The Master and Margarita

I love this crazy, unpredictable book. The devil rocks up in Moscow and causes all sorts of trouble, it's absurd and funny. In the meantime Pontius Pilate is meeting Jesus and getting himself all confused. I think there's a lot of in jokes and references that I don't get but it's not important as there is so much else going on. The description is wonderful and the scenes of chaos are very vivid. I like this translation too, am not sure which I read last time, but think this one seemed more fun.

My high school yearbook quote from Mark Twain seems appropriate: Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot.

Like many readers, I really am not sure what this book was about; but, after a slow start, I kind of liked it. Heralded as the first ever entry in the magic realism genre, it's weird, wacky, wildly imaginative and satirical as hell. There are three interwoven narratives: (1) Woland/Satan and his demonic retinue's (a man-sized talking cat and a vampire) visit to Moscow to assess Soviet life, (2) the story of Yeshua Ha-Nostri (Jesus), his believers and betrayers and Pontius Pilate in ancient show more Yershalayim (Jerusalem), and (3) the love affair between the Master and Margarita. The Master has written a book about Pontius Pilate, which nobody will publish, and Satan has to offer his own first person observations, leading to the Master's mental instability. Woland's black magic performance at the theater, and the wanton destruction of lives and sanities of the theater staff and its audience, is remarkable. Plenty of characters end up in mental hospital, and for good reasons too. One of the most memorable scenes was the Satanic Ball hosted by a naked Margarita and attended by the denizens of hell. Chaos and bedlam reign throughout. show less

Mikhail Bulgakov's The Master and Margarita begins on a spring evening in 1930s Moscow when two literary bureaucrats encounter with Woland, a mysterious foreign professor who correctly predicts the imminent death of one of them. That encounter unleashes a flurry of increasingly bizarre events across the Soviet capital. Woland—who is eventually revealed to be the Devil—and his curious entourage, including a giant talking cat named Behemoth and the terrifying assassin Azazello, expose the greed, vanity, cowardice, and corruption beneath the surface of respectable Soviet society. Interwoven with these episodes is the story of the Master, a persecuted writer whose novel about Pontius Pilate has been suppressed, and Margarita, the woman show more who remains fiercely devoted despite his disappearance and apparent ruin. Their love story unfolds alongside chapters recounting Pilate's interrogation and execution of Yeshua Ha-Notsri, Bulgakov's reimagining of Jesus Christ. As the boundaries between reality, fantasy, history, and myth get blurred, the destinies of Woland, the Master, Margarita, Pilate, and Yeshua gradually converge in a conclusion that is at once comic, tragic, and transcendent.

What makes The Master and Margarita so extraordinary is the audacity of its structure. Bulgakov weaves together three seemingly incompatible narratives—a satirical portrait of Stalinist Moscow, a romantic tale of artistic devotion, and a philosophical retelling of the Passion story—yet somehow connects them in a deft manner. The novel's shifting perspectives and abrupt changes in tone felt a little disorienting at first, but they ultimately created a powerful examination of truth, power, and moral responsibility. I also found the historical context to be an equally important part of the reading experience. Written in the shadow of Soviet censorship and political repression, the novel reflects the atmosphere of fear and conformity that characterized the Stalin era. The literary officials, bureaucrats, and opportunists who populate Moscow are not merely comic caricatures, they represent a system in which ideological status quo has displaced intellectual honesty and spiritual inquiry. Against that backdrop, the Master's persecution becomes an obvious allegory for the plight of artists living under authoritarian rule, while the Pilate plotline explores the consequences of moral cowardice in the face of political authority.

Few novels I have read possess the imaginative range or intellectual ambition of this one. The author’s prose is compelling and inventive, capable of moving effortlessly from slapstick farce to metaphysical meditation, and the novel's collection of characters is unforgettable. I was particularly impressed by Bulgakov’s use of humor, not merely for entertainment, but as a weapon against hypocrisy and tyranny. The relationship between the Master and Margarita also provides an emotional foundation that keeps the novel’s philosophical musings from becoming too abstract. That said, though, the novel is not flawless: its episodic construction occasionally impedes the momentum of the story, and I sometimes found the frequent shifts among satire, theology, and fantasy difficult to navigate. Also, some of the secondary events, amusing in isolation, felt superfluous before their larger significance became clear. Nevertheless, these are minor shortcomings in a work of remarkable originality, insight, and courage. Decades after its creation, this work remains one of the great novels of the twentieth century. It is a book that rewards careful reading with pure enjoyment, and one that I can enthusiastically recommend to anyone willing to embrace its complexity. show less

Wow! I was not expecting this in a Russian novel! It was a masterpiece of fantasy and allegory, although the more political satire was out of my reach, not knowing enough Russian history. It is easy to imagine how this would affect readers who personally recognized the details. My Russian barber told me about reading it years ago when it was passed secretly from person to person. It is full of unforgettable images. One is of Margarita, the witch, flying naked over Moscow on a broom. Another is of Pontius Pilate interviewing Christ. And then there is Behemoth the cat, one of Satan’s companions. The translation in this 50th anniversary edition is also excellent.

What happens when the Devil and his fiendish retinue arrive in an atheistic worker’s paradise and anyone who gets in their way? The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov is a magical realism novel that takes mid-1930s Soviet culture to task along with his commentary in his own experience as a writer during that era.

The fact that Bulgakov never technically finished the book to his satisfaction before his death and yet it’s a fantastic read is incredible. The fact that the Devil goes to Moscow, challenges the religious beliefs of the populace or lack thereof, and judges their behavior is a perfect satire by the Soviet author against the official atheistic stance that supposedly prevailed in the nation at that time is pure satire. show more The Devil’s actions, under the pseudonym of Dr. Woland, and that of his retinue cause various levels of mischief that sometimes reaches malevolence from sudden trips to Crimean resort towns, finding yourself possessing illegal foreign currency, getting decapitated then having your head reattached, and finally dying in over the top ways. The fact that the titular characters are only in essentially half the novel and it being the second half is a great bait-and-switch as I didn’t mind following the misadventures of the retinue, especially Behemoth. While I call this magical realism, it could also be a satirical dark comedy with supernatural elements, or an out-of-left field meditation of Christian philosophy, or anything else one can think of, regardless of the genre it’s a good read.

The Master and Margarita is one of the greatest works from the Soviet era and given how Mikhail Bulgakov was treated throughout his life during the Stalinist era, it just shows the sometimes surreal whims of Soviet authorities. show less

"… someone was living in the flat, despite the fact that every official body in Moscow concerned with visiting foreigners stated firmly and categorically that there was not and could not be a magician named Woland in Moscow." (pg. 376)

Mikhail Bulgakov's The Master and Margarita is a book that can be both admired and enjoyed but, peculiarly, rarely at the same time. First, to be enjoyed: a breathless fantasia that sees all hell break loose with a wealth of inventive and original capers, and a command of language and technique that means the novel reads quicker and easier than the reputation of Russian literature would lead you to believe.

And, secondly, to be admired; though you have to make an effort to put yourself into the headspace show more of a Soviet citizen to truly appreciate it. For the book is a satire of Soviet norms, particularly those imposed by the Communist state. The Devil arrives in Soviet Moscow, which is a Communist and, consequently, atheist society (see the quote with which I opened this review), and the book derives a lot of humour from the contortions its characters make to square this theological/ideological circle – or, rather, this dodecahedron. All these strange supernatural happenings in the city, and everyone who is dragged into it is left floundering – often without pants – when the police come around to sort it out.

It is admirably dangerous from Bulgakov, who wrote the book – though could not publish – at a time when Joseph Stalin was in power and mass purges of ideological undesirables were underway. When the character Ivan Nikolayich loses his MASSOLIT membership card on page 66 – MASSOLIT being a state-approved club of literary gatekeepers – it seems to be Bulgakov saying 'now the gloves are off'. Moscow is torn apart by the diabolical 'visiting foreigners' in Woland's entourage (see, again, my opening quotation), and we must remember that Marxism is a foreign ideology, even to Russians: surely it is no coincidence that some of Bulgakov's characters speculate that Woland and his demons came from Germany. And, most pointedly, there are the dreaded knocks on the door by state policemen. The following, from page 92, could almost be reproduced verbatim in Darkness at Noon or The Gulag Archipelago, and not look out of place: "… odd things began happening in that apartment – people started to vanish from it without trace. One Monday afternoon a policeman called, invited the second lodger (the one whose name is no longer known) into the hall and asked him to come along to the police station for a minute or two to sign a document… he not only failed to come back in ten minutes; he never came back at all." Odd things, indeed! Bulgakov skewers not only the ideological contortions, but the corrupting selective-vision ordinary people must deploy to live in such a society.

All this is commendable, but what is truly fascinating about The Master and Margarita is Bulgakov's unusual relationship with the forces of diabolism. The book gives the Devil his due (the opening chapters inspired Mick Jagger to write 'Sympathy for the Devil') and Woland is far from the traditional serpentine characterisation of the Christian devil. He is, interestingly, more like Stalin – the all-powerful lord surrounded by minions to do his bidding ("remove the document – and you remove the man" (pg. 329)). The two titular characters of the Master and Margarita are then, presumably, based on Bulgakov and his wife, who want to escape from under the yoke of Stalin/Woland but can only do so by acknowledging the legitimacy of his power, even over Bulgakov's/the Master's art. "Manuscripts don't burn," Woland says of the Master's labour of love (pg. 326), but it is he and he alone who can decree this. Stalin could never allow such a book to be published, of course, but the fact that the dictator did not seem offended – was, indeed, amused – by the implicit association with the Devil says a lot about his ruling style: Woland asks questions, tests his subjects, and is delighted when they contort themselves ridiculously to provide the 'correct' answer. The benevolence – or, at least, contribution – of diabolism… That is a strange relationship dynamic to wrestle with, even if you understand every line of the book.

And the truth is that you won't understand every line of the book. That breathless fantasia I mentioned really is breathless: an unrelenting cavalcade of odd details and random happenings, most of which have little lasting relevance to the rest of the book. There's no plot to speak of, not really, and it can be difficult for the reader to orient themselves and really appraise the novel as they are reading it. There are other things perhaps going on that are lost in the unrestrained explosion of events (are those who won't hand in their currency (pg. 190) illustrative of a meditation on sin? Is the narrative of Pontius Pilate and his chief of secret service (pg. 350) part of a commentary on how, even back then, there were people trying to manipulate events, or the perception of events?), but the reader doesn't feel like they are losing out, because there are other things to draw your attention. You can get lost from moment to moment, as Bulgakov's story pulls you every which way, and then you can start to go mad in trying to figure it out. But then you realise that madness is the intention. Like the Soviet citizen who ignores their neighbours being dragged away by the state police, you must be mistaken. The events of the book never happened. "No, of course it never took place… it was merely your imagination" (pg. 444). show less

This is one of those novels where the story behind the story is just as engaging. Bulgakov completed this novel shortly before his death in 1940, one part of a larger body of work I should investigate further. It would be another sixteen years before means could be found to publish it, but published it was - initially as a magazine serial within the Soviet Union, no less, which is nothing short of astonishing in light of its subject matter.

The devil comes to Moscow with a secret agenda and wreaks havoc. He can foretell your fate, oust you from your property, threaten you on the phone, make you mysteriously disappear without a trace, tempt you with riches, and he is always prone to commit sudden acts of extreme violence. Would you be show more mad to resist him? Would you be viewed as mad if you tried? And the most sobering thought, always present, silently conveyed: what if it was the Soviet communist regime, instead of the devil? One must have courage to face such a trial, with so much to fear and so many excuses readily available not to. So much easier to wash one's hands clean of the whole affair, to collaborate, go on about your business as if nothing has occurred. This cowardice can be forgiven, but only when it has had its fill of regret. show less