Re-reading can be a terribly useful practice. I enjoyed the book enough before I suppose, but not nearly so much as this time. Part of it is that I'm reading a better translation, funnier and more poetic, by Mirra Ginsberg, whose impeccable Zamyatin translations greatly impressed me back in June. Unfortunately, her 1967 translation was of the censored original Russian publication from which editors omitted some 60 typescript pages (!) from the final version prepared by Bulgakov's wife Elena Sergeevna. Some of these are not so vital, but some truly are, so I've tried to splice them in from the more recent, more complete (though not quite so beautiful) Burgin/O'Connor translation. (The first time, I'd read Richard Pevear's translation for Penguin Classics, but Pevear is a better historian (see his introduction) than he is a crafter of sentences, and often he translates words but not their original feeling).

Anyway, all of this leaves me with, I think, a more complete sense of the book. And what a book it is, combining slapstick satire of Bulgakov's contemporary Moscow, dark secular scrutiny of the political manipulations of ancient Jerusalem, fantastic visions far beyond the socialist-realist requirements of soviet lit in the 30s, oblique renderings of existence under the Terror, and what it is in fact a very moving contemplation of guilt and forgiveness. This latter especially: I think that I had forgotten, or previously missed, what a sad book this was in its final reckoning, and I'm glad to have had the chance to revisit these aspects especially. Additionally, during this reading I've been far more aware of Bulgakov's entirely post-modern ambiguous story-layers and fine-tuning of narratorial voice. All of which adds up to an excellent novel. True, it was not entirely finished at Bulgakov's death, and so there are flaws and questions may never be answered, but it's still a rich and varied tour-de-force, and an incredible labor of love for an author well aware that it would never see publication in his lifetime.

Of course, as is directly noted many times throughout the story (with what hindsight reveals as a tragic self-awareness and perhaps more of that post-modern metatextuality), literature is immortality, and manuscripts do not, ultimately, burn. Bulgakov was apparently annoyed to be "reassured" by friends that his great work would be a classic after his death, but he seems to have known they would be proven right. Just as the Master's novel is completed after his death (albeit by his own voice) in the story, Bulgakov's novel was finally assembled from drafts by his wife -- the model of Margarita -- and and at last released to great, and well-deserved, acclaim.

...

Previously:

THERE ARE MANY TRANSLATIONS

1. Mirra Ginsberg's, which, having loved her translations of Zamyatin's stories, I'm reading this time. However, it's older and apparently based on an incomplete, censored Russian text. Hmmm. Anyway, hers sounds like this (it's pretty great):

Oh, yes, we must take note of the first strange thing about that dreadful May evening. Not a soul was to be seen around--not only at the stall, but anywhere along the entire avenue, running parallel to Malaya Bronnaya. At that hour, when it no longer seemed possible to breathe, when the sun was tumbling in a dry haze somewhere behind Sadovoye Circle, leaving Moscow scorched and gasping, nobody came to cool off under the lindens, to sit down on a bench. The avenue was deserted. (Ginsberg, p.3)

2. Richard Pevear's, for Penguin Classics, is one of the latest and most popular. I read this version before, it's good:

Ah, yes, note must be made of the first oddity of this dreadful May evening. There was not a single person to be seen, not only at the stand, but also along the whole walk parallel to Malaya Bronnaya Street. At that hour when it seemed no longer possible to breathe, when the sun, having scorched Moscow, was collapsing in a dry haze somewhere beyond Sadovoye Ring, no one came under the lindens, no one sat on a bench, the walk was empty. (Pevear, p.7)

3. And Michael Karpelson's, also newer, not the best:

By the way, it is worthwhile to note the first strange thing about that horrible May afternoon. Not a single human was to be found in the vicinity of the booth or, indeed, in the entire alley that ran parallel to Malaya Bronnaya Street. At an hour when it seemed almost impossible to breath, when the sun, scorching Moscow, was plunging into the dry haze somewhere beyond Sadovoye Ring Road, no one sought shelter in the shade of the lindens, no one sat down on the benches. Empty was the alley. (Karpelson, p.3)

4. And then there's Micheal Glenny. Oh Micahel Glenny:

The was an oddness about that terrible day in May that is worth recording: not only at the kiosk but along the whole avenue running parallel to Malaya Bronnaya Street there was not a person to be seen. It was the hour of the day when people feel too exhausted to breath, when Moscow glows in a dry haze as the sun disappears behind the Sadovaya Boulevard--yet no one had come out for a walk under the limes, no one was sitting on a bench, the avenue was empty. (Glenny, p.3)

Limes? And hilariously, the drink stand sign, which both the others translate as "Beer and Soft Drinks", says "Beer and Minerals" in Glenny's version. Let's not read the Glenny.

AND THEN, when they try to order drinks, Ginsberg says they asked for "Narzan", which I found on a mineral water review website:

Most famous water in Russia. It comes from Northern Caucasus mountain spa town Kislovodsk. Very pleasent place. The word (non russian) Narzan means 'sour water' as well as the russia name Kislovodsk. You can go there, it is a peaceful town, and see how 'Narzan' pours out of the earth and drink it, free of charge.

Interesting. And highly specific. Instead, Pevear just reduces it to "seltzer" and Glenny, despite having some idea that minerals were involved (from his weird translation of the sign), somehow gets "lemonade". Let's not read the Glenny.

5. And there's a fifth I can lay hands on, incidentally, but it's at home so I can't excerpt just now. Diana Burgin and Katherine O'Connor's. Will examine later. (later -- and here it is:)

And here it is worth noting the first strange thing about that terrible May evening. Absolutely no one was to be seen, not only by the refreshment stand, but all along the tree-lined path that ran parallel to Malaya Bronnaya Street. At a time when no one, it seemed, had the strength to breathe, when the sun had left Moscow scorched to a crisp and was collapsing in a dry haze somewhere behind Sadovoye Ring, no one came to walk out under the lindens, or to sit down on a bench, and the path was deserted. (Burgin and O'Connor, p.3)

It seems like this is a matter of much debate. As I said, Glenny and Ginsberg both worked from a censored 1967 Russian version, while Pevear and Burgin/O'Connor used the "complete", post-communist manuscript. Certain amazon user reviews denounce Glenny in favor of Ginsberg, or Ginsberg in favor or Burgin/O'Connor. One detailed list, from someone who has read four different translations, rates Ginsberg's the most readable and best at getting the nuances of the tone and humor, which seems important (she also notes that Pevear, though maybe most technically accurate doesn't get the humor at all -- which would explain why I didn't find this all that funny upon first reading. Of course, she also hates Glenny. Poor Glenny. Though still, let's not read the Glenny.)

[This discussion goes on -- and on and on -- here]

I rarely re-read books simply because I love discovering new ones and experiencing new stories. I have read The Master and Margarita at least three times, and every time I saw the story differently. To this day, when someone asks me about my favorite books, this is one of the first ones to come to mind. Told in two different time frames, this is a magical story that combines social commentary, sarcasm, philosophy, fantasy, and romance. I feel a reread coming on as I'm typing this.


RE-READ 2021

It's been about 10 years since the last time I re-read The Master and Margarita, and this felt like coming home. This endlessly quotable classic will always hold a special place in my heart. I will leave you with a quote from Satan ))

n  

"But would you kindly ponder this question: What would your good do if evil didn't exist, and what would the earth look like if all the shadows disappeared? After all, shadows are cast by things and people. Here is the shadow of my sword. But shadows also come from trees and living beings. Do you want to strip the earth of all trees and living things just because of your fantasy of enjoying naked light?"

n

Nearly all my Goodreads friends (including my sister) have rated this book 4 or 5 stars, so it seems to be much loved - just not by me! To start with, I thought it was going to be great. I enjoyed the initial surreal and crazy scenes but by the middle I was just feeling exhausted and irritated, and by the end I just wanted to get it over with. For me it felt like this:
- crazy thing happens
- another crazy thing happens
- yet another crazy thing happens and now I no longer care
Perhaps if I had taken the time to understand and relate to the satire, I might have gotten more from it, I don't know. For the moment, I will just say that, although this book is considered a classic and is loved by many, it just wasn't a good fit for me and I am relieved to have finished!

[Revised, pictures added 4/6/23]

More or less a novel, this book is also an allegory. Like Moby Dick, there are probably a dozen interpretations that can be given to it. The extensive local color comes from Moscow in the early Twentieth Century. The author wrote and revised it from 1929 to 1940, the year he died. This is a major book: more than 300,000 rating and more than 17,000 reviews on GR.



The main plot centers around a crowd of Russian literati: authors, theater goers and hangers-on, particularly one older world-weary author (the Master) and his beautiful young woman friend (Margarita). The devil and his sidekicks come to town and a lot of evil doings ensue. (If this were a modern Latin American novel, we would call it magical realism.)

Interspersed with the Moscow chapters is a mini historical novel that the Master is writing about Pontius Pilate and his agony over his decisions leading to the Crucifixion. Given that the Soviet Union in this era was promoting atheism, closing churches and persecuting religious folks, the main thesis seems to be summed up as follows: "Surely the devil is real, and if so, there must be a God."

Like Dante in his Divine Comedy, the author uses his work to settle old scores with critics and censors.

I wouldn't say that it's a book that I couldn't put down, but the plot moves along and it kept my attention. One thing that struck me is that Moscow was "behind-the-times" apparently, and much of the plot felt like it was set in the late 1800's. But then a phone would ring or someone would arrive by plane and it jarred me back to the proper era.



The author (1891-1940) was born in Kyiv, then Russia, now Ukraine. Of course he ran afoul of Russian censors during Stalin’s era and his books and plays were banned.

Top image from Master and Margarita site on facebook.com
The author from Goodreads

«Sympathy for the Devil»


His name is God. Not Lucifer,not Satan,but God!!!
Satan is God in a bad mood. God in a bad mood lays our souls to waste.
«As heads is tales
Just call me LUCIFER
cop is to criminal as God is to Lucifer».

God in a good mood plays games with us.
«What’s confusing you is just THE NATURE OF MY GAME»

«This song has a direct tie to the book, "the Master and the Margarita", is about all the history & tragedies with points throughout time. The man he is describing is the devil.The devil is asking for sympathy because he claims the reason he is not to blame is because the devil does not make you do anything. He simply sets the stage, which is the nature of his game. Look up those points in time. You should know most of them from history». Someone said.

His name --> the devil --> humanity.

A masterful song for a masterpiece...

«Please allow me to introduce myself
I'm a man of wealth and taste
I've been around for a long, long year
Stole many a man's soul to waste

[[[[[[[And I was 'round when Jesus Christ
Had his moment of doubt and pain
Made damn sure that Pilate
Washed his hands and sealed his fate]]]]]]]]]

Pleased to meet you
Hope you guess my name
But what's puzzling you
Is the nature of my game

[{I stuck around St. Petersburg
When I saw it was a time for a change
Killed the czar and his ministers
Anastasia screamed in vain}]

I rode a tank
Held a general's rank
When the blitzkrieg raged
And the bodies stank

Pleased to meet you
Hope you guess my name
Ah, what's puzzling you
Is the nature of my game

I watched with glee
While your kings and queens
Fought for ten decades
For the gods they made

Let me please introduce myself
I'm a man of wealth and taste
And I laid traps for troubadours
Who get killed before they reached Bombay

Pleased to meet you
Hope you guessed my name
(Who who)
But what's puzzling you
Is the nature of my game, get down, baby

Pleased to meet you
Hope you guessed my name
But what's confusing you
Is just the nature of my game

[{JUST AS EVERY COP IS A CRIMINAL
AND ALL THE SINNERS SAINTS
AS HEADS IS TAILS
JUST CALL ME LUCIFER}]

[{Cause I'm in need of some restraint
So if you meet me
Have some courtesy
Have some sympathy, and some taste}]

Use all your well-learned politesse
Or I'll lay your soul to waste

Pleased to meet you
Hope you guessed my name
But what's puzzling you
IS THE NATURE OF MY GAME mean it, get down

Tell me baby, what's my name
Tell me honey, can you guess my name
Tell me baby, what's my name
[[[[[ tell you one time, YOU ARE TO BLAME ]]]]]

Ο συγγραφέας μας καλεί σε ένα ταξίδι χωρίς όρια.
Μια τρελή περιπέτεια και η απόλυτη ερωτική ιστορία.
Πρωταγωνιστές και συνοδοιπόροι μας ο Διάβολος και ο Χριστός.
Καταρρίπτουμε τα δεδομένα,τα χρηστά,τα χρονικά σύνορα,τα απλά. Μπαίνουμε στο μύθο του Φάουστ,αλλάζουμε τα Ευαγγέλια,κάνουμε μυστικιστικές αναζητήσεις,ενώνουμε τη φαντασία με την σοβαρότητα, εξομοιώνουμε το ρεαλισμό με τον τρυφερό λυρισμό και απο τα βάθη της μεσαιωνικής μαγείας μέχρι τη Σταλινική Μόσχα ζούμε τον διαβολικά παράφορο έρωτα του Μαίτρ και της Μαργαρίτας.

Κοιταζόμαστε στον καθρέφτη βλέποντας τα πάθη και τις αμαρτίες μας. Μαθαίνουμε ακράδαντα να πιστεύουμε πως το μεγαλύτερο αμάρτημα για τον καλό και τον κακό Θεό είναι μόνο η ΔΕΙΛΙΑ.
Αυτή τιμωρεί και τιμωρείται. Αυτή γεννάει την αιώνια δυστυχία της ανθρώπινης ύπαρξης. Ο φόβος και η δειλία είναι τα συστατικά για την πλήρη ανυπαρξία.

Παίζουμε σε ένα δαιμονικό παιχνίδι με τους ανθρώπους και τους διαβόλους.
Ο Σατανάς μαζί μας,δίπλα μας έχει εντολή απο το θεό να παίξει μαζί μας να μας προκαλέσει,να μας δείξει αλήθειες.
Στη Μόσχα,στη Ναζαρέτ,στην Καινή διαθήκη,στη συνείδηση μας,στην πουλημένη ή κατεστραμμένη ψυχή μας βρίσκονται αιώνες επαναλήψεων ιστορικών,κοινωνικών,ατομικών μυθικών ρεαλισμών.

Κάναμε περίπατο με τον Πόντιο Πιλάτο και τον Χα Νοτσρί. Ο Ιησούς τραγούδησε. Συνομιλήσαμε για πολλά με έναν γάτο και έναν κακάσχημο δαίμονα. Τα πλήθη ξετρελαμένα σε ομαδική παράκρουση τραγουδούσαν ασταμάτητα.
Ο Σατανάς πάντα δίπλα μας έκανε χρέη οικοδεσπότη και μεταφραστή.
Χορέψαμε,αγαπήσαμε,σκοτώσαμε.
Ταξιδεύουμε πάντα με γεμάτη Σελήνη.
Ποζάρουμε ως τέρατα χαμογελώντας στον καθρέφτη της ζωής.
Μπροστά μας πάντα η Μαργαρίτα,ολόγυμνη και ευτυχισμένη σέρνει το χορό στην τελετή του διαβόλου και μας καθοδηγεί.

Η επιλογή κατεύθυνσης πάντα δική μας ευθύνη.
Κύριο χαρακτηριστικό μας η ελεύθερη βούληση.
Βασικό μειονέκτημα η θνητότητα μας που ίσως θεραπεύεται μόνο με πάθη και αμαρτίες.

Μια δοκιμή ή περισσότερες θα μας πείσουν.


Καλή ανάγνωση.
Πολλούς διαβολικούς ασπασμούς.

با وجود افراد فرهیخته و ریویو های خوبی که گذاشته میشه ،من با سواد ناقصم سعی می کنم کمتر نظر بدم. اما این کتاب اونقدر خوب بود که نمیتونم اشتیاق نوشتن احساسمو نادیده بگیرم.
فضای سورئال و فانتزی و کنایه های زیرپوستی این کتابو به یکی از بهترینا تبدیل کرد.و با شکوه ترین قسمتش دعوت مارگریتا به مهمونی ابلیس و پرواز بر فراز مسکو بود.
بخشی هم که بیشترین اثر روم گذاشت و گریبان گیرجامعه امروز خودمون هم هست،این بود که دنیای معاصر رمان سرشار از شگفتی ها و وقایع عجیب بود ،اما بخشی که در زمان گذشته رخ می داد کاملا منطقی و بدون هیچ معجزه ای پیش می رفت و میشد حدس زد که یجور طعنه ای به خرافات عوامه.در واقع گذشته هم روزی حال بوده نه بیشتر نه کمتر.
در آخر خوندن کتابو به همه پیشنهاد می کنم:)
"هرگز نبایداز کسی چیزی بخواهی هرگز.مخصوصا از آنهایی که از تو قدرت مندترند.این گونه افراد به دلخواه خودشان پیشنهاد کمک می کنند. "

در انزوای خانه نشسته بود که او سر رسید. چشمان بی‌روح زن، حتی رمق کندوکاو آن غریبه‌‌ی آشنا را هم نداشت. می‌دانست کیست. از کجا آمده و بالاخره، پیکر رنجورش را با خود خواهد برد. بدون پرسش به سویش گام برداشت و با هر قدم، روحش سبکبال‌تر و جانش تهی‌تر می‌شد.
وقتی به کنارش ایستاد وزنی نداشت. سنگینی‌‌ای حس نمی‌کرد. باری به دوش نمی‌کشید. فارغ از رویاهای به خاک سپرده بود. غریبه این را می‌دانست؛ که زن خود را به بهای هیچ تقدیمش کرده است.
تاجی از خار را بر سر زن قرار داد. زیر گوشش چیزی خواند و لحظاتی بعد به پرواز درآمدند. هر دو در ظلمت شب اوج می‌گرفتند. پرتو ماه بر صورت رنگ‌پریده‌ی زن می‌تابید و از میان گیسوان در خار اسیر شده‌اش خون می‌چکید.
زن گلایه‌ای نداشت. دردی نمی‌کشید. چیزی حس نمی‌کرد. به پستی جغرافیای نفرین‌شده‌اش می‌نگریست و ارتفاعش را بیشتر می‌کرد.
نیمه‌ی تاریک وجودش او را به گورستان خفتگان از یاد رفته هدایت کرد. "همه را بیدار کن." و زن بر قبرها دست کشید و زمین شکافته شد. از دل خاک، فراموش شدگان سر برآوردند.
یکایک آن‌ها به مانند بوم نقاشی به خاک و خون کشیده‌ای بودند؛ پرتره‌ای از آخرین لحظات زندگانی در این عالم بی‌معنا. استخوانی نبود که نشکسته باشد، تنی نبود که جراحت برنداشته باشد، چهره‌ای نبود که از نوازش هم‌نوعان بی‌نصیب مانده باشد.
زانوان زن از منظره‌ی بی‌بدیل مقابلش سست شد. غریبه نجوا کرد "چقدر خردشان کردند." زن آهی کشید، پلک زد و یادگاری‌های به جا مانده بر پیکرها محو شدند.
غریبه با اشاره‌ای آن‌ها را از زمین برکند و آسمان، با آغوش باز همسفران تازه‌ را پذیرفت. گاه در مسیر طولانی، غریبه اجازه‌ی استراحت می‌داد. بر فراز ابرها می‌نشستند. می‌دانست که آن‌ها یارای ادامه‌ی راه را ندارند. زخم‌هایشان عمیق بود و دوباره سر باز می‌کرد.
زن به او رو کرد و ابلیس از افکارش دست کشید. "حالا نوبت خواسته‌ی توست. روح آدمی را این‌گونه معامله نمی‌کنند. به من بگو که چه می‌خواهی؟"
خون از شکاف سر زن به چشم‌هایش سرازیر می‌شد. نگاهش به خون نشسته بود. ابر از گریه‌های زن سرخ گشت و باران بر سر مردم بارید. حمام خونی به راه بود.
التیامی در کار نبود. استراحت معنایی نداشت. وجود زن در تمنای چیزی بود که خریدار نداشت. "من نه لایق نورم و نه محتاج آرامش. بگذار که تاریکی بر وجودم رخنه کند." و آن گاه دستانش را به دور گردن ابلیس حلقه زد. موسیقی والس نواخته شد و ابلیس با زن بر بلندای آسمان رقصید. یادگاری‌ها دوباره برگشتند و آسمان چنان گریست که زمی�� از خون فرزندانش سیراب شد.

پ.ن: سپاس فراوان از امین که همراه و همخوان من در دنیای جادویی کتاب بود و تشکر از سارا بابت پیشنهاد شنیدن کتاب صوتی با گویندگی حامد فعال. هم‌چنین، وستای عزیزم که موجبات آشنایی با قلم این نیک مرد رو رقم زد.

"Think, now: where would your good be if there were no evil and what would the world look like without shadow?"

I've been collecting looks while I've been reading this book—curious, concerned, amused, and, at times, even annoyed looks. This book, of course, is to blame because I quite literally couldn't help laughing each time I read through its pages.

This is the most spectacularly ridiculous book I have ever read. The devil and his posse of odd characters, among them a big black talking cat, descend on Moscow wreaking havoc to the literary community there and those connected to it.

I have never seen a project do so many things and succeed at each one of them excellently. Even for a person like me who is no expert on Russian Literature during the Stalin years, the political and social commentary is clear. Literature, and art in general, becomes more allegorical, makes uses of symbols, and is less direct and literal in a society faced with censorship and repression, which might bring lots of interpretations to a work like this, including narrow and uniformed ones. And so sticking to what I am sure of and know, this book is a delicious and fantastic offering.

Among the many things that fascinated me is how evil is presented here. It takes so many forms, is to be expected, is at times performed alongside the good and complicated. Given the liberties this book takes and how it blurs reality and even seems to make a joke of it, I am surprised by how well received it was by Western critics who normally look down on works like this. This is also one of those books that feel large, in that so much happened and so much is touched on, but what a treat from beginning to the end.

وكأنها نحتت من صخر.. فنان عاهدها بالمراجعة والتدقيق من حينٍ لآخر لتخرج لنا بهذه الصورة النهائية. لوحة فنية وغيمة من مطر وإعصار تربك القارئ حد الجنون هذه رواية من روح ونبض.


من أعظم ما قرأت في الأدب الروسي الأدب الذي يحتل مكانة مرموقة لا ينازعه عليها ويتجاوزه مؤخرًا أدب المناطق اللاتينية، وقد منعت في أول ظهورها لسنوات طويلة وهذا من سمات الأدب الروسي إبان العهد السوفيتي. من قرأ في أدبيات الإتحاد السوفييتي (1922 – 1991م) سيعرف الكثير من رمزيات هذا العمل العبقري ولماذا جابهه الإتحاد بالمنع سواء كان مصدر المنع الجهاز القمعي في الدولة – السياسي – أو الصوت الديني – الكنيسة. رغم عدم تمسك الدولة في العهد السوفيتي بالدين كركن أساسي ضمن كياناتها.

أذكر فيما كنت قد قرأت في (مذكرات آنا غريغوريغنا)، و(نساء في حياة ديستوفسكي) وبعض الكتابات المتفرقة عن المرأة الروسية والكثير من الدور الذي لعبته الزوجة الروسية في الأدب الروسي وأقصد بذلك زوجات الأدباء ودورهم في نتاج أزواجهم ومساعدتهم ونشر أعمال بعضهم بعد وفاتهم مثلما فعلت أرملة ميخائيل بولغاكوف ،(إيلينا سيرجييفنا) في هذا العمل العظيم الذي أمتد تنقيحه لسنوات طويلة لتأكد مقولة زوجها (المخطوطة / الكتاب لا يحترق)

الرواية كنتاج روسي أظنها ركيزة أساسية فيه وكانت منحى لما جاء بعدها من أعمال أدبية فنحن نتحدث عن عمل تأسيسي. يتناول زيارة (فنتازييه) يقوم بها الشيطان (فولند) للبلاط الروسي خلال الحقبة السوفيتية (الثلاثينات : يبدو أنه يخص عهد جوزيف ستالين 1922 - 1952م) ليثبت لهم وجود الشيطان وكذلك المسيح، ولا أنكر هذه من الأجزاء المزعجة في الرواية مزعجة بعض الشيء بالسحر الأسود والخرافات والرقص والروحانيات والدين والإلحاد والخيال، وظهور قوي لشخصية (بيلاطس البنطي) الرجل الذي تذكر كتب اللاهوت المسيحي بأنه الموكول بمحاكمة عيسى (يشوع الغناصري كما في الرواية) والذي سيتواجهان معًا في أحد فصول الرواية، وهو من قال بصلبه كإتكاء تاريخي على الدور اليهودي في هذه المحاكمة ودور كهنة الهيكل (ق 1 م)، وكذلك في الرواية الكثير من الفنتازيا التي تحتاج الكثير من التركيز.



من خلال هذا الكم الهائل والتنوع في الحدث يقوم بناد العمل بسرد الراوي العليم الذي يحيرك هو الآخر في تتبع من الراوي (في الغالب هو المعلم)، ومن خلال هذا المجتمع البائس في موسوكو يتناوب الشيطان وعصابته ويعثون في الأرض فساد ليتضح لنا مدى الفوضى الاجتماعية في روسيا.

تبًا له هذا اللعين، حتى العوالم الفنتازية التي خلقها كانت جديرة بالتقدير والمشاهدة عن كثب وكأنها معالم حقيقة قرأت عنها من قبل بين دفتي كتاب!!. رغم تداخل أكثر من زمن في مخطط الرواية إلا أن معالمها واضحة إذا ما منحت الرواية قراءة متواصلة خلال يومين وهذا يكفي لتتشبع منها فلن يتركك الشيطان فولند تبتعد عنه.

كانت الرواية – حسبما وجدت – رسالة في بث الروح للأمة الروسية لإيجاد مخلص يقودها للطمأنينة. لكن الدور الذي لعبه المعلم (الشيطان) يجعلني في شك من أمري وقد تكون رواية عابثة من ناحية الموضوع قوية من ناحية المعالجة السياسية إذا ما قسناها على الإتحاد.

كذلك للرواية رسالة واضحة المعالم وهي عن الخير والشر وموقف أحدهما إذا ما غلب الثاني الأول أو العكس.

أخيرًا نصيحة قارئ للنص. لا تشغل نفسك بخلاصة كل قارئ فهذه الرواية كفيلة أن تمنح كل واحد منا قراءة خاصة وكأن الشيطان مايزال يسكنها.

The Master and Margarita by Soviet era writer Mikhail Bulgakov seems to inspire strong emotions though most critics and commentators have been impressed with the fantastic satire. Le Monde listed the novel number 94 on its 100 books of the century. I found it absurd, outrageous, inconsistent, but for the most part entertaining.

I would probably appreciate the novel more if I better understood Bulgakov’s scathing satire on atheistic Soviet society, which he exposes as materialistic and bourgeois. The book is alternately set in 1930s Moscow and Jerusalem during the execution of Yeshua Ha-Notsri, a translation as Jesus. Pontius Pilate is an integral part of both settings as an acting character in his own time and as the subject of an unburnable manuscript by “The Master” in Moscow.

The premise is that Satan and his demonic retinue has come for a visit to Moscow and this visit is used by Bulgakov as a means to critically observe the Soviet Russians. One of the most endearing scenes was the Satanic Ball hosted by Margarita and attended by the celebrated damned from Hell.

Bulgakov's theme of the relationship between good and evil is a strong message that works well from the spirited, forced perspective allegory. It has been suggested that the Rolling Stones song “Sympathy for the Devil” was influenced by the novel and it also seems clear that Bulgakov was himself influenced by Faust.

All in all, this is an important work, though it may not be timeless as many of the references to Soviet life were not clear to this 21st century suburban American. This is one I may try to read again in a year or so as I may need to think about it more.

Di satanassi, donne discinte e Ponzii Pilati

Brutta cosa l'ignoranza.
È davvero un peccato che a scuola non si studi la letteratura russa perché, per colpa di questa mia carenza culturale, avevo sempre pensato che Il Maestro e Margherita narrasse la storia di una torbida e lubrica liaison con protagonista un attempato e libidinoso insegnate, invaghito della sua giovane e traviata allieva. Ragion per cui, date le premesse, mi ero sempre tenuto ben alla larga da questo supposto polpettone sentimentale.
Il libro vagava per casa da anni, inizialmente speranzoso che qualcuno prima o poi lo leggesse, ma niente da fare; solo dopo diversi lustri passati a prender polvere sullo scaffale, il tomo, ormai rassegnato all'idea che con un titolo del genere nessuno lo avrebbe mai preso seriamente in considerazione, si ritrovò per caso ad essere sfogliato dalle lunghe e sottili dita del sottoscritto, che più per tedio che per interesse aveva cominciato a maneggiarlo.
Già posando lo sguardo sui titoli dei vari capitoli la mia granitica certezza nei riguardi del romanzo si era dissolta in fumo e fu così che iniziai a leggerlo, vinto dalla curiosità.
Che romanzo signori, una vera fantasmagoria!
Il diavolo è apparso nella Mosca sovietica ed insieme ai suoi strampalati e terribili assistenti ne combinerà di tutti i colori! Un libro satirico, allegorico, indubbiamente molto divertente, per certi versi anche metaromanzo, con il racconto delle ultime ore di vita del Cristo, viste però dalla prospettiva di Ponzio Pilato.

Ah, la storia d'amore fra il Maestro e Margherita alla fine c'era, ma diversissima anch'essa da come me l'ero immaginata. Promemoria per le letture future: non liquidare più i libri dai titoli poco accattivanti senza avere dato loro almeno una chance. ;-)

This is a bit like trying to explain the "Harry Potter & the Forbidden Journey" ride at Universal Studios (a constant ad on Goodreads [also, cool factoid: this is actor Daniel Radcliffe's favorite novel!])--I will eventually make a fool of myself trying to describe the orchestrations of both the physical body with the pyrotechnics & rollercoaster mechanics... see, I just can't.

And one can't quite get to the bottom of "The Master and Margarita"--a trippy, satirical, hard-to-classify classic of the mid-century Russian variety. It remains an almost mystical experience. Strange, exciting literary terrain is traversed and it truly titillates the senses. It is a panorama with no beginning and no end--which begins at the beginning of Christian times and ends... or does it? It stays in the mind--there is soo much to ponder here. The details are mostly red herrings--but are they? Uffh!

Deja vu is not uncommon. It's like being inside nesting dolls that are degutted, with jewels for entrails! Surreal doesn't befit it, nor does "parable." Quite not.

An opera of wondrous dimensions! You'll enjoy it...