Book Club: Master and Margarita
Bet you thought I forgot about this one didn't you? Well I did kind of. But thanks to excessive travel via bus over the past couple weeks, I finally finished this Russian bitch. Is there anything better than Soviet satire? For those (all) of you haven't read this, it's Mikael Bulgakov's re-imagining of the stories of Faust and Pontius Pilate -- as the devil comes to Moscow at a time when godless communism is all the rage.
Along with old satan comes his retinue, including a poorly-dressed choirmaster, a giant talking black cat, a naked witch, and a dude with a fang and a wall-eye. All of whom fuck with the general population in hilariously psychotic ways. I am clearly not well-versed in biblical mythology, or the Russian context that is likely necessary to fully appreciate this novel. At least that's what I gathered from reading the notes at the end of the version I have. But I was still able to pick up on some generalities.
The first most obvious is the retelling of the story of Pontius Pilate and Jesus. Obvious because it takes place in an entirely different time and place. This is kind of a novel within a novel, as it was written by the Master. I guess it is good, but once again, I lack the necessary background to fully appreciate these sections.
What I can appreciate is Behemoth, the talking black cat and all-around lovable scamp who rips off the heads of emcees. The citizens of Moscow are repeatedly driven insane by his pyromania-fueled antics. Along with his co-hort Korovyov they totally fuck with everyone at their performance of black magic at the Variety Theater. A performance which sits as the centerpiece of the first half of the novel.
One other thing I'd like to point out is that I think some of the humor here is lost in translation. There is wordplay and references to Soviet cultural artifacts all over the place. The devil only knows what is really going on.
Well there you go TMoney, put that in your syllabus and smoke it.
3 comments:
Oh! You're putting my poor hungover Iowa students to shame. Well played, sir--I knew you'd dig the satire, and as for context, you don't really need to know much more than the fact that Stalin killed twenty million of his own people...and placed Bulgalkov under house arrest.
I love the nihilistic jaunts of the retinue, and Behemoth is the best ever--what did we learn abut going to magic shows? I also love how the whole retinue, at the end, gets unmasked and takes flight on the storm. And I get the feeling that Margarita is Russian-tennis-player hot. Also, poor Koroviev. I have a feeling that I'd end up in Yalta if I ever came across him. The devil take me.
But my favorite scene in this book--and one of my favorite in all of literature--is when bitch ass Matthew Levi creeps up onto the roof of a Moscow apartment to sneer at Woland, who then responds:
"You began spouting nonsense the moment you appeared on this roof, and let me tell you what it is -- your tone. You spoke as though you did not recognize shadows, or evil. Kindly think on this: where would all your good be if evil did not exist? What would the earth look like without shadows? Objects cast shadows, and people too. Here is the shadow from my sword, but there are also shadows from trees and living creatures. Or would you strip the entire globe of trees and living things to fulfill your fantasy of basking in barren light? You are a fool."
Bam. A good book for the goats--sly and sardonic, yet in the end, full of truthy goodness.
Levi is a whiny little bastard. Wah wah, my messiah was killed.
Hotter: Natasha or Margarita?
Also, I wonder which Muscovite got it the worst?
I mean, getting decapitated by a streetcar is pretty bad, but then again so is being turned into a pig, being transported to Yalta, or dying from cancer.
Natasha, I think, 'cause she rolls with vampires. But Margarita does ride brooms naked, so she's got that going for her?
I'd say turned into a pig. The Yalta trip is pretty fun. Also, cancer's funny.
Good book choice, goats. Warms my vodka heart.
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