Bulgakov’s masterpiece, “The Master and Margarita” is a masterpiece of Russian literature, one unlike any other Russian masterpiece. Set in the mid ‘30s, it does not dwell on social corruption or existential questions. It does not have long descriptions, nor a complicated plot. It is written in a fairly simple language and can be enjoyed by both those who love long stories and those who prefer shorter fiction. This does not mean though that Bulgakov’s piece is superfluous. On the contrary, Bulgakob’s book was such a confrontation to the Soviet regime that it was censured and banned multiple times.
One could say that “The Master and the Margarita” is a love story, a reprisal of the legend of Faust, who seeks to find the biggest truth on Earth and his failed love for Margarita, only set in modern Russia. A fatal love story, an inquiry into the relationship of man and art, of what we are willing to give up for inspiration. Or perhaps, at a personal level, it could be viewed as the quest of every person who makes a pact with the devil (metaphorically speaking) in search of either life’s meaning or glory.
And yet, to readers well acquainted with the Communist regime, “The Master and Margarita” has an even more realistic dimension. In its description of forced atheism in a country where Christianity had always been intertwined with the nation’s creation, where as long as you said what the government wanted you to say, you were safe and lauded, where you were taught to fear what is foreign, “The Master and Margarita” is deeply straight-forward.
In the end, there is no right way to interpret “The Master and Margarita”. But to enjoy to its fullness, it does not hurt to stop your reading and immerse yourself in the multiple annotations made by the translators. In fact, it might make you understand better who the devil in the story really was.
One could say that “The Master and the Margarita” is a love story, a reprisal of the legend of Faust, who seeks to find the biggest truth on Earth and his failed love for Margarita, only set in modern Russia. A fatal love story, an inquiry into the relationship of man and art, of what we are willing to give up for inspiration. Or perhaps, at a personal level, it could be viewed as the quest of every person who makes a pact with the devil (metaphorically speaking) in search of either life’s meaning or glory.
And yet, to readers well acquainted with the Communist regime, “The Master and Margarita” has an even more realistic dimension. In its description of forced atheism in a country where Christianity had always been intertwined with the nation’s creation, where as long as you said what the government wanted you to say, you were safe and lauded, where you were taught to fear what is foreign, “The Master and Margarita” is deeply straight-forward.
In the end, there is no right way to interpret “The Master and Margarita”. But to enjoy to its fullness, it does not hurt to stop your reading and immerse yourself in the multiple annotations made by the translators. In fact, it might make you understand better who the devil in the story really was.