Dead Souls

Nikolai Gogol published "Dead Souls" in 1842. The novel is a rather sardonic portrait of the middle, and upper middle classes, primarily in the Russian countryside. The time period is a couple of decades earlier; a period in which Napoleon's invasion was very much a part of the collective memory. The military men, of a certain age, were referred to as "twelvers," that is, they had fought against Napoleon in 1812. It is a time of slavery, just like in America, but the Russian version was called serfdom, with the peasants tied to a particular estate under the most disadvantageous financial arrangements. Gogol had difficulties with the Russian censors who demanded changes, and removals to certain sections, include the "Tale of Captain Kopeikin, in Chapter 8. (Suitably topical, the story concerns the governmental bureaucratic indifference to a disabled combat war veteran.) When original published, this Tale was removed, but it has been restored in the current edition. For reasons that were not explained in this edition - perhaps no one knows - is that Gogol had the backing of Czar Nikoli I. Perhaps he thought such an authentic portrait of Russian society would serve as a catalyst for change. Ponderous? That might be the most common word associated with many a Russian novel, even the very best: Tolstoy's War and Peace (Oxford World's Classics) , Anna Karenina (Oprah's Book Club) and Solzhenitsyn's August 1914. Trans By Michael Glenny spring to mind, due to their "door-stopper" thousand page or so lengths. Gogol's work though is wonderfully accessible, at less than half the length, well-paced, witty, and chuckles are even possible. Much thought and care went into the translation, which seemed to match very idiomatic English to the original Russian. Although written more than 150 years ago, numerous themes seem surprisingly modern, pulled from today's headlines even. The review by "Vector," entitled "Modern Finance Capitalism Explained" captured the essence of one of the themes. The anti-hero, Pavel Ivanovich Chichikov is wandering the countryside, buying the legal rights to dead serfs (hence the book's title), with the sales pitch that it will relieve the current owner of the tax consequences on the serf (they are "property," after all!) until the next census. He will take all these deeds to the bank, and mortgage them. Ah, how "wealth" is created. Collateralized Mortgage Obligations, anyone? If there had been a derivatives market in the 1820's our hero might have "created" real wealth with this technique. Gogol's work is divided into two volumes. The first volume, almost two-thirds of the work, is divided into 11 chapters. In the first chapter Chichikov arrives in town, does the round of the "big-wigs," essentially establishing contacts (sound like any career promoting websites that, er, ah, link?) The subsequent chapters seem to be devoted, one each, to an archetypical character as Chichikov visits, and is entertained to various degrees, the different estates in the area. Manilov seems to be one of the more normal ones, including his cultural pretenses with the French language. He has given his sons Greek names, confirming the concept that foreign provenance is better. There is the estate of Korobochka, the widow, who is ill-informed in estate management, and naturally suspicious of such a transaction. Nozdryov wants to drink, play cards, and quickly picks a fight. Sobakevich is an astute bargainer. I think the strongest chapter concerns the miser, Plyushkin. With the "dead souls" transactions completed with varying degrees of success, and with wildly different transaction cost, the next chapter is a wonderful satire on Russian small town officialdom as Chichikov attempts to obtain the legal deeds at the courthouse, run by Ivan Antonovich. The "backlash" sets in as both Nozdryov and Korobochka raise alarm bells, and then there is an incisive chapter on the nature of rumor-mongering. In the final chapter in this volume Gogol describes Chickikov's childhood and young adulthood; his constant efforts to please those in power so that he could make his fortune. Although some have said that the second volume is not as strong, I found it of equal merit to the first; and topical as well. There is much to ponder in Gogol's characterizations, particular concerning the nature of work and wealth creation. The author describes the bucolic utopia that Andrei Ivanovich Tentetnikov attempted to create, and contrasts that with the actual very well-run estate of Konstantin Fyodorovich Kostanzholglo. Also, in this volume, there is much comic relief in Gogol's description of Koshkarev's estate, run like a "mini-state," with ponderous "committees" that must make decisions. Parts of the original manuscript have been lost, which leaves gaps in the narrative (so noted), particularly in this volume. Gogol, along with Pushkin and Tolstoy, are the preeminent Russian writers of the 19th Century, who helped shape its literature today. This work is Gogol's best, by far, and is an essential one for anyone on a (hopefully voluntary) Russian immersion literature course. Definitely 5-stars.

I think that I’ve been enjoying Russian literature (read: Dostoevsky) so much lately because it feels so universal. It is not that I have a particular interest in Russian history but rather in self. I need to understand myself, and these novels have been speaking to me more directly than nearly anything I’ve experienced before. Although Gogol (and Dostoevsky) is certainly writing about the “Russian man” the faults, the successes, the fears, and the desires are those of the everyman. I see myself and those around me reflected so clearly in the prose (or the poetry in this case) that I often miss the specificity of “Russian” in the descriptions of “man.” This approach has worked much better while reading Dostoevsky than it did as I pushed through Dead Souls as Gogol seemed to really wish to hold a mirror to the face of Russia specifically. Despite some very universal truths presented here (“…nothing could be more pleasant than to live in solitude, enjoy the spectacle of nature, and occasionally read some book. Still, if there is no friend with whom one can share… What are all the treasures of the world then! Keep not money, but keep good people’s company.”), I fear as though I missed much of what Gogol was attempting to describe about his time and place in history as I continued to look for myself through his conscious effort to put the “Russian” into his description of man. My desire is also to connect with the characters and the ideas on a personal level. I found that to be as difficult here as it was throughout the majority of Demons. Chichikov was not a relatable character to me. Neither relatable nor sympathetic, he was simply a vehicle through which Gogol funneled his satirical observations on life as a Russian. Although stylistically incredibly different, the satirical focus of this novel/poem often had me feeling as though I was reading Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead with shades of Patrick Bateman in Chichickov’s insistent attention to detail – especially apparent at the end of Volume 2 during his visit to the tailor. Additionally, unlike Dostoevsky’s deliberate reliance on dialog and conversation, Gogol’s lengthy paragraphs and descriptions put me more in the position of outside observer than active participant. While these things may have made it slightly more difficult for me to feel involved, I read how I read – that is, with an agenda – and it would be folly for me to attempt to reflect in any way other than that which is my own. I know I’ve struggled with this often – especially of late. I do not intend to make this a common theme, but my heart is what it is, and I’m not trying to escape it. The meaning is, after all, what the Reader wishes to read much more than what the Writer attempted to write is it not? With that said, how can I not allow Gogol to look directly into my soul and pull out the most painful of episodes? Forgive my extensive quotation, but this was perfectly sublime and heart-wrenching at the same time: “… a man will at least once meet with a phenomenon which is unlike anything he has happened to see before, which for once at least awakens in him a feeling unlike those he is fated to feel all his life. Wherever, across whatever sorrows our life is woven of, a resplendent joy will gaily race by, just as a splendid carriage with golden harness, picturebook horses, and a shining brilliance of glass sometimes suddenly and unexpectedly goes speeding by some poor, forsaken hamlet that has never seen anything but a country cart, and for a long time [I] stand gaping open-mouthed, not putting [my hat] back on, though the wondrous carriage has long since sped away and vanished from sight. So, too, did the blonde girl suddenly, in a completely unexpected manner appear in [my] story and also disappear. For a long time [I] would have stood insensibly on the same spot, gazing senselessly into the distance, having forgotten the road, and all the reprimands that lay ahead of [me], and the scoldings for the delay, having forgotten [myself], and the office, and the world, and all there is in the world.” Until this point (about a quarter of the way in) I was wholly enjoying the narrative, but it was here that my heart melted, and all I wanted to do was commiserate with the characters on the page… to know them and to be known and not feel “like a familyless wayfarer… left alone in the middle of the road.” Bitterly did I feel my solitude at this point, but I cannot deny that I certainly *felt* for the first time in this journey, and it was glorious turning point in my ability to connect with this story. Where, however, did those feelings lead me? There was little I found in the remainder of the story that drew me toward Chichikov in such a fashion as that excerpt. I went on and on about the universality of man as presented in these narratives above, yet I see the words I put on the page and feel as though I am still only looking for the universality of myself. If there is no object for one’s desire, it is at least minimally helpful to believe that others, no matter the separation of time, distance, or reality empathize with a true understanding and, in that empathy, become united with me. Despite his multiple warnings against solitude Gogol did not, however, simply speak to matters of the heart. I felt like this was also a story of motivation… what causes us to think, to feel, to act in a certain manner. What affects our success or our failure? Not less than twice does Gogol warn of the dangers of acting without first being firmly rooted in a Truth. “…a man’s goal is never defined until he finally sets a firm foot on solid ground, and not on some freethinking chimera of youth,” and, “how can you walk if not down a path; how can you drive if there’s no ground under you; how can you float if the bark isn’t in the water? And life is a journey.” Yet how is it that we define that goal once we’ve found our footing? How do we choose the path down which we will walk? Or is that path chosen for us? I, once again, fall back into my heart when Gogol notes that, “there are passions that it is not for man to choose. They are born with him at the moment of his birth into this world, and he is not granted the power to refuse them. They are guided by a higher destiny, and they have in them something eternally calling, never ceasing through one’s life.” Could it really be that these Dead Souls were poor Chichikov’s eternal passion? The argument certainly exists! Though this seedy underhanded character who, “think[s] not about not doing wrong, but only about having no one say [he] is doing wrong,” certainly seems driven by the desire for worldliness, he never can quite escape his underlying desire for companionship, for family, and for wholeness. He cannot escape his desire to leave a mark on his beloved country for his country, for posterity, and for himself. Unfortunately, however, Chichikov ultimately loses himself. While we do not, of course, know Gogol’s eventual intentions for his “hero,” I find it difficult to believe that Chichikov would have been successful in his drive to complete himself in a meaningful way as he had simply fallen too far down the rabbit hole of selfishness and temporal pursuit. I want so desperately to fall into the place where, “it happens that a man sometimes sees such a thing in a dream, and afterwards he dwells on this dream all his life, reality is lost to him forever, and he is decidedly good for nothing anymore.” I want to follow that passion with which I was born. I want to chase the splendid carriage with golden harness. I feel Gogol saying to me that this blind and complete devotion can, however, lead one to failure as well – especially if one has forced a direction and inadvertently(?) chosen the wrong goal. Does Chichikov replace his true desire with his worldliness? I feel he does, and how easy it is to fall into this trap. How easy it can be to misplace your born passion or not see it until it is too late – especially if your foot is not yet set on firm ground. This, to me, was Gogol’s warning to us. It is a warning that many of us do not receive in time, if ever. A warning I hope, finally, to heed. Chichikov does eventually come around, albeit, too late… he realizes his desire for a “frolicsome lad and a beautiful daughter…” he understands, finally, that only in this way… only in communion… only in family… only in truth and in love can, “everyone know that he had indeed lived and existed, and had not merely passed over the earth like some shadow or ghost.” I believe that he recognized his folly and his futility for he realizes that, “much came into his head of the sort that so often takes a man away from the dull present moment, frets him, teases him, stirs him, and gives him pleasure even when he himself is sure that it will never come true.” That is pure Truth… pure depression, and pure acceptance of a fulfilling Truth, but only at the point where he has given up. The tragedy being that, even in his realization, he does not change his ways but continues to pursue the ephemeral and transient pleasures of the world. His most lucid acceptance of his true desire comes only when he feels he has lost. I want to believe it was a true epiphany, but he mind immediately wanders back to the mundane – I find it difficult to have hope for him. So now what? Will it be that, “starting tomorrow [I’ll] begin a new life, starting tomorrow [I’ll] begin doing everything as I ought to, starting tomorrow [I’ll] go on a diet…?” I doubt it. Tomorrow, “by the evening… [I will] overeat so much that [I] just blink [my] eyes and can’t move [my] tongue, [I] sit like an owl staring at everybody.” Perhaps I will do that right now as I imagine the carriage riding away. But that can’t possibly be the lesson, can it? I could talk about the importance (or not) of money… I could talk about the misogyny in the book, I could try, again, to tie together the ideas applicable to the everyman, or I could lament the fact that reading this felt like watching Metropolis with all of its lost scenes. But I can’t. I think my takeaway is simply to be aware, to try to understand myself, and my motivations. To understand what is important and chase that, and to not allow myself to slip into a place willful blindness and indifference to the things that actually create a life. The satire of man’s pursuit of wealth and the justification of his actions is at least as relevant in 21st century America as it was in 19th century Russia. That we all long for completeness and often find that true longing overshadowed by a society that tells us fulfillment can be found in the world is a timeless battle that will forever be raging. And I, like you, am simply another soldier in that battle hoping to make it home alive.

The title sounds depressing, but this is a very wry and outlandish critque of 19th century governance and society.

Haven't read it yet but the condition of book is good. It was cheaper compared to other hardcover edition and yet a better option (everyman's library publishers) than others.

Classick.

The Everyman's Library books are addicting for so many reasons. The chronology of the author's life provided alongside of world and literary events and the editors notes at the beginning put life and much more life into the novel itself. Now that I'ver read at least 6 of the author's novels, I'm addicted to his writing as well.

Not ordinary. Everyone should read.