The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov
Title: The Master and Margarita
Author: Mikhail Bulgakov
Translators: Diana Burgin and Katherine Tiernan O’Connor
Published: 1969 (but written in the 30s)
Type: Fiction
Pages: 335
Follow me, reader! Who told you that there is no true, faithful, eternal love in this world! May the liar's vile tongue be cut out! Follow me, my reader, and me alone, and I will show you such a love!
In Brief:
I’m surprised by how much I ended up enjoying this book, after putting it down halfway through during my first attempt. But it’s really, really refreshing in ~these times~ – just shrewd and absurd and magical and strange in the best way.
Rating: 4.0
Synopsis:
You’re gonna have to bear with me on this one. It sounds insanely weird, but I promise it’s fun.
The Master and Margarita tells the story of a few spring days where the Devil himself visits Moscow. Fashioning himself as “Professor Woland,” he brings with him an entourage composed of a hog-sized cat, a naked female vampire, a fanged assassin, and an ex-choirmaster (possibly a fallen angel?). Their target is the Russian elite, particularly those in the literary world.
First, Woland meets a prominent literary magazine editor and a young poet, to whom he tells a story about Pontius Pilate (this comes up again later — some chapters cut to Pilate) before foretelling the editor’s graphic death shortly before it comes to pass (he’s decapitated by a train). He goes on to make the lives of other literary figures hell (not literally), and performs a “magic show” where he humiliates more of the elites, exposing their superficiality and greed.
Next, Woland summons to him a woman named Margarita, who loved a man referred to as “The Master,” who is currently in an insane asylum (along with the poet from earlier). The Master committed himself, after his novel about Pontius Pilate was rejected by Moscow’s publishers. Woland asks Margarita to host a Good Friday ball for him in literal Hell, giving her witchy powers for the night. She flies, naked and invisible, around Moscow and the Soviet Union with her maid for a while, messing with some of the bureaucrats who hurt the Master, before doing just that. Afterward, Woland grants her one wish, which she selflessly uses to help a woman she met at the ball. He grants her that and gives another, which she uses to free the Master.
Woland agrees to this as well, making the Master appear and returning them to their former apartment. Matthew the Levite (you know, he got a Gospel named after him) appears and tells Woland that Jesus (yes that one) says the two must be sent to the afterlife, where they are to be granted “peace” but not “light.” Woland sends them poisoned wine, and after they die, takes them to a pleasant place where they can live for eternity with each other.
One last thing – at the very end, we learn the end of Pilate’s story – he was condemned to limbo for his cowardice, wishing to converse with Jesus. Together, the Master and Margarita free him from his fate, and allow him to be at Jesus’s side.
Yeah. I told you it’s weird.
Where I’m At:
It took roughly forever for me to read this book. More specifically, I started I think sometime in March or April in 2019, when we picked in for book club. I don’t think any of us finished it on time, and in our meeting, none of us were especially compelled to continue. We picked a new book and moved on.
This was particularly unusual for me. I pride myself in my ability to finish books – or, really, anything. I don’t like to quit. I don’t really believe in “cutting my losses,” even when it’s the reasonable thing to do. I’m stubborn to a fault and take commitments seriously, no matter how low the stakes.
So perhaps you can imagine how much I didn’t like this book. I still always intended on finishing, I just had more immediate commitments – other book club picks, my 2019 goal of reading the 20th century Pulitzers. I prioritized those, and rather dreaded picking up The Master and Margarita again. But when I read it this time, I found it utterly delightful.
What changed?
One thing I can point to is my reading of War and Peace. It’s been an ongoing endeavor with a friend since April, and even though they’re very different, there’s a sort of similar Russian-ness to them – so perhaps I found it more familiar, easier to get into that peculiar humor or way or writing.
Other than that – it just felt more timely this time around. I’ll get more into this, but The Master and Margarita is largely about laughing at your situation, not taking yourself too seriously, no matter how dark things may be. With the pandemic, the protests, the way that 2020 has been so ridiculously bad one might imagine the Devil himself playing a mocking role – I just got it more, and it was a relief to laugh.
I would also be remiss if I didn’t mention the magical realism aspect of it. As I’ve probably mentioned a dozen times, I love magical realism. But until now, I was familiar with the Latin American version of it, especially my beloved Gabriel García Márquez. Though some might call his style “obnoxiously flowery” I love its poetry, its solemnity. This Russian version is much different, much more cynical and funny. More of that below.
One more thing — I ran a MUN committee about Pontius Pilate back in college, so have a particularly soft spot for that story. When the other plotlines became confusing, it was somewhat comforting and familiar to return to that troubled man.
Getting Into it:
Despite my newfound fondness for this book, I’ll start with the criticisms – it takes a while for it to get good, or to make any sense. The first half is a confusing blur of characters and plotlines, jumping perspectives and timelines at will. The Master isn’t introduced for over a hundred pages, and Margarita for even longer after that. During that time, I was just confused, wondering repeatedly what the f*** is going on? Beyond the plot, there were some specifically Russian references that I couldn’t grasp, making the whole thing even more confusing.
But sticking it out is, ultimately, worth it. Once I got into it around page 200, my answer to the initial question was I don’t even care. It’s great. Is that the best way to format a book? Perhaps not, if you want most readers to finish. But as with Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell, I appreciate the guts.
I don’t really know how to explain it, so this won’t be too long. You just have to trust me – the book is funny. It’s whimsical, absurd, silly. It’s also bitingly political, sharp, satirical. I mean — there’s a naked woman flying around on a hog, a giant cat drinking vodka, powerful Russian figures fooled into giving up their money/clothes. Though on paper, some if it is also pretty dark – I mean, again, it’s the devil come to town, Margarita literally goes to Hell – the tone always remains playful and light. It touches on serious themes like religion, devoted love, morality, art, Soviet elitism and bureaucracy, yet it doesn’t really end with some preachy, self-righteous message (looking at you, Tolstoy). Bulgakov just sort of pokes fun at all of it. I imagine him saying – Look. No matter how bad things get, no matter how serious they seem, you have to look for the humor. You have to laugh. And you do.
I’m not sure what exactly to make of the ending. The Master and Margarita don’t go to heaven nor hell, it doesn’t even quite seem like purgatory. It’s just a nice place, for the two of them to be together. Like I said, it perhaps serves as a way to avoid making any kind of judgement. Or maybe he doesn’t think there’s a way for their love and art to thrive in society, not even whatever society might amount to in heaven.
I do recommend this book, especially now. You don’t have to be familiar with Russian literature, though it does help. But you have to trust Bulgakov, and don’t overthink the plot – just go with it and laugh.
