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The Death of Ivan Ilyich and Other Stories (Anglais) Relié – 17 novembre 2009

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Hadji Murat


I was returning home through the fields. It was the very middle of summer. The meadows had been mowed, and they were just
about to reap the rye.

There is a delightful assortment of flowers at that time of year: red, white, pink, fragrant, fluffy clover; impudent marguerites; milk-white “love-me-love-me-nots” with bright yellow centers and a fusty, spicy stink; yellow wild rape with its honey smell; tall-standing, tulip-shaped campanulas, lilac and white; creeping vetch; neat scabious, yellow, red, pink, and lilac; plantain with its faintly pink down and faintly perceptible, pleasant smell; cornflowers, bright blue in the sun and in youth, and pale blue and reddish in the evening and when old; and the tender, almond-scented, instantly wilting flowers of the bindweed.

I had gathered a big bouquet of various flowers and was walking home, when I noticed in a ditch, in full bloom, a wonderful crimson thistle of the kind which is known among us as a “Tartar” and is carefully mowed around, and, when accidentally mowed down, is removed from the hay by the mowers, so that it will not prick their hands. I took it into my head to pick this thistle and put it in the center of the bouquet. I got down into the ditch and, having chased away a hairy bumblebee that had stuck itself into the center of the flower and sweetly and lazily fallen asleep there, I set about picking the flower. But it was very difficult: not only was the stem prickly on all sides, even through the handkerchief I had wrapped around my hand, but it was so terribly tough that I struggled with it for some five minutes, tearing the fibers one by one. When I finally tore off the flower, the stem was all ragged, and the flower no longer seemed so fresh and beautiful. Besides, in its coarseness and gaudiness it did not fit in with the delicate flowers of the bouquet. I was sorry that I had vainly destroyed and thrown away a flower that had been beautiful in its place. “But what energy and life force,” I thought, remembering the effort it had cost me to tear off the flower. “How staunchly it defended itself, and how dearly it sold its life.”

The way home went across a fallow, just-plowed field of black earth. I walked up a gentle slope along a dusty, black-earth road. The plowed field was a landowner’s, a very large one, so that to both sides of the road and up the hill ahead nothing could be seen except the black, evenly furrowed, not yet scarified soil. The plowing had been well done; nowhere on the field was there a single plant or blade of grass to be seen—it was all black. “What a destructive, cruel being man is, how many living beings and plants he annihilates to maintain his own life,” I thought, involuntarily looking for something alive amidst this dead, black field. Ahead of me, to the right of the road, I spied a little bush. When I came closer, I recognized in this bush that same “Tartar” whose flower I had vainly picked and thrown away.

The “Tartar” bush consisted of three shoots. One had been broken off, and the remainder of the branch stuck out like a cut-off arm. On each of the other two there was a flower. These flowers had once been red, but now they were black. One stem was broken and half of it hung down, with the dirty flower at the end; the other, though all covered with black dirt, still stuck up. It was clear that the whole bush had been run over by a wheel, and afterwards had straightened up and therefore stood tilted, but stood all the same. As if a piece of its flesh had been ripped away, its guts turned inside out, an arm torn off, an eye blinded. But it still stands and
does not surrender to man, who has annihilated all its brothers around it.

“What energy!” I thought. “Man has conquered everything, destroyed millions of plants, but this one still does not surrender.”

And I remembered an old story from the Caucasus, part of which I saw, part of which I heard from witnesses, and part of which I imagined to myself. The story, as it shaped itself in my memory and imagination, goes like this.

Revue de presse

"Tolstoy's prose is majestic, his pace measured, his characters unflinchingly true to life, his message bleak" (Guardian)

"The simplicity and power of this novella, the story of the terrible encroachment of death on a shallow man spiritually unprepared for it, has staggered millions" (Sunday Telegraph)

"I don't read Russian, but I think Tolstoy's writing comes over whatever translation you read...he wrote the great, terrible story The Death of Ivan Illyich" (Redmond O'Hanlon Independent)

"For me, the best insight into the process of dying comes from Leo Tolstoy in his short story, The Death of Ivan Ilych, which examines the life and death of the most ordinary man" (Oliver James Mail on Sunday) --Ce texte fait référence à une édition épuisée ou non disponible de ce titre.

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42 internautes sur 45 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
Pevear and Volokhonsky's Marvelous New Translation Captures the Spiritual Beauty of Tolstoy's Short Fiction 17 décembre 2009
Par The Cultural Observer - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Relié
Although Leo Tolstoy is primarily known for writing the juggernaut masterpieces Anna Karenina and War and Peace, readers venturing into the less formidable remainder of his canon will find within them the same incisive narrative clarity, that overarching symphonic structure, and those profound eternal questions that continue to immortalize him nearly a century after his death. His shorter fiction, while little resembling precise Chekhovian gems or pithy O. Henry exercises, encompasses a macrocosm of immense character and depth, highlighting more pronouncedly his work's finest qualities pared down to concision.

While the market is abundant with myriad editions of Tolstoy's stories, this new volume of his late fiction is particularly remarkable for the collaboration of translators Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky, both of whom have rendered critically acclaimed translations of great Russian classics. Seasoned readers of Dostoevsky will invariably direct neophytes to their landmark The Brothers Karamazov, considered today as definitive for mirroring the author's ironic humor, tortured spirituality, and most importantly, his language's cadence and tonality. At the turn of the millennium, the couple released their Anna Karenina, which later garnered international attention upon Oprah's promotion of the title in her book club. Two years ago, Pevear and Volokhonsky also published their hefty, beautiful version of War and Peace, enthralling readers of serious literature and becoming the subject of a four-week online discussion presided by the New York Times.

The eleven stories in this volume, all but one of which was written after Anna Karenina, signify a distinct change in artistic character--a spiritual crisis engendered when the author converted to Christianity--from Tolstoy's earlier novels. Pevear notes in his introduction that, "Here the conflicting claims of art and moral judgment strike a very difficult balance, and its precariousness is strongly felt." Although the polarities between the classes and the idyllic depictions of Russian life still command a presence in these stories, central to them now is the "confrontation with the mystery of death," which, though initially introduced through Anna Karenina's progressively "tragic atmosphere," emerges here as an unmistakably crucial motif.

For instance, in the titular novella, "The Death of Ivan Ilyich," Tolstoy concerns us with the presently deceased Ivan Ilyich, a judge whose life "was most simple and ordinary and most terrible." Though commencing as a focused reflection on the hero's death, the story gradually progresses as an examination of Ivan's life, tracing his ascent through the social hierarchy until a seemingly arbitrary injury begins to discomfit him. Upon realizing that he faces a terminal condition, his psyche similarly deteriorates, causing him to lash on his family until he alienates all but Gerasim, a servant boy, whose compassion moves him to question the true meaning of life.

With the dark and harrowing "The Kreutzer Sonata," Tolstoy tells a disturbing tale regarding the moral nature of love, sex, and seduction channeled through the story's mad narrator, Pozdnyshev. He tells us that, before marriage, he lived "in depravity," which he envisions more as a self-deprecating act of abstinence. After marrying his wife, both alternate between periods of passionate love and violent altercations. During the latter years of their union, she takes a liking to a dashing violinist, who invites her to participate in a duet by playing Beethoven's Kreutzer Sonata. The music's tension rouses a change in Pozdnyshev, who finds that it "affects one fearfully...in a provoking way." Returning later from a foreign trip, he comes home to find them together, and, in a fit of anger, murders his wife.

In "Master and Man," one of the author's most touchingly composed stories, a wealthy merchant, Vassily Andreich, and his muzhik companion, Nikita, are pitted against a treacherous whiteout that strands them during their circuitous wanderings towards another town. As master and man are confronted with the prospects of perishing in the cold, Vassily ruminates about the value of his societal contributions while regarding the unenterprising muzhiks as unworthy of grace; Nikita, on the other hand, ponders about his "ceaseless servitude" and how death might affect his place in society. As the snowstorm continues to batter them, Vassily is seized with a rapturous vision, and undergoes a startling transformation of character right before he expires.

While many of these display the fine-tuned prose of Tolstoy's maturity, the most unconventional hero of his authorship--and perhaps the finest creation of his pen--revolves not around a Russian compatriot wrestling with his tormented self, but rather, a Muslim warrior who, although by no means peaceable, stands as an essay on the art of the hero. "Hadji Murat," an artfully symmetrical creation that begins and ends with the scrutiny of a twig, tells a dramatically arresting tale of heroism about its eponymous Chechen rebel commander, who allies with the Russians after a falling-out with his imam.

Unlike the majority of Tolstoy's creations, many of who are deeply flawed and resignedly human, Hadji Murat is an epic hero streaked with uncommonly divine qualities--his daring, his warrior-like dexterity, his uncanny leadership, his heroic ethos, his wise understanding of reality, and his resignation of fate to God--that mark a departure from the author's conventional realization of character. Although death inevitably constitutes his destiny, he sees it not as an object of mystery, but instead for what it merely is--a physical detachment from the earthly realm. This apotheosis in character has never been more strongly defined in Tolstoy's oeuvre, and if it were to stand as the sole exponent of his art, it would still seal his reputation as one of literature's finest craftsmen.

Indeed, throughout this collection, life and death's many mysteries pose certain powerful questions that reflect the important ruminations of Tolstoy's art. As with "The Kreutzer Sonata," stories like "The Devil" and "Father Sergius" challenge us to think about the moral gravity of sex, lust, and love and the sometimes-drastic sacrifices we must make in order to achieve inner peace and happiness. Another story, an eccentric parable entitled "The Forged Coupon," recalls the corruption that laces an entire community when a young man, in desperation for money, dishonestly alters a coupon's face value. This bizarre ordeal is ironically settled only when one of the indicted attacks a old woman whose final mournful, yet spiritually poignant words engender a change of heart. And in a stroke that captures the author's nihilistic tendencies, "The Diary of a Madman" chronicles one man's descent into madness, his unwillingness to come to terms with spirituality, and a final association with a faith of his own invention that closely mimics Tolstoy's version of Christianity.

If Tolstoy's shorter fiction hardly approaches the impressive breadth he invested in his largest masterpieces, he manages to award his characters with a sense of spiritual destiny, with voices wrestling with truth, life, God, and morality. Though many of these morose creatures often face an inevitable end, they also dawn on the idea that happiness and truth are unattainable in this world. Rather, these characters come to the transcendent realization that redemption, if only by acknowledging the universal need for morality and truth, is possible for even the most tormented and flawed of us.
7 internautes sur 7 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
The Morality of Literature 20 juillet 2010
Par Gridley - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Relié Achat vérifié
I've previously posted on one long piece in this book - Hadji Murat - on my blog, Gridley Fires The remainder of this book is a collection of short stories selected by the book's translators, Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky, no doubt to show off the diversity in Tolstoy's story structure and subject matter. But in doing this, they've perhaps inadvertently selected stories that, except for a pair, depict Tolstoy's project of using story to demonstrate his views on morality and ethics.

Some of his moral depictions here (and almost all literature trifles with ethical dilemmas of the author's times, to one degree or another) are as subtly put as those modern by a hundred years. On the other hand, others are actually quite ham-handed. But more on this subject below.

The translators made these stories entertaining - not only by showing us the more timeless aspects of Tolstoy's literary thinking - but in herding them ever so gracefully into modern times via a more contemporary language that refuses to betray Tolstoy and the language of that time. As I've implied previously, these two translators are likely without peer in doing so.

Possibly since I'm a blue collar dude by sensibility, my favorite story (besides Hadji Murat) is Master and Man, in which a man of means, Vassily Andreich and a servant, Nikita, an older muzhik, or peasant, take off on a winter trip to another town with a snowstorm looming. The story is a masterwork of the dynamics between the two men, how they both complement one another and manage inherent class conflicts. As well, it depicts as deftly as any modern work might the ways in which Nikita belongs to nature, in which he understands, despite his usual drunken state, how to navigate nature in such times and how to yield to it in order to survive. Vassily, on the other hand, is headstrong to a fault, which proves his undoing in this Jack London-style story of man versus the elements.
5 internautes sur 5 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
The Death of Ivan Illyich and Other Stories 30 mars 2010
Par Jo Ann Circosta - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Relié Achat vérifié
Tolstoy's stories are classics, beautifully written and engaging. This collection is a classic. Whether you agree with the later
Tolstoy who could be somewhat rigid in his religiosity, his writing nevertheless is first rate.
3 internautes sur 3 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
A monumental tome of Tolstoy stories you probably haven't heard of. 3 septembre 2011
Par Jeffrey S. Larocque - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Broché
Tolstoy tried during the end of his life to simplify his writing from the gargantuan War and Peace to something that reflected his changing views on life and art. This change, a separate issue in itself, basically resulted in Tolstoy refocusing on more humanistic themes later in his life and simplifying his narratives to make them more powerful. After all the stylistic changes Tolstoy made, we get the results distilled into this book's short stories, many of which were made with this more consciously refined style in mind.

And it's a marked evolution. Every story thoroughly explores a deliberately focused theme through little more than simple narrative. Tolstoy, moralist that he is, always builds his characters and events around the most basic literary elements of humanity (dishonesty, loyalty, death), and his characters are usually guinea pigs created to be tested objectively in these situations, something like Chekhov but with a clearer message. Clear, lucid narrative and powerful themes make stories that are at least fascinating and, at best, enlightening. I really can't begin to do justice to his stories in a measly review because all the proof is in the reading.

Basically, if your life doesn't allow you the time to make the long-term commitment to War and Peace, satisfy yourself with these overlooked gems that the translators Pevear and Volokhonsky rightly recognized as needing a fresh translation for the new millennium. Get the hardcover edition because, if you're like me, you'll need something to hold up during a few re-readings of the best stories, and besides the binding obviously being solid, the texturing of the pages and cover and the size of the text raise it a cut above the average hardback edition. It's very pleasant just to hold, and besides, a recent translation of this quality deserves money to support more of the same great translations. Buy it! And thank the literature gods for Pevear and Volokhonsky reviving so many classics for our enjoyment.
2 internautes sur 2 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
Arguably some of the greatest stories ever put down on paper. 15 juillet 2013
Par simon belmont - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Broché Achat vérifié
Many people agree that The Beatles are the best band of all time (I'm actually not of this camp, but let's forget that for the sake of argument). However, imagine if The Beatles had a reputation as unlistenable, opaque, and virtually impenetrable. The first time you heard some actual songs by them, you'd be surprised at how easy it is to listen to them; the melodies are beautiful yet catchy, the instrumental parts well-structured and well-played.

This is the big surprise for me with Tolstoy. I've never come across an author, band, artist, etc. whose reputation is so contrary to their actual nature. Starting in childhood, we're told that War and Peace is an inaccessible tome of a novel. Tolstoy's prose is famously thought to be cold, formal, and difficult to get through.

This couldn't be further from the truth. Tolstoy's writing is beautifully flowing and sometimes even playful; his characters are well thought-out and sympathetic; the narrative motion of his stories is perfectly paced. This is not just true of this translation of some of his short stories, although Pevear and Volokhonsky seem particularly adept at honoring Tolstoy's gift with language.

At the danger of sounding fanatical, these stories are perfect. Literally nothing about them could be changed for the better. The volume begins with a fragment, Diary of a Madman, which discusses a religious man's breakdown. Parts of the story are even reminiscent of Sartre's Nausea, a book that came several decades later. There are two stories in the book that involve a realistic depiction of war: A Prisoner of the Caucuses and the novella Hadji Murad. I don't usually enjoy war writing, but Tolstoy has such a love for his characters, such a brutally honest and yet somehow optimistic view of human conflict, that these stories seem less about the actual logistics of war and more about man's contradictory disposition to violence.

The jewel of this book is the title story, The Death of Ivan Ilyich. I've recommended this story (among many others by Tolstoy) to several friends, and I've yet to find anyone who isn't in some way moved by it. The story involves a man who, at the end of his life, begins to question the choices he's made and how he's lived. Again, Tolstoy's compassion paints his characters as flawed but well-intentioned. If you have any doubts about this book, I'd recommend first reading The Death of Ivan Ilyich (even if it's an older translation -- some of these are even available online for free). The translation by Pevear and Volokhonsky is definitely superior, but the story is so strong that its genius is readily seen even in the older, stodgier translations.

Another thing that surprised me was the modern feel of Tolstoy's stories. These stories would be right at home in the 20th century literary canon -- sometimes it's even a shock when a character pulls up in a troika. You find yourself saying, "Oh, right -- this takes place in the 1800s." Because Tolstoy deals in morals and characters' subtle motivations, the writing is truly timeless.

Of course, once you read these stories, I'd recommend moving on to either Anna Karenina or War and Peace. Pevear and Volokhonsky have superb translations of both. And, when you come to the end of War and Peace, you'll have the same epiphany reached by most people who've read it: that this book, forever depicted as a cold, stern, tome, has some of the most beautifully depicted characters, the most involving and page-turning narratives, and the most memorable passages of any book you've ever read.

***One quick note: Many of the 1-star and 2-star reviews for this book claim it's full of errors and typos. However, if you look closely, you'll see that these reviews are actually for other Tolstoy compilations (which are also named for The Death of Ivan Ilyich), not for the P&V translation. For some reason Amazon lumps all these reviews together even though the books are vastly different. It's worth noting that, since Tolstoy's work is in the public domain, there are a lot of very shoddily put-together books of his stories.
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