The thing I love most about Dostoievski is how real everything feels.
A lot of fiction nowadays is based on: how the character portrays himself/how he thinks about himself/who he really is.
And a lot of resolution is about finding out who he really is, or about other characters finding that out and accepting that (usually immediately). Followed by emotional chatharsis and resolution.
In Dostoievski it feels like a lot of the character are chasing that idea and simply finding out it's not true. They will give long speeches about who they really are, expectijg emotional chatharsis, only for none to come. And they react by feeling resentful towards their confidants, or towards themselves. Or shameful. And then they also react to their reaction.
There is no gold character core waiting to be resolved, and a reveleation is usually just a very awkward monologue.