Just finished reading Bulgakov's novel, The Master and Margarita. Excellent novel. The novel plays with romantic notions about the nature of humanity and the nature if the writer / artist. It is imaginative and wry. Makes me wish I could read it in the original Russian, but as it is, even having to cull through the notes to pick up more of the nuances, it is a striking piece of work. Even in translation much of the ironic treatment of the old Soviet system shines through, as do his play with romantic themes and metaphors.
The novel builds in part around the fantasy / dream of many an artist and writer--finding another who believes absolutely in ones work, the complete lover who embraces the artist, the artist's soul, and the art work, all as one. There is something distanced and ironic in the way Bulgakov constructs the portions of the novel which are his love story. The lovers never actually make love. With a few exceptions when Margarita kisses or embraces the Master, the two hardly touch. The main "lover" in the room is the Master's manuscript.
There is also the somewhat backhanded consideration of the human need to believe as such. I say backhanded in the scene that this discussion is layered into and among the various ironies and fantastical elements used within the novel. Very little here is straight forward, perhaps nothing is.
Of course, the ultimate irony of the novel is that when the the Satan character arrives in Moscow at the height of the Stalin era, the evil which he and his associates propagate consists largely of pranks in poor taste and disturbing parlor tricks. Only two people actually die in all the havoc they cause, and only one of those can truly be considered a murder. The first death of the two attributed to the satanic visitation to Moscow, the death that dominates much of the novel, is in fact simply the result a terrible accident which the evil one happens to predict. Stalin by contrast is generally credited with the deaths of 20 million. The Satan in this novel is, at the very least, not your average grandfather Satan.
The novel also plays with the romantic notion that there is some supernatural outside force which enters or speaks to the writer or artist. In a way that romantic notion is a sad vision at base, and Bulgakov seems to me to treat it ironically.
That notion takes for granted that we humans are so inherently trivial and short sighted that without the aid of some external, preternatural power, we are not capable of music, poetry, insight, affection, metaphor, and so on. We are too petty, too small, too mundane to create and manifest a vision, a music on our own. That is the underlying assertion of such romanticism. Truthfully, it's hard for me to say if Bulgakov entirely rejects that notion. The claims for it in the novel are as fantastical as the scenes of witches flights and devils that cause rooms and buildings to spontaneously ignite in flames. Still, there is something haunting in the way Bulgakov presents both the Master and the plot of the Master's manuscript.
Whatever Bulgakov himself held true in his heart about the source or sources of his art, he has produced from within himself, from within the normal, mundane context of the lives around him, a wonderful work of fiction and of art.
The novel builds in part around the fantasy / dream of many an artist and writer--finding another who believes absolutely in ones work, the complete lover who embraces the artist, the artist's soul, and the art work, all as one. There is something distanced and ironic in the way Bulgakov constructs the portions of the novel which are his love story. The lovers never actually make love. With a few exceptions when Margarita kisses or embraces the Master, the two hardly touch. The main "lover" in the room is the Master's manuscript.
There is also the somewhat backhanded consideration of the human need to believe as such. I say backhanded in the scene that this discussion is layered into and among the various ironies and fantastical elements used within the novel. Very little here is straight forward, perhaps nothing is.
Of course, the ultimate irony of the novel is that when the the Satan character arrives in Moscow at the height of the Stalin era, the evil which he and his associates propagate consists largely of pranks in poor taste and disturbing parlor tricks. Only two people actually die in all the havoc they cause, and only one of those can truly be considered a murder. The first death of the two attributed to the satanic visitation to Moscow, the death that dominates much of the novel, is in fact simply the result a terrible accident which the evil one happens to predict. Stalin by contrast is generally credited with the deaths of 20 million. The Satan in this novel is, at the very least, not your average grandfather Satan.
The novel also plays with the romantic notion that there is some supernatural outside force which enters or speaks to the writer or artist. In a way that romantic notion is a sad vision at base, and Bulgakov seems to me to treat it ironically.
That notion takes for granted that we humans are so inherently trivial and short sighted that without the aid of some external, preternatural power, we are not capable of music, poetry, insight, affection, metaphor, and so on. We are too petty, too small, too mundane to create and manifest a vision, a music on our own. That is the underlying assertion of such romanticism. Truthfully, it's hard for me to say if Bulgakov entirely rejects that notion. The claims for it in the novel are as fantastical as the scenes of witches flights and devils that cause rooms and buildings to spontaneously ignite in flames. Still, there is something haunting in the way Bulgakov presents both the Master and the plot of the Master's manuscript.
Whatever Bulgakov himself held true in his heart about the source or sources of his art, he has produced from within himself, from within the normal, mundane context of the lives around him, a wonderful work of fiction and of art.
savana:
hahaha.. thanks for the tip on pouring the coffee at a safe distance.. I think from now on - I'll just circle the laptop while I eat, eyeing it wearily to I'm able to put down both coffee and cereal.. then (insert evil plan laugh) I'll pounce. hahahah PS: I loved that book.