The Master and Margarita (Penguin Classics)

Before you dive into this review, know this. I'm a native Russian, and a writer, and I have just completed a feat of rereading the novel in Russian and reading first Ginsburg and then Pevear & Volokhonsky translations, back to back, to compare. And Ginsburg's translation will give you the best feeling for the language, the culture, and the story. It's the bomb. This translation left me in tatters, it didn't speak to me as Bulgakov, it even impoverished his style for me. The rating you see is for the novel itself, which is the work of art. Now, to the review itself. The first time I read The Master and Margarita in Russian, it was, out of all places, in Berlin. I was a teenager, and I lived in Berlin with my father and his new wife and my half-sister, because my father was a writer and a journalist and was sent by Soviet Union to Berlin to be the correspondent for a large Russian newspaper agency. I remember reading the book so vividly, that even today every detail is etched in my brain like a colorful photograph. The soft bright chair I sat in, with my back toward the window, the book in my lap, the pages rustling, and the image of Margarita, most importantly, of her knee, the knee that's been kissed over and over and how it turned blue. And the cat, the black cat that could talk. That's all I remember, plus the feeling of fascination I got. And now, over 20 years later, I have read it again, after becoming a writer myself 2 years ago, not knowing back in my teens that I would ever write, but being struck by the genius of Bulgakov. And, my, oh my, rereading it now I understood for the first time what the book was about. I sort of thought of it as a fairy tale back in my teens, I felt something underneath it, but couldn't get it. I got it now, and I cried, I cried for Bulgakov, for his imprisonment as a writer in the country that oppressed him to the last of his days, and I cried because he refused to be broken, and because he has written a masterpiece, and I was holding it in my hands, reliving it like so many people, many many years after he died. As to the story. It's not just one story, and not even two, it's four. A story of love, and of darkness, and of life and death. There are four narratives, the love between Master and Margarita, the strange visitors and Satan who come to Moscow, the story of Moscow life itself, the city, the people, and the story of Yeshua in the ancient walls of Yershalayim. Each has its own flavor, breathes its own air, and weaves into one book that tethers on that notion that no work of art can be destroyed, "manuscripts don't burn", says Satan, and that's Bulgakov's pain, him against the system that wanted to crush him, and didn't. He escaped. The irony of the book is that, in some sense, it's autobiographical, and that makes it even more tragic. But the satire! Oh, the satire! I don't know how many times I snorted coffee and tea out of my nose, because I have this habit of drinking hot drinks while reading, curled up on the couch. So many memories burst on the scene, so many authentic Russian quirks and habits and characters, the wealth of which I have nearly forgotten over my 16 years in US, and which dazzled my mind like fireworks, albeit of course, because I was reading it in Russian, and I'm about to start reading two translations in English, one by Mirra Ginsburg, and another by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky. Because, if there was ever a book worth reading 5, 10, 20 times in a row, it is The Master and Margarita by Bulgakov, his last book written over the course of 10 years, and not quite completed… he narrated changes to his wife right up to his death. No matter. It is perfect. Read it.

When I think of masterpieces of Russian literature, I often think of Leo Tolstoy’s War and Peace and Anna Karenina, as well as Fyodor Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment, and The Brothers Karamazov. I also think of Alexander Pushkin’s epic poem Eugene Onegin, Ivan Turgenev’s A Hunter’s Sketches, Fathers and Sons, First Love and Faust, Mikhail Lermontov’s A Hero of Our Time, Anton Chekhov’s plays and short stories – “The Three Sisters,” “Uncle Vanya,” and “The Cherry Orchard” – and Nicholai Gogol’s Dead Souls. During the period of Soviet oppression, there are such writers as Boris Pasternak who wrote Dr. Zhivago, Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn who wrote Cancer Ward, The Gulag Archipelago, One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich, August 1914, and March 1917. And then there is Mikhail Bulgakov, the author of noteworthy plays, and his masterpiece The Master and Margarita, written between 1928 and 1940, and published in 1966 and 1967. I read the Penguin Classic Deluxe Edition, translated by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky, with an Introduction by Richard Pevear and a Foreword by Boris Fishman. You will discover that Bulgakov has infused The Master and Margarita with the political satire of the Soviet regime, and with interesting and fantastical characters. Moreover, the genre is not only political satire, but a fantasy, filled with allegories, and literary allusions. The fantasy is about the Devil (Woland) who arrives in modern-day Moscow with his henchmen – Koroviev, his valet, Azazello, his hit man, Hella, a female vampire, and Behemoth, a large black cat. They all possess supernatural powers and create chaos in their wake. Part of the chaos is slapstick comedy and quite hilarious, but other parts are quite serious, a commentary or satire on Soviet oppression, resulting in murder. For instance, the death of Mikhail Berlioz, the head of a writer’s union, after meeting Woland at Patriarch Ponds, where they sit on a bench and converse, is unexpected. From that moment onward, the chaos becomes more profound and alarming. This is evident at Woland’s séance at the Variety Theater, the shenanigans at Berlioz’s summer restaurant – The House of Griboedov - on Griboedov Street, and at Berlioz’s apartment, number 50, on Sadovaya Street. All three are primary locations where fantastical, supernatural, and black magical phenomena take place. Especially, at Berlioz’s much sought-after apartment, where Woland and his henchmen have taken up temporary residence. Margarita enters in book two, and she is a beauty, who is more than willing to do anything for her lover, the Master, who has authored a book about Pontius Pilate, the fifth procurator of Judea, and the passion and crucifixion of Jesus (Jeshua, Ha-Nozri), on Bald Mountain (Golgotha). Throughout the book, Bulgakov returns to the Master’s story, the Pontius Pilate story, (which is a story within a story) every now and again. You will find the conversation between Jesus and Pilate to be captivating and interesting, especially if you compare them to the Gospels of Matthew, Luke, Mark, and John. The story engenders strong emotions of sadness and guilt, analogous to what the secret police, and what others, might have felt later, after the downfall of the Soviet regime. For the sake of the Master, her lover, who the authorities locked away in room 118 in a psychiatric clinic, Margarita agrees to become a witch, temporarily, and accompany Woland and his retinue to a Devilish Ball. Afterwards, Woland grants her a wish, reuniting her and her lover in their basement apartment, where he spent years earlier writing the Pontius Pilate story. As Woland and his henchmen depart Moscow, with Margarita and the Master, riding strong steeds into the moonlight, and as Pontius Pilate simultaneously walks into the moonlight in Ivan Nikolaevich’s dream, you cannot help but feel the sadness and nostalgia of the penultimate and last chapter of the book. “Forgiveness and Eternal Refuge,” and the “Epilogue” could easily bring you to tears, as if someone - the regime, Pontius Pilate - were indeed asking for forgiveness. Walking into the moonlight, Pilate says to his companion, “Gods, gods…tell me it never happened! I implore you, tell me, it never happened!” And his walking companion replies, “Well, of course it never happened…you imagined it.” He swears to it, and Pilates says, “I need nothing more,” ending the story with profound emotions of denial and guilt. And thus ends Bulgakov’s political satire and masterpiece. Mikhail Bulgakov’s novel The Master and Margarita exceeded all my expectations. You will find this book to be enlightening, educational, and entertaining. It is a masterpiece, and thus, I highly recommend this book to all readers.

The Master and Margarita is one of those rare novels that feels like an experience more than a story—part political satire, part philosophical meditation, part supernatural romp. Mikhail Bulgakov crafts a narrative so layered and surreal that at times it feels like literary sleight of hand: one moment you're in Stalin-era Moscow watching the Devil expose the hypocrisy of Soviet society, and the next, you're transported to biblical Jerusalem in a deeply human retelling of Pontius Pilate’s inner turmoil. The writing is sharp and filled with biting wit, and the novel's audacity is undeniable. A talking cat, a naked witch flying over the city, and Satan hosting a grand ball—Bulgakov pulls no punches in pushing the boundaries of realism and fantasy. It's bold, strange, and utterly original. That said, the read can be difficult. The narrative shifts in time and tone require patience, and much of the book’s richness lies in its subtext. Understanding who the characters represent—particularly their real-life Soviet parallels—adds a whole new layer of meaning. Without that historical context, some of the satire and symbolism can feel disorienting or obscure. Despite these challenges, The Master and Margarita is a rewarding and unforgettable read. It’s a novel that dares to question power, truth, and morality—while also delighting in the absurd. Four stars for its brilliance, ambition, and complexity. It may not be an easy read, but it’s absolutely worth the effort.

Having heard about this book for years, I finally decided to read it. I had read Bulgakov's White Guard - a wonderful novel - but for some reason, it didn't prod me to look for more Bulgakov. I mistakenly assumed, given the personalities who urged it on me, M&M was affectedly "literary" and that I should go through the chore of reading it for the good of my aesthetic soul. While Bulgakov does throw in literary and cultural bits, it's never merely to impress or blow smoke in a reader's face. Above all, the book has genuine, even knockabout humor. The intertwining of several different narratives is stunning, the outlook clear and grounded. Margarita is a rare literary example of a clear-eyed and grounded moral intelligence, able to face devilish chaos around her without losing her soul. The translation is at once elegant English and a bit lacking in stylistic fire. I don't read Russian, however, and that may be the case with Bulgakov's Russian, though I doubt it, given the success with which he describes intricate action. For example, many characters use conventional expressions that hint something Satanic is going on, like "Speak of the Devil," "Devil take it," or "The Devil knows what." The translation relies on and repeats a small set of these expressions. I strongly suspect, however, that Bulgakov is more inventive. Despite all this, the translation gives you the feeling that you're reading a masterpiece, and what more can you reasonably expect?

I love this book cover and I can’t wait to start to read it

A Shakespearean comedy with Jeeves playing the devil and Abbot and Costello his sidekicks. The star crossed lovers are Nelson Eddy and Jeanette MacDonald. The remaining players are upstanding citizens living all so seriously in their own made up little toy reality which can be, and is, easily overturned as it floats like a bubble in the fundamental reality built of either magic, 90% unknowable dark energy, or stressed into existence by the counterpoise of good and evil in constant tension. Or more likely all three at once. I must be part Russian because I feel their black humor and appreciate their stoic jokes. It seems to pick at the real reality underlying our tidy little perception of what we must believe in order to get on with our all important - to us - business, trifles, and conceits. The world we have made of politics, business, entertainment and persuasion and selling is made to seem so ... small. I don't know whether to credit the author or the translator or both, but the pace, flow, and cheerful whimsy of the book is a joy. No stern Nurse Ratched woke lectures here. Although note that Margarita is really the strongest character of the book. From my perspective of an earlier life of Marx Brothers movies, Abbott and Costello and Shakespearean plays (and the subsequent movie knockoffs of the plots) this cries out to be put to film. But alas in the current period of "the modern viewer", Russia bad, and spandex costume clad posers posing, would anyone even try to understand it?

A Gentleman in Moscow is not Russian literature, but after reading it I was inspired to make my first foray into this body of work with The Master & Margarita. After reading it, I do not think it was necessarily the best choice for me. The book has an interesting history, having been suppressed and censored until published posthumously by Bulgakov’s wife. A complex and fantastical tale consisting of two intertwined stories, one involving the devil’s appearance in Moscow and the other involving the prosecution of Jesus by Pontius Pilate. According to Wikipedia, “Many critics consider it to be one of the best novels of the 20th century, as well as the foremost of Soviet satires.” In that context, I suppose my contrary experience with the book is analogous to the experience of those who fail to enjoy an Oscar-winning movie. Maybe I'm just not sophisticated enough to appreciate it. Perhaps I would have enjoyed a different translation. This one was by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky; I do not know if this is considered to be a top-quality translation.

This is such a good book, probably my favorite book in the world. I suggest everyone read it. It can take some thought and some homework to fully grasp the message but it's so rewarding once you understand it. Reading the introduction and footnotes are a must.