.” In the words of Toni Morrison (1997), “In the absence of so many support systems, we are it for each other. You have to work at your friendships with the same seriousness you did when you went to school.” Which, from my observations, is a struggle for those who refuse to open themselves to non-romantic relationships as sites of mutual care, love, and understanding.

Those who attempt to soothe their loneliness through romance and solely romance may argue that “anything else just isn’t the same.” And to that, I ask that they question why they hold that belief. How is the collective care of a community, or the conscious love of a close friend “different?” To what extent is their belief shaped by social and cultural factors, the percentage of external factors versus internal factors? Perhaps, evaluate their friends, or those close to them; what makes them believe that these people would not accept them and nurture them in the ways a romantic partner would?

In ‘White Nights’, the protagonists view loneliness as a hurdle, but they fall short of passing it, out of failure to consider other forms to soothe their emptiness. Loneliness is a choice, and so is the way you choose to relieve it. The only question is, are you truly willing to?

Tsarah Theodore (she/they) loves love, but perhaps in a different way than others. Sadly, none of her university courses can help her articulate that. You can find her on Instagram: @lotusartefact.

Bibliography

Beall, A.E. and Sternberg, R.J. (1995). The Social Construction of Love. Journal of Social and Personal Relationships, 12(3), pp.417–438. doi:https://doi.org/10.1177/0265407595123006.

Granger, R. (2020). Amatonormativity, Aromanticism, and What Defines a Relationship . [online] Available at: https://vc.bridgew.edu/honors_proj/330 [Accessed 20 Jul. 2025].

https://www.wellandgood.com/queer-friendships/ https://elizabethbrake.com/amatonormativity/

https://www.proquest.com/scholarly-journals/beloved-community-conversation-with-bell-ho oks/docview/1273829675/se-2?accountid=12528

https://buffalonews.com/news/trial-by-fire-one-of-the-countrys-most-influential-african-ame ricans-novelist-toni-morrison-has/article_f510506a-07d7-5c40-9084-cb4bc88c8467.html