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primeidealIn college I saw the Berlioz opera version of "Faust" as a first-year, and read a translation of Goethe's poem as a senior. Neither one made much of an impression on me. But I recently read an interesting essay about this Soviet-era satire, and it's a perfect fit for two bingo squares, so here we are. Classics appreciation time!
M&M consists of three-ish interwoven narratives. The first concerns the visit of Satan (he goes by the name "Woland," which is apparently a Faust allusion I didn't remember) and his posse to 1930s Moscow. The gang makes trouble, handing out ten-ruble bills that disappear or turn to embarrassing foreign currency, but even the literal forces of darkness are no match for the resolutely materialistic Soviet regime trying, and failing, to explain away all the strangeness. The second is about the titular characters; "the Master" is a novelist who has faced intense criticism for trying to write a novel about Pontius Pilate, and his lover, Margarita, who fiercely believes in him. (Margarita is the cognate to Marguerite/Gretchen in Faust.) And the third is the story-within-a-story about Pilate, as told in turns by Woland and the Master. In some ways it's a suitable-for-Soviet-print, "historical" version of the Passion story without any of that dangerous supernatural stuff, but it's plenty weird in its own right.
Russian novels are often stereotyped as "everyone has names like 'Mikhail Alexandrovich Berlioz,' and sometimes he's 'Mikhail Alexandrovich,' sometimes he's 'Berlioz,' sometimes he's 'Misha,' depending on who's talking." I don't think that this is a problem, because a lot of the characters aren't so much names as archetypes or roles: "the financial director of the theater," "the overworked landlord." Even if you don't remember who's who, you can figure it out by the vibes.
Even if it's not laugh-out-loud funny, there are plenty of moments of dry humor, particularly as regards one of the devilish companions, a cat named Behemoth (who sometimes appears as a man with a catlike face).
Bingo: Perfect fit for "Literary Fantasy" and "Angels and Demons." Could probably be considered for "Myths and Retellings" (the Easter story and Faust), and "Title with a Title"?
M&M consists of three-ish interwoven narratives. The first concerns the visit of Satan (he goes by the name "Woland," which is apparently a Faust allusion I didn't remember) and his posse to 1930s Moscow. The gang makes trouble, handing out ten-ruble bills that disappear or turn to embarrassing foreign currency, but even the literal forces of darkness are no match for the resolutely materialistic Soviet regime trying, and failing, to explain away all the strangeness. The second is about the titular characters; "the Master" is a novelist who has faced intense criticism for trying to write a novel about Pontius Pilate, and his lover, Margarita, who fiercely believes in him. (Margarita is the cognate to Marguerite/Gretchen in Faust.) And the third is the story-within-a-story about Pilate, as told in turns by Woland and the Master. In some ways it's a suitable-for-Soviet-print, "historical" version of the Passion story without any of that dangerous supernatural stuff, but it's plenty weird in its own right.
Russian novels are often stereotyped as "everyone has names like 'Mikhail Alexandrovich Berlioz,' and sometimes he's 'Mikhail Alexandrovich,' sometimes he's 'Berlioz,' sometimes he's 'Misha,' depending on who's talking." I don't think that this is a problem, because a lot of the characters aren't so much names as archetypes or roles: "the financial director of the theater," "the overworked landlord." Even if you don't remember who's who, you can figure it out by the vibes.
Even if it's not laugh-out-loud funny, there are plenty of moments of dry humor, particularly as regards one of the devilish companions, a cat named Behemoth (who sometimes appears as a man with a catlike face).
As soon as she saw the cat climbing onto the streetcar, she began shouting with such fury that she shook all over, “Cats aren’t allowed! No passengers with cats! Shoo! Get off, or I’ll call the police!” But neither the conductress nor the passengers were amazed by the most important thing of all, namely, that a cat was not merely getting on a streetcar, which wasn’t so bad, but that he intended to pay his fare!
Ivan, the witness of this account, later summarizes these events to the Master, who is amused by this part of the story. Clearly he has good taste. There's also a living chessboard, much like Harry Potter, where Behemoth and Woland play chess. (Behemoth tries to cheat by getting his king and bishop to switch places.)Meanwhile, the chessboards was in chaos. An utterly distraught king in a white cape stamped on his square, his arms raised in despair. Three white lansquenet pawns with halberds stared in confusion at a bishop who was waving his crozier and pointing ahead to where Woland’s black knights could be seen on adjacent black and white squares, mounted on two mettlesome steeds, who were pawing the squares with their hooves.
And when the Master finally meets Behemoth:
“Excuse me . . . was it thou . . . er, you, sir . . .” he corrected himself, not sure whether to use the intimate or polite form of address to the cat, “are you, sir, the same cat who got on the streetcar?” “I am,” confirmed the cat, flattered, and he added, “It’s nice to hear you address a cat so politely. For some reason cats are usually addressed with the familiar ‘thou,’ despite the fact that no cat has ever drunk Bruderschaft with anyone.”
There's also humor to be found in the absurdities of Soviet life. When a famous writer dies violently, everyone is desperate to apply for his apartment, because the housing shortage is so terrible. Too relatable. :/ They contained pleas, threats, slanderous gossip, denunciations, offers to undertake renovations at their own expense, references to unbearable overcrowding, and the impossibility of sharing an apartment with bandits. Included too was an artistically powerful and gripping account of someone stealing pelmeni from apartment No. 31 and stuffing them into a jacket pocket, plus two threats of suicide and one confession of a secret pregnancy.
And the devils' fake money is transformed from rubles to useless bottle labels to illegal foreign currency at will. This is what American money looks like from an outside POV:
They removed the newspaper, but the package turned out to contain not rubles, but some unknown currency that was blue-green in color and had a picture on it of an old man.
Even if the authorities can't succeed in quashing the supernatural, they can try to subdue or eliminate anyone whose stories--by reporting the truth--sound insane. (Big content warning for a lot of forced medicalization/drugs, if that's a squick for you.) But by the end, even the authority figures are pleading to be locked up in padded rooms so the devils can't miraculously remove their heads or teleport them to Yalta. When the regime is out to suppress truth, the sane look mad.
The Master realizes that some of his critics' attacks are really just towing the party line out of fear and pressure to conform. Again, here we are ninety years later. Relatable.
The Master realizes that some of his critics' attacks are really just towing the party line out of fear and pressure to conform. Again, here we are ninety years later. Relatable.
There was something uncommonly fake and uncertain in every line of these articles, despite their threatening and self-assured tone. I kept thinking—and I couldn’t rid myself of the thought—that the authors of these articles weren’t saying what they wanted to say, and that that was why they were so furious.
On the other hand, in the early sections, a lot of the humor comes from idiomatic usage of "devil"/"hell" phrases. Like, "where is the mysterious professor from?" "Oh, I don't know, the devil knows where." "What happened to the ten-ruble bills?" "I don't know where in hell they went." The humor is that, in this case, it's literally true; the devil knows where he and his friends are from, the money literally came from Satan's realms. While this is funny, the novelty wears off pretty quickly.
The edition I used had some useful afterwords (and endnotes for each chapter--it's an ebook, couldn't they have linked it? /petty gripe.) Even I did pick up on some obvious parallels between the outer and frame stories: full moons, thunderstorms, the symbolic Friday-to-Sunday timeframe of many of the events (also the case for "Divine Comedy.") One thing I appreciated the notes spelling out and dumbing down is that a lot of the things you'd expect to see in the Easter narrative--last suppers, miraculous events--take place in Moscow, while a lot of the harshest realities of the Stalin era--show trials, secret police informants, executions--take place in ancient Yershalaim. It's a good way to avoid the censors.
(The novel was originally written in the 1929-1940 timeframe, and the manuscript burned at least once, but recreated with help from Bulgakov's wife; it was first published in Russia, in somewhat abridged/censored format, in 1966. This adds poignancy/life-imitates-art to some of the Master's experiences.)
Some other things the notes help with/the text didn't make clear (at least to me, who is not the most observant) is that the Master is arrested offscreen shortly after parting with Margarita in a flashback, and the reason for the lovers' separation has to do with his detention before he winds up in a mental asylum. Also, in the Pilate sections, there's a weird plot development involving Judas of Kerioth (Iscariot, of course), that the notes explain better.
Another silly gripe: I understand that the Pilate chapters were supposed to be non-supernatural. But "symbolic and important dreams" are an established literary device, even in this book. Missed opportunity not to have Pilate's wife show up, just for a line or two about "ugh I had a nightmare about Yeshua, I hope this case can be over with soon." Meanwhile, "Jesus Christ Superstar" gives the dream to Pilate, when we could have had another female character with a basis in the Gospels! Just saying. ;)
When Margarita is asked to host the devil's ball (he needs a Marguerite/Gretchen/Margaret wherever he goes), she temporarily turns into a witch and flies on a broomstick to hang out with dancing witches, mermaids, and a satyr-like creature. This was the one part where I kind of went "okay, I think something similar happened in Faust, just fun black magic without any real 'evil.'" Like I said, my memory is hazy.
At the ball, Margarita meets lots of infamous sinners who are there for good reason--poisoners, assassins, executed criminals, and all the people you'd expect the devil to be hanging out with. But she also meets a woman who's been tormented endlessly by reminders of a crime she was driven to by desperation. I don't want to project too much onto modern culture-war issues, but there's something to be said for Margarita, the main female character, calling out the hypocrisy of a society that demonizes (if not literally) women while letting the deadbeat men responsible for their problems off the hook.
Later, when Woland asks what she'd like in return, she's been planning to demand the Master be reunited with her--her devotion to him was what made her willing to do a Faustian bargain in the first place--but she can't help asking for mercy for Frieda, instead. Woland is pleasantly surprised--Margarita admits she isn't even all that selfless. But mercy isn't his "department;" Margarita herself has to take on the power of pronouncing Frieda's forgiveness and liberation. Since that didn't count as a gift from Woland, she's free to boldly demand the Master's freedom, too.
This pattern repeats itself in the end; the Master and Margarita die to one life, and are resurrected into a new one. As they depart, they meet Pilate himself, and the Master realizes how he needs to finish his story; by setting Pilate free from his self-imposed guilt, so that he can reunite with "Yeshua," the kind man who sees good in everyone. In turn, Woland tells the Master:
The edition I used had some useful afterwords (and endnotes for each chapter--it's an ebook, couldn't they have linked it? /petty gripe.) Even I did pick up on some obvious parallels between the outer and frame stories: full moons, thunderstorms, the symbolic Friday-to-Sunday timeframe of many of the events (also the case for "Divine Comedy.") One thing I appreciated the notes spelling out and dumbing down is that a lot of the things you'd expect to see in the Easter narrative--last suppers, miraculous events--take place in Moscow, while a lot of the harshest realities of the Stalin era--show trials, secret police informants, executions--take place in ancient Yershalaim. It's a good way to avoid the censors.
(The novel was originally written in the 1929-1940 timeframe, and the manuscript burned at least once, but recreated with help from Bulgakov's wife; it was first published in Russia, in somewhat abridged/censored format, in 1966. This adds poignancy/life-imitates-art to some of the Master's experiences.)
Some other things the notes help with/the text didn't make clear (at least to me, who is not the most observant) is that the Master is arrested offscreen shortly after parting with Margarita in a flashback, and the reason for the lovers' separation has to do with his detention before he winds up in a mental asylum. Also, in the Pilate sections, there's a weird plot development involving Judas of Kerioth (Iscariot, of course), that the notes explain better.
Another silly gripe: I understand that the Pilate chapters were supposed to be non-supernatural. But "symbolic and important dreams" are an established literary device, even in this book. Missed opportunity not to have Pilate's wife show up, just for a line or two about "ugh I had a nightmare about Yeshua, I hope this case can be over with soon." Meanwhile, "Jesus Christ Superstar" gives the dream to Pilate, when we could have had another female character with a basis in the Gospels! Just saying. ;)
When Margarita is asked to host the devil's ball (he needs a Marguerite/Gretchen/Margaret wherever he goes), she temporarily turns into a witch and flies on a broomstick to hang out with dancing witches, mermaids, and a satyr-like creature. This was the one part where I kind of went "okay, I think something similar happened in Faust, just fun black magic without any real 'evil.'" Like I said, my memory is hazy.
At the ball, Margarita meets lots of infamous sinners who are there for good reason--poisoners, assassins, executed criminals, and all the people you'd expect the devil to be hanging out with. But she also meets a woman who's been tormented endlessly by reminders of a crime she was driven to by desperation. I don't want to project too much onto modern culture-war issues, but there's something to be said for Margarita, the main female character, calling out the hypocrisy of a society that demonizes (if not literally) women while letting the deadbeat men responsible for their problems off the hook.
Later, when Woland asks what she'd like in return, she's been planning to demand the Master be reunited with her--her devotion to him was what made her willing to do a Faustian bargain in the first place--but she can't help asking for mercy for Frieda, instead. Woland is pleasantly surprised--Margarita admits she isn't even all that selfless. But mercy isn't his "department;" Margarita herself has to take on the power of pronouncing Frieda's forgiveness and liberation. Since that didn't count as a gift from Woland, she's free to boldly demand the Master's freedom, too.
This pattern repeats itself in the end; the Master and Margarita die to one life, and are resurrected into a new one. As they depart, they meet Pilate himself, and the Master realizes how he needs to finish his story; by setting Pilate free from his self-imposed guilt, so that he can reunite with "Yeshua," the kind man who sees good in everyone. In turn, Woland tells the Master:
"The one whom the hero you created and just released so yearned to see has read your novel," and then "Someone was releasing the Master into freedom, as he himself had released the hero he created."
The devil can play a lot of tricks, and sometimes those "miracles" that defy all laws of nature are exactly what's needed to shake up repressive authorities. But grace needs to come from humans, or a divine source of goodness. My interpretations are probably more orthodox than Bulgakov's, but the idea of the One whom we all yearn to see reading our small creations, and granting us "absolution" and "release," is pretty much the best end you could write.
The devil can play a lot of tricks, and sometimes those "miracles" that defy all laws of nature are exactly what's needed to shake up repressive authorities. But grace needs to come from humans, or a divine source of goodness. My interpretations are probably more orthodox than Bulgakov's, but the idea of the One whom we all yearn to see reading our small creations, and granting us "absolution" and "release," is pretty much the best end you could write.
Bingo: Perfect fit for "Literary Fantasy" and "Angels and Demons." Could probably be considered for "Myths and Retellings" (the Easter story and Faust), and "Title with a Title"?
