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Sass Perilla (36 KP) rated The Master and Margarita in Books
Aug 9, 2019
Worth a read? Yes. Worth a reread? Maybe not.
Contains spoilers, click to show
The Master and Magarita: Mikhail Bulgakov
Firstly, I didn’t intend to write an essay on this novel. However, once started I found I had a lot to say, and the more I thought about the plot and characters, the more ideas and parallels were sparked, so I am hopeful that the verbosity of this review can be forgiven.
At the risk of sounding both ignorant and uncultured, I found this novel (at least at first) bloody hard slog; not least because the Russian characters have three names, plus a nickname, plus a pun on their name (none of which work particularly well in translation and all of which sound rather similar to the English untrained ear). As an example- Ivan Nikolaevich Ponyrev (who seems to be referred to by any and all of these names) is also known as “Homeless” and “the poet” is a key character in the opening section of the novel. To further demonstrate: there are 17 different names that start with A that are used to refer to 15 different characters with Andreyevich used as the middle name of a bereaved uncle, who makes a journey from Kiev after his nephew is beheaded in a freak tram accident- and Andrey the buffet manager at a Moscow theatre. Clear as mud right? And that is before starting on similarly named characters with the initials M, P, L and S! At my last count there were 45 distinct characters, and I am fairly sure there will be some that I have missed. Hence, I did a lot of re-reading to work out exactly who was doing what to whom.
Additionally, I would suggest you need to be wary of the different translations. The distinct changes in meaning are subtle but important. To triangulate I had three versions at my disposal: Hugh Aplin’s translation (available for free on Kindle), the audiobook version translated by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky (which I listened to simultaneously when reading the book to come to my own interpretation, and the subtitles for the Russian TV miniseries from 2005 when I gave up trying to work out who was who from name alone!
So those were my “technical” issues (if you like) with engaging with this novel, and this lack of clarity and understanding (and my own lack of contextual knowledge of Stalinist Russia) meant I missed many of the (what I am sure are hysterically funny to those in the know) satirical jokes in the opening section. That said, the random action and quick changes of focus, undercurrent of chaos in Moscow despite entrenched hierarchal structures and clear threat that (any) one could go missing at any time, for an unclear reason gave a clear insight into the mind and fears of a 1930s Russian citizen. No wonder it was available only in censored form for so long.
Despite these hardships, there were some genuinely laugh out loud moments in the first Moscow based part of the novel. The citizens have not lost their individuality, as they scrabble and fight for bank notes in the theatre, which are later revealed to be worthless. Nor have they lost their sense of pride and vanity, which we see in the female theatre goers, so desperate to attain the fashionable French couture (which later literally disappears from their bodies leaving semi-naked citizenesses desperately trying to cover themselves in a scene reminiscent of “Allo Allo” meets “Benny Hill”). When Professor Woland says his show will “expose” what the locals have failed to realise is that it is their (moral) shortcomings that are about to be revealed. The message is clearly, that no government can successfully legislate against human nature.
Oooh- and another fun fact, apparently Woland (later revealed- or perhaps is implied- to be Satan) was the inspiration to the Rolling Stones 1968 hit “Sympathy for the Devil”, well at least that is what my Google-Fu tells me.
Obviously, there were substantial hurdles to leap, however, I found by the second half of the novel, when we finally meet the eponymous characters, I had got in to the swing of things and begun to embrace the farcical surrealism of the novel.
The second “book” marks a change in tone, although it continues to cut away to scenes of Jesus’ sentencing by Pilate and execution (here known in the Aramaic form Yeshua). Ironically it is these scenes that are the most “real” and substantially human, as Pilate’s decision weighs head achingly heavily on him throughout. The Master and Margarita seem to be the only two characters fully invested in the authenticity of literature, and serve as a counterpoint to the heavily censored “monstrous” writing of Ivan and the rest of the writers’ union Massolit, more interested in fine dining and what their positions can do for them then the production of quality writing.
And it is Margarita’s journey of discovery and liberation from the stodgy, miserable societal expectations of that leads her back to her Master. Bulgakov mixes classical myth, Russian folklore and Bible stories to give us an impression of the timelessness of the central romance. As the worlds of communist Moscow and the inner worlds of the Master and Margarita collide, we are informed of the former’s desire to excuse all magic (and mischief) as the product of mass hypnosis, when the latter (and the reader) are fully aware of the spiritual significance and dimension of the events.
Clever, astute and in places laugh out loud funny, this novel none-the-less requires a level of dedication from the non-Russian speaking reader. Worth a read? Yes. Worth a re-read? Maybe not.
Firstly, I didn’t intend to write an essay on this novel. However, once started I found I had a lot to say, and the more I thought about the plot and characters, the more ideas and parallels were sparked, so I am hopeful that the verbosity of this review can be forgiven.
At the risk of sounding both ignorant and uncultured, I found this novel (at least at first) bloody hard slog; not least because the Russian characters have three names, plus a nickname, plus a pun on their name (none of which work particularly well in translation and all of which sound rather similar to the English untrained ear). As an example- Ivan Nikolaevich Ponyrev (who seems to be referred to by any and all of these names) is also known as “Homeless” and “the poet” is a key character in the opening section of the novel. To further demonstrate: there are 17 different names that start with A that are used to refer to 15 different characters with Andreyevich used as the middle name of a bereaved uncle, who makes a journey from Kiev after his nephew is beheaded in a freak tram accident- and Andrey the buffet manager at a Moscow theatre. Clear as mud right? And that is before starting on similarly named characters with the initials M, P, L and S! At my last count there were 45 distinct characters, and I am fairly sure there will be some that I have missed. Hence, I did a lot of re-reading to work out exactly who was doing what to whom.
Additionally, I would suggest you need to be wary of the different translations. The distinct changes in meaning are subtle but important. To triangulate I had three versions at my disposal: Hugh Aplin’s translation (available for free on Kindle), the audiobook version translated by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky (which I listened to simultaneously when reading the book to come to my own interpretation, and the subtitles for the Russian TV miniseries from 2005 when I gave up trying to work out who was who from name alone!
So those were my “technical” issues (if you like) with engaging with this novel, and this lack of clarity and understanding (and my own lack of contextual knowledge of Stalinist Russia) meant I missed many of the (what I am sure are hysterically funny to those in the know) satirical jokes in the opening section. That said, the random action and quick changes of focus, undercurrent of chaos in Moscow despite entrenched hierarchal structures and clear threat that (any) one could go missing at any time, for an unclear reason gave a clear insight into the mind and fears of a 1930s Russian citizen. No wonder it was available only in censored form for so long.
Despite these hardships, there were some genuinely laugh out loud moments in the first Moscow based part of the novel. The citizens have not lost their individuality, as they scrabble and fight for bank notes in the theatre, which are later revealed to be worthless. Nor have they lost their sense of pride and vanity, which we see in the female theatre goers, so desperate to attain the fashionable French couture (which later literally disappears from their bodies leaving semi-naked citizenesses desperately trying to cover themselves in a scene reminiscent of “Allo Allo” meets “Benny Hill”). When Professor Woland says his show will “expose” what the locals have failed to realise is that it is their (moral) shortcomings that are about to be revealed. The message is clearly, that no government can successfully legislate against human nature.
Oooh- and another fun fact, apparently Woland (later revealed- or perhaps is implied- to be Satan) was the inspiration to the Rolling Stones 1968 hit “Sympathy for the Devil”, well at least that is what my Google-Fu tells me.
Obviously, there were substantial hurdles to leap, however, I found by the second half of the novel, when we finally meet the eponymous characters, I had got in to the swing of things and begun to embrace the farcical surrealism of the novel.
The second “book” marks a change in tone, although it continues to cut away to scenes of Jesus’ sentencing by Pilate and execution (here known in the Aramaic form Yeshua). Ironically it is these scenes that are the most “real” and substantially human, as Pilate’s decision weighs head achingly heavily on him throughout. The Master and Margarita seem to be the only two characters fully invested in the authenticity of literature, and serve as a counterpoint to the heavily censored “monstrous” writing of Ivan and the rest of the writers’ union Massolit, more interested in fine dining and what their positions can do for them then the production of quality writing.
And it is Margarita’s journey of discovery and liberation from the stodgy, miserable societal expectations of that leads her back to her Master. Bulgakov mixes classical myth, Russian folklore and Bible stories to give us an impression of the timelessness of the central romance. As the worlds of communist Moscow and the inner worlds of the Master and Margarita collide, we are informed of the former’s desire to excuse all magic (and mischief) as the product of mass hypnosis, when the latter (and the reader) are fully aware of the spiritual significance and dimension of the events.
Clever, astute and in places laugh out loud funny, this novel none-the-less requires a level of dedication from the non-Russian speaking reader. Worth a read? Yes. Worth a re-read? Maybe not.
Acanthea Grimscythe (300 KP) rated The Motion of Puppets in Books
May 16, 2018
In Keith Donohue's modern retelling of Orpheus and Eurydice, The Motion of Puppets, we're introduced to a range of characters from a besotted husband and his missing wife, to an emotionally unstable puppet girl as the husband embarks on a journey to save his wife from eternity as a doll. For fans of mythology, this sounds like a great read and it is, without a doubt, beautifully written; however, when it comes to execution, the story fell flat.
Theo and Kay Harper are newlyweds with a ten year age difference between them. A teacher at a local college, Theo takes an summer vacation away from New York with his wife, Kay, as she performs with a cirque in Quebec City. While she works, he translates a book from French to English, and everything appears to be fine. That is, until Kay suddenly disappears one night after going out with her fellow actors for dinner and drinks. Woven with necromancy, animated puppets, and many references to the madness of Alice in Wonderland, Donohue's story could be considered riveting, and perhaps I would gladly label it so if I had not been so profoundly bored while reading it.
The book's plot is, in and of itself, highly intriguing. As a fan of horror and having proclaimed a love for anything necromantic in nature, the idea of people becoming puppets, or even dying and being reanimated in any fashion really, is something apt to catch my attention, and for that reason and my love of ancient mythology, I requested an advanced reader's copy of The Motion of Puppets. My frustration with it came mostly in the fact that I felt like the book progressed too slowly and there seemed to be a lot of extra "fluff" added in. For instance, the snippets regarding Theo's translation of Eadweard Muybridge's biography really felt a bit unnecessary. There was no real correlation between Muybridge and the book itself, save to provide Theo with something on which to focus. That, also, didn't feel necessary, as Theo seems to be a rather detached character, despite his very clear obsession with his wife. Even Kay's point of view seems to be a bit overly deluded, considering her time as a puppet is significantly shorter than that of the other puppets around her and yet she seems almost as aloof as they are by the conclusion of the book.
In addition to moving at a bit of a slow pace, The Motion of Puppets also seems to rely a bit more on Alice in Wonderland-like elements than it does mythos or current happenings. Everything seems weird and ridiculous, and little, if anything, makes any sense. If you try to make sense of it, chances are you'll find yourself lost, which I found myself giving up on halfway through the book. Magic is clearly alluded to as being the cause for the current state of the majority of the cast's existence; however, it is hardly mentioned and never really explained. Clearly there's enough oddness going on that the nearly-faceless bad guys worry about being found out, but even that isn't enough of a reason to delve into the why or how: it simply is.
There is no doubt in my mind that Keith Donohue is an excellent writer; he has a beautiful command of language that quite literally takes my breath away. Though The Motion of Puppets failed to satisfy me as a reader, I will likely read more of his work when I have the time. As for the genre of this book, horror probably isn't the right one. It'd be better suited in fantasy. There's nothing scary here.
Thank you to Macmillan-Picador, NetGalley, and the author for providing me with an advanced reader's copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.
Theo and Kay Harper are newlyweds with a ten year age difference between them. A teacher at a local college, Theo takes an summer vacation away from New York with his wife, Kay, as she performs with a cirque in Quebec City. While she works, he translates a book from French to English, and everything appears to be fine. That is, until Kay suddenly disappears one night after going out with her fellow actors for dinner and drinks. Woven with necromancy, animated puppets, and many references to the madness of Alice in Wonderland, Donohue's story could be considered riveting, and perhaps I would gladly label it so if I had not been so profoundly bored while reading it.
The book's plot is, in and of itself, highly intriguing. As a fan of horror and having proclaimed a love for anything necromantic in nature, the idea of people becoming puppets, or even dying and being reanimated in any fashion really, is something apt to catch my attention, and for that reason and my love of ancient mythology, I requested an advanced reader's copy of The Motion of Puppets. My frustration with it came mostly in the fact that I felt like the book progressed too slowly and there seemed to be a lot of extra "fluff" added in. For instance, the snippets regarding Theo's translation of Eadweard Muybridge's biography really felt a bit unnecessary. There was no real correlation between Muybridge and the book itself, save to provide Theo with something on which to focus. That, also, didn't feel necessary, as Theo seems to be a rather detached character, despite his very clear obsession with his wife. Even Kay's point of view seems to be a bit overly deluded, considering her time as a puppet is significantly shorter than that of the other puppets around her and yet she seems almost as aloof as they are by the conclusion of the book.
In addition to moving at a bit of a slow pace, The Motion of Puppets also seems to rely a bit more on Alice in Wonderland-like elements than it does mythos or current happenings. Everything seems weird and ridiculous, and little, if anything, makes any sense. If you try to make sense of it, chances are you'll find yourself lost, which I found myself giving up on halfway through the book. Magic is clearly alluded to as being the cause for the current state of the majority of the cast's existence; however, it is hardly mentioned and never really explained. Clearly there's enough oddness going on that the nearly-faceless bad guys worry about being found out, but even that isn't enough of a reason to delve into the why or how: it simply is.
There is no doubt in my mind that Keith Donohue is an excellent writer; he has a beautiful command of language that quite literally takes my breath away. Though The Motion of Puppets failed to satisfy me as a reader, I will likely read more of his work when I have the time. As for the genre of this book, horror probably isn't the right one. It'd be better suited in fantasy. There's nothing scary here.
Thank you to Macmillan-Picador, NetGalley, and the author for providing me with an advanced reader's copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.
Bob Mann (459 KP) rated The Death Of Stalin (2017) in Movies
Sep 29, 2021
Death…. Torture…. Child Abuse…. LOL??
Armando Iannucci is most familiar to TV audiences on both sides of the pond for his cutting political satire of the likes of “Veep” and “The Thick of It”, with his only previous foray into directing movies being “In the Loop”: a spin-off of the latter series. Lovers of his work will know that he sails very close to the wind on many occasions, such that watching can be more of a squirm-fest than enjoyment.
Rupert Friend (centre) tries to deliver a eulogy to his father against winged opposition. With (from left to right) Michael Palin, Jeffrey Tambor, Steve Buscemi and Simon Russell Beale.
It should come as no surprise then that his new film – “The Death of Stalin” – follows that same pattern, but transposed into the anarchic and violent world of 1950’s Russia. Based on a French comic strip, the film tells the farcical goings on surrounding the last days of the great dictator in 1953. Stalin keeps distributing his “lists” of undesirables, most of who will meet unpleasant ends before the end of the night. But as Stalin suddenly shuffles off his mortal coil, the race is on among his fellow commissariat members as to who will ultimately succeed him.
Stalin…. Going… but not forgotten.
The constitution dictates that Georgy Malenkov (an excellently vacillating Jeffrey Tambor) secedes but, as a weak man, the job is clearly soon going to become vacant again and spy-chief Lavrentiy Beria (Simon Russell Beale) and Nikita Khrushchev (Steve Buscemi) are jostling for position. (No spoilers, but you’ll never guess who wins!). Colleagues including Molotov (Michael Palin) and Mikoyan (Paul Whitehouse) need to decide who to side with as the machinations around Stalin’s funeral become more and more desperate.
The film starts extremely strongly with the ever-excellent Paddy Considine (“Pride”) playing a Radio Russia producer tasked with recording a classical concert, featuring piano virtuoso Maria Yudina (Olga Kurylenko, “Quantum of Solace”). A definition of paranoia in action!
Great fingering. Olga Kurylenko as Yudina, with more than a hand in the way the evening’s events will unfold.
We then descend into the chaos of Stalin’s Russia, with mass torture and execution colouring the comedy from dark-grey to charcoal-black in turns. There is definitely comedy gold in there: Khrushchev’s translation of his drunken scribblings from the night before (of things that Stalin found funny and – more importantly – things he didn’t) being a high point for me. Stalin’s children Svetlana (Andrea Riseborough, “Nocturnal Animals”) and Vasily (Rupert Friend, “Homeland”) add knockabout humour to offset the darker elements, and army chief Georgy Zhukov (Jason Isaacs, “Harry Potter”) is a riot with a no-nonsense North-of-England accent.
Brass Eye: Jason Isaacs as the army chief from somewhere just north of Wigan.
Production values are universally excellent, with great locations, great sets and a screen populated with enough extras to make the crowd scenes all appear realistic.
Another broad Yorkshire accent: (the almost unknown) Adrian McLoughlin delivers an hysterical speaking voice as Stalin.
The film absolutely held my interest and was thorougly entertaining, but the comedy is just so dark in places it leaves you on edge throughout. The writing is also patchy at times, with some of the lines falling to the ground as heavily as the dispatched Gulag residents.
It’s not going to be for everyone, with significant violence and gruesome scenes, but go along with the black comic theme and this is a film that delivers rewards.
Rupert Friend (centre) tries to deliver a eulogy to his father against winged opposition. With (from left to right) Michael Palin, Jeffrey Tambor, Steve Buscemi and Simon Russell Beale.
It should come as no surprise then that his new film – “The Death of Stalin” – follows that same pattern, but transposed into the anarchic and violent world of 1950’s Russia. Based on a French comic strip, the film tells the farcical goings on surrounding the last days of the great dictator in 1953. Stalin keeps distributing his “lists” of undesirables, most of who will meet unpleasant ends before the end of the night. But as Stalin suddenly shuffles off his mortal coil, the race is on among his fellow commissariat members as to who will ultimately succeed him.
Stalin…. Going… but not forgotten.
The constitution dictates that Georgy Malenkov (an excellently vacillating Jeffrey Tambor) secedes but, as a weak man, the job is clearly soon going to become vacant again and spy-chief Lavrentiy Beria (Simon Russell Beale) and Nikita Khrushchev (Steve Buscemi) are jostling for position. (No spoilers, but you’ll never guess who wins!). Colleagues including Molotov (Michael Palin) and Mikoyan (Paul Whitehouse) need to decide who to side with as the machinations around Stalin’s funeral become more and more desperate.
The film starts extremely strongly with the ever-excellent Paddy Considine (“Pride”) playing a Radio Russia producer tasked with recording a classical concert, featuring piano virtuoso Maria Yudina (Olga Kurylenko, “Quantum of Solace”). A definition of paranoia in action!
Great fingering. Olga Kurylenko as Yudina, with more than a hand in the way the evening’s events will unfold.
We then descend into the chaos of Stalin’s Russia, with mass torture and execution colouring the comedy from dark-grey to charcoal-black in turns. There is definitely comedy gold in there: Khrushchev’s translation of his drunken scribblings from the night before (of things that Stalin found funny and – more importantly – things he didn’t) being a high point for me. Stalin’s children Svetlana (Andrea Riseborough, “Nocturnal Animals”) and Vasily (Rupert Friend, “Homeland”) add knockabout humour to offset the darker elements, and army chief Georgy Zhukov (Jason Isaacs, “Harry Potter”) is a riot with a no-nonsense North-of-England accent.
Brass Eye: Jason Isaacs as the army chief from somewhere just north of Wigan.
Production values are universally excellent, with great locations, great sets and a screen populated with enough extras to make the crowd scenes all appear realistic.
Another broad Yorkshire accent: (the almost unknown) Adrian McLoughlin delivers an hysterical speaking voice as Stalin.
The film absolutely held my interest and was thorougly entertaining, but the comedy is just so dark in places it leaves you on edge throughout. The writing is also patchy at times, with some of the lines falling to the ground as heavily as the dispatched Gulag residents.
It’s not going to be for everyone, with significant violence and gruesome scenes, but go along with the black comic theme and this is a film that delivers rewards.