"Master and Man" and "The Death of Ivan Ilych"

"Master and Man" says less about those statuses than I'd expected. Instead, its message echoes that of "The Death of Ivan Ilych": don't live for materialism or monetary gain, but for other people.

The difference in this later story is that the apparent master of the story, Andreev, gives his life to save the peasant Nikita whom he finally acknowledges as a fellow human being. With that in mind the English title of the story suggests that "master" and "man" are exclusive categories. Someone can be either one or the other but not both.

This retread of a the theme of "The Death of Ivan Ilych," but in a much bleaker setting fits perfectly as the final story in this collection. Not just because it's chronologically the last written among this collection's four, but because it works as denouement after the emotional action-thriller that is "The Kreutzer Sonata."

But taken on its own, I don't think "Master and Man" is Tolstoy's best work. Trading in the tight third person perspective of "The Death of Ivan Ilych" for split attention between Andreev and Nikita and a more or less omniscient narrator brings both of these characters close to being caricatures of their particular social stations.

Yet, the situation of the story, two men and a horse getting lost in a snowstorm who are given several chances to rest in town until morning but refuse and wind up stuck in the middle of nowhere, seems all to realistic considering the coincidences involved. It's a structure that mirrors the strange happenings of life too closely to be written off as mere contrivance.

And that's what sets "Master and Man" apart from the other three stories in The Death of Ivan Ilych and Other Stories. It is the only one in which characters take a back seat to plot and setting.

Moving from Russian literature to something lighter, the next book on the list is Kurt Vonnegut's Breakfast of Champions.

Another random, another tale-telling

"The Kreutzer Sonata" is, to my pleasant surprise, not at all about music. Yet. I mean, it's hard to tell after 1/4 of a short story what will or won't come up over its course. I can say with certainty, that Tolstoy did improve ever so slightly in the few years between this story and "The Death of Ivan Ilych."

I also have to admit that I was pretty excited when I realized that this story takes place on a train. Sort of.

The main character is travelling when he meets a man who ends up sharing his experience of love, and, in so doing, takes over the story. So, of course, what I wrote about how the apparent pointlessness of the early part of "The Death of Ivan Ilych" and being talked to by a random definitely applies to "The Kreutzer Sonata."

Though any tale about the complications of love and its definitions has a place in my heart. It's just so easy to take the concept of love for granted. Reading something philosophical on the topic reminds me that there's so much more to it.

Though the gender relations and perceptions of just what is debauchery in nineteenth century Russia do not age well. I'm not sure I'd have otherwise learned that there were doctors in charge of inspecting prostitutes at contemporary Russian brothels to keep STIs in check, though.

There's also a certain charm to nineteenth century nested stories. The in-story narrator gets characterized with such fine detail that readers really get an insight into him. Not to mention the fact that it allows a writer to bring his narrator's authority into question. And there's the language. Aylmer Maude and J.D. Duff's translation reminds me of Poe in its style.

I would have liked it a bit more, though, if the nineteenth century word for a morphine addict wasn't "morphinist" but simply "morphiend."

Ivan Ilych's death before his death

Well, it didn't end quite as I had expected but "The Death of Ivan Ilych" certainly deserves its title.

After getting through the details of his life and the cause of his eventually fatal illness, the last third of the story is spent in Ivan's head. Things become quite introspective and as bleak as Russian literature is said to be.

In his throes of agony, Ivan looks back on his life and wonders if he has lived properly. Up until the story's end this question plagues him and he denies it consideration although doubts constantly bring it to the fore of his mind.

Was Ivan Ilych living his life properly, always keeping to whatever middle path appeared before him?

It's a question that anyone can ask of themselves, but I think that the only answer can be found in a They Might Be Giants lyric: "Who can say what's wrong or right?/Nobody can" ("Spiralling Shape").

Though Tolstoy doesn't give any definite answers himself, he does end his story on an up note. All of Ivan's wondering about whether or not he lived his life properly really reminded me of P.D. Ouspenky's The Strange Life of Ivan Osokin. Ouspensky's novel is about a man who's given a chance to relive his life with the aim of improving it thanks to his awareness of where he went wrong.

The influence of G.I. Gurdjief's teachings about the Fourth Way and self-remembering were also brought to mind as I finished "The Death of Ivan Ilych." In my mind, Ivan's reflections suggest that his death isn't just the event that closes the story, but something that happened to him once he entered the world of officialdom at his law school. From that point, his life became more regular and predictable, or, as Gurdjief would have it, mechanical.

That is, all of the organic happenings of Ivan Ilych's life were slowly leached out of him until he reached the point where he moved into the same sort of house that others of his social standing owned and he decorated it in the same way as those others. To my mind, Ivan's injuring himself during this decorating is his time of death. From then until near the end of his broken body's existence he is dead and only in his final hours does he regain lively clarity through the nagging question: "What if my whole life has really been wrong?" (148).

So, "The Death of Ivan Ilych" is definitely quite a bit richer than "Family Happiness." As "The Kreutzer Sonata" is started, we'll see just how much Tolstoy's changed over a much shorter span of time: a mere three years.

Cold reading a different culture

Since flashing back to the period before the death of Ivan Ilych, Tolstoy has not yet gone back. However, we have learned what probably started his illness off.

A little stumble while he was caught up in micromanaging the organization of his new home in a new city.

Or municipality.

Along with all of the personal names that are being thrown around (including the variations different characters use for the same person), nineteenth century Russian geography is not entirely clear for me.

However, rather than just going and looking up such things, I've decided to see how the work stands on its own.

Perhaps that's just a danger of having a readily available translation: Anyone, even those unfamiliar with the original language and culture of a work, can read it and misunderstand much. Although an unprepared peek into another culture can shake loose thoughts and ideas. That jolt to perception and conceptions of what is usual can be pretty useful.

Such a jolt may or may not have shaken loose an idea for a short story about wary parents giving their children a certain kind of pet.

At any rate, now 2/3 through "The Death of Ivan Ilych," I've read through his breakdown and am confident that I'll learn why Tolstoy is telling this story by its end. I really doubt that it'll be left open-ended on that front.

Why are you telling me this, Mr. Tolstoy?

"The Death of Ivan Ilych" really cracks along.

As in "Family Happiness," Tolstoy is covering a lot of time, but he handles it very differently in this story. He's stepped back to the third person perspective, for starters, and has taken an omnipotent position over his subject.

Once more, the story is broken into several parts. The first deals with the aftermath of Ivan's death, and the second is the first of a sequence detailing Ivan's life and characteristics. If this all sounds mundane, it is. But I find it strangely compelling as well.

I'm reminded of Infinite Jest, actually. Not because Tolstoy is writing in a mode that could be considered hyper realism, but because the whole story is made up of mundane details.

It's not a story that's interesting because it's about a particularly interesting subject (unless civil servants who like a good a decorous time and find marriage to be a minefield are your cup of tea), but because you really wonder why it's being told in the first place.

It's like something that a random person comes up and relates to you while you're out in public.

That person needs to tell that anecdote or share that thought, but you're never explicitly told why. This being a short story, though, I imagine Tolstoy will reveal why the death of Ivan Ilych matters come the end. Until then, I'm definitely fine with reading on.