Foreigners in Master and Margarita

In Master and Margarita we increasingly see the progression of Soviet territorial isolation and increased animosity against foreigners. When Soviet Union was established many foreign countries were mostly hostile to the country and mostly because divisional differences in ideologies. For Stalin the presence of foreigners in USSR represented as a capitalist threat to the communist ideals. Every country and every foreigner that was not a communist was potentially an enemy. As very few foreigners were granted to enter and travel in the USSR, very few Russians were not allowed to travel abroad. The whole process was carefully watched and monitored. 

In Master and Margarita we see a progression of this isolation and people’s paranoia of foreigners. Thus, it was logical to portray the only foreigner, in this case Wolland as the Devil. From the beginning of the novel, we see how characters are very cautious not because they sense that Wolland is devil but rather they were suspicious of him being a foreigner. Wolland introduces himself as a German professor of black magic and as it was expected he was accepted with hostile looks, questions and treatments.  

Additionally, foreigners also presented a danger that they would bring chaos or they might potentially sway “fellow communist citizens” into capitalism. This situation is presented in the Turgsin Store. The Turgsin for the reader is the only foreign currency established store with complete chaos such as stealing food, and demolishing displays. The whole scene changes when the manager arrives and Koroviev gives an impassioned, controversial and “politically dangerous,” speech. He starts off by comparing, poor, thirst and hunger wracked Behemoth to a fat foreigner with Russian salmon.  Koroviev’s speech results in “a miracle”, which causes another customer to attack the foreigner, and screaming, ‘‘He’s right!’’ This scene shows how absurd the whole situation actually is, but looking at it closely, the scene presents a highly politically daring speech against foreign powers.  

De-Individualization in Zamyatin's WE

We, like most dystopian novels, produces a large variety of responses in the reader. The response that the novel elicited most strongly in me was a deep reflection on individuality. The United States is a society that places a great deal of importance on the individual. All citizens are supposed to be responsible for themselves, and individual success or failure is attributed to the amount of effort one expends. We live in a meritocracy in which everyone is theoretically able to pull themselves up by their boot straps and live the American Dream. This contrasts dramatically with the society the One State strives for, in which all citizens are ultimately de-individualized and restricted in everything they do.

This de-individualization is quite remarkable. The One State dictates its citizens' schedules as well as their work, their sex lives, and eventually even their personalities and moods. I find this complete de-individualization terrifying, as I think Zamyatin does as well. Could any of us honestly imagine what life would be like in a world where everything - and I mean everything - is centrally planned? What life would be like in a world where even your own thoughts and desires are purposefully eliminated so as to make you a better worker and a better citizen? Where your "imagination" is surgically excised via state decree? I can hardly think of a more terrifying society in which to live.

Zamyatin is quite critical of the Soviet experiment in this novel, and he reaches the reader on a very personal level. It is as if he is cautioning Soviet society about the potential pitfalls of communism and state control, while also reminding that same society of the individuality of human nature - an aspect of life in which the state should not attempt to interfere.

Nineteen is definitely not twenty

In the first part of the course I got more and more used to the romantic and maybe a bit exaggerated style of the 19th century authors. The protagonists were usually trying to prove their heroism and had romantic concepts about how they could escape mediocrity. Some of the novels we read had happy( The Captain's daughter) or at least reasonable(Fathers and Sons) endings, while others were rather tragic(Anna Karenina). All in all, after reading the first few novels, the ending of Anna Karenina could be foreseen and the element of surprise was going away for me. I nevertheless enjoyed reading them and picking up the hints about the future of Russia and its literature in the 20th century.
However, I was still blown away by We. I did not expect such an amazing change even if the book was classified as Sci-Fi. As we read Envy and Master and Margarita I was even more surprised by the change in style, the narrative and even in symbolism. While the 19th century authors, especially Tolstoy, seemed to mostly point out to obvious ideas in his book and make us think in a certain way, the 20th century authors are more open-ended and more descriptive.
I think one of the most interesting aspects of writing in the new century is how love, or rather how sexual interactions are described. From the "..." scenes in Anna Karenina, we went to lowering the curtains and the pink slips in We, then to sharing the same woman in Envy and most recently we witnessed the love affair between the Master and Margarita.  Also, the accurate descriptions of envy in Olesha's novel felt new and refreshing compared to the old century depictions as well.
What is the most surprising aspect of the transition from the 19th century to the 20th for you? What is your favorite novel of these three 19th century ones that we have read until now? Do you think they are linked together by any other stylistic or textual element except for the references to the Soviet rule? And lastly, which one do you like best: 19th or 20th century?

The Increasingly Apparent Role of the Unreliable Narrator

As we progress through this class, time and time again I find myself grateful that we are reading these works in the order they were published. For one, this helps expand our examination of the literature to encompass the society around it. And for two, it makes literary trends that may have easily passed from one author to another more apparent.

In this post, I will examine one such trope--the ubiquitous idea of the unreliable narrator. For every work that has a style of narration more personal than the third-person omniscient, there must be at least some ambiguity as to accuracy, if for no other reason than the inherently error-prone nature of humankind. For example, in The Captain's Daughter, the protagonist is writing a memoir to the in-book audience of his descendants. Thus, it may be assumed that some details of setting or dialogue have become fogged through the passage of time or the narrator's deliberate stretching of truth to appear more admirable. However, as the works read have become more recent, there's been a definite trend of increasingly unreliable narrators, especially as we move into literature of the 20th century. I posit that this trend is due to both updated literary conventions, and a new method of reflecting the Soviet culture immediately following the Revolution.

This is especially noticeable in We, which is both the book written soonest after, and closest in theme to, the real-life Revolution. The narrator's quickly degrading knowledge of the world around him seems to reflect the uncertainty and panic that was present in the newly-formed Soviet state.

In The Master and Margarita, on the other hand, the myriad narrators seem to be well in possession of their mental faculties and skills of storytelling. However, the fact that what they've seen is too outlandish to be believed makes everyone around them assume they're unreliable--that is, insane. At the time of this writing, I haven't yet finished the novel, but I hope that as we reach the end of the book, the dualism between what characters perceive as truth and what the "real world" insists is truth coalesces into a great revelation of how things really are.

Injections, Yeshua, and Ivan

Within the first few pages of The Master and Margarita I was struck by the imagery of Berlioz's heart "with a blunt needle lodged inside it" (p. 4). This needle seems to cause Berlioz to hallucinate, and I was interested in following this theme of inoculation in the novel. Often inoculation refers to vaccines, but I also view it as receiving ideas/visions/dreams, etc. (we could even call it, wait for it, INCEPTION!) This early instance of a sort of direct needle-vision correlation doesn't always happen, but there were some interesting points, especially concerning Ivan the poet. There is always a language of disease used with the novel, as well as a definite mirroring of Ivan and Yeshua. I've compiled a sort of list of relevant points to this interrelated topic. 

Pilate has a headache throughout chapter 2, causing him to treat Yeshua as he would not normally treat a prisoner. He also wonders if he has been poisoned in some way, which I see as tying back into the idea of being inoculated. Pilate is also named on p. 27 as "Knight of the Golden Spear," which I associate with needles as being a tool for poking. This sounds silly so far, but bear with me. 

After Ivan is taken to the mental ward he is given injections numerous times to calm him down. The first is after he tries to jump out the window: 

A hypodermic syringe flashed in the doctor's hands, and in a single motion the woman ripped open the bedraggled sleeve of Ivan's Tolstoyan shirt and grabbed his arm with unfeminine strength. There was a smell of ether, Ivan grew weak in the arms of the four attendants, and the agile doctor took advantage of the moment and plunge the needle into Ivan's arm. p. 59

We see Ivan getting more injections on page 96 when the nurse notices him crying in frustration at his failed attempts to write what had happened, and again on page 142. Ivan receives this injection after the ward is upset when Nikanor Ivanovich arrives and makes a ruckus, and Nikanor is also soothed by an injection, along with all the other patients. The doctor's and nurses treat these (probably morphine) injections as an act of mercy to upset patients, but it offers no cure for their ailments.

As Ivan drifts off to sleep we revisit Pilate and the crucifixion of Yeshua. As I said before, the spears I related to needles, and here they are used as a means of relief to Yeshua, Gestas, and Dimas.

"Praise the merciful Hegemon!" he whispered solemnly and quietly pierced Yeshua through the heart. Yeshua shuddered and whispered, "Hegemon..." p 151-2

Before the mercy killing, the soldiers also offer water on a sponge so they can drink. Although both are used for relief, the spears offer a more permanent (if violent) solution to pain, and release blood instead of injecting something into it.

Yeshua and Ivan are clearly connected by homelessness (Yeshua is called a vagrant by Pilate, Ivan's poet name, Bezdomny, means homeless), mental instability (Ivan is in a ward, Pilate calls Yeshua mentally ill), as well as both being rather simple-minded (Yeshua is not a stoic Jesus, but a more naive and straightforward character, the Master calls Ivan an ignorant man, and Ivan agrees). I'm interested in seeing how this parallel plays out in the rest of the novel.

On a final note, there is also a language of disease used in several instances, on page 54, "The skin on the doorman's face took on a typhoid tinge..." and on p 129, "a putrid malarial dampness had spread over the floor." The barman is told by Woldon that he will die of liver cancer in nine months, and advises against going to the hospital, because they can offer no cure.

Mikhail Aleksandrovich Berlioz versus Hector Berlioz

It is striking that there are several important characters in the Master and Margarita who share their names with famous composers of classical music: Dr. Stravinsky, a psychiatrist, and Igor Stravinsky; a theater director Rimsky and Nikolai Rimsky Korsakov; and, Mikhail Aleksandrovich Berlioz and French composer Hector Berlioz. This is almost impossible to be a coincidence, and there seems to be a message behind this. Bulgakov’s intent for using these names, however, is not obvious. While there are similarities between these fictional characters and real life composers, the link in the context of the novel is not apparent. I will focus on the Berlioz duo.

Both Bulgakov and Hector Berlioz seem to be drawing inspiration from Goethe since Hector Berlioz wrote an opera titled The Damnation of Faust which was based on Goethe’s Faust. Bulgakov has his own Berlioz (Mikhail “Misha” Aleksandrovich) square off with his version of Faust, Professor Woland.  While Bulgakov and Hector Berlioz both seem to be fascinated with the mysticism in general and the character of Faust in particular, Misha Berlioz is an antithesis to this curiosity. He is editor of "a fat literary journal", and chairman of the board of one of the major Moscow literary associations, called MASSOLIT (probably the abbreviation for the Masters of Soviet Literature). He is a typical representative of the intellectual elite, a good follower of the official policy who cannot follow the dissenting opinions expressed by Woland as well as his supernatural gifts. Unlike real Berlioz, Misha Berlioz is both unable and unwilling to wrestle with unknown and unexplained (or unexplainable).

Hector Berlioz also wrote the well-known Symphonie Fantastique.  In the fourth movement of this symphony, March to the Scaffold, the main character is seeing his own decapitation in his dream. Misha Berlioz also dies by being decapitated, but by a tram. Again, Bulgakov uses Hector Berlioz as an inspiration for his own literary creation.

While Hector Berlioz was often, as a composer, ahead of his contemporaries in his understanding of music and its complexity, Bulgakov’s Berlioz is a synonym for mediocrity. Hence it is unclear why Bulgakov chose the name Berlioz for his ordinary and conforming character. Or, did I misinterpret Bulgakov’s Misha Berlioz?

Sugar and Vice and Everything Nice

To me, one of the most interesting aspects of the twentieth century Russian literature we’ve read has been its fascination with the regulation of vice.  We briefly discussed the regulation of sex in We last Wednesday; beyond this though, the One State is also intent on regulating or restricting all unwholesome aspects of its citizens’ lives, resulting in fables illustrating the consequences of laziness and missing work and the One State's outright prohibition of alcohol and tobacco as dangerous and subversive substances.  In Envy, Olesha also indirectly discusses how soviet society is trying to move beyond its vices through his drunkard narrator Kavalerov and Kavalerov’s interaction with the gluttonous Andrei, the lusty Anichka, and the delusional Ivan.  Basically, it’s suggested in these two novels that the new socialist utopia has no place for the bourgeois creature comforts of the old world.

That being said, while Olesha and Zamyatin both critique state interference in the lives of individuals and praise self-determination, their relative stances on vice are less clear to me.  I don’t think either of them endorses wholesale hedonism, but Zamyatin seems to associate vice with personal liberation far more than does Olesha.  Where Olesha portrays the consequences of vice (alcoholism, poverty, resentment, alienation) in a pretty unfavorable light, Zamyatin portrays D-503’s emotional awakening as triggered by, among other things, drinking liquor and smoking tobacco with I-330.  Where Zamyatin portrays vice as an act of rebellion, Olesha portrays it as a real social problem that interferes with the aspirations of his characters. 

What you guys think about the role of vice in post-revolutionary Russian lit?  Do you see authors treating vice as a social ill like Tolstoy and Turgenev earlier treated nihilism, or is there more at play here?  Is Olesha critical of Russians' vice, or is he indifferent to it?