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.

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?

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.

Un livre essentiel

Edição lindíssima, de ótima qualidade dessa obra que é excelente! As ilustrações e o detalhe nas bordas das paginas deixam o livro ainda mais charmoso. A história já um clássico da literatura é uma das minhas favoritas e essa edição de aniversário fez jus a ela.Tive problemas com a entrega mas a Amazon resolveu de forma rapida.

Boken va trasig

bel libro, l'ho letto una volta con la traduzione in persiano ma il libro era in lingua originale quindi ho comprato questo per poter leggere tutta la storia

This was a book I had trouble putting down; it was entertaining cover to cover. Bulgakov's writing is very descriptive and had me laughing many times. Despite the fun and magical nature of the book, it had deep themes that held it together. The story of Pontius Pilate and Jesus, with its theme of questioning authority (Caesar) and serving a higher power, thereby undermining a powerful ruler, was a clever way of critiquing Russian leadership without being too on the nose about it. There were many elements to the book: love story, a satire of bureaucracy, freedom vs. authority, and magical entertainment. Overall, a very enjoyable read. The Penguin edition was excellent. Well priced, good quality text, and beautiful artwork across the cover. I Highly recommend buying this book.