Reviews

“But ladies are least of all to be trusted” says Gogol, proving yet again the man has little love and no respect for any woman with another short story collection starting with a female character dooming a man, amongst stories of nagging wives and unreal ideal fantasy beauties with no souls (Gogol’s essay called, succinctly, “Women” seems to confirm the duality of women for Gogol - the ethereal ideal beauty employed as muse, and the corporeal creature unworthy of much attention; must have been a fun guy to be around as a woman).

But perhaps I am harsh. Gogol doesn't have that much love for his foolish men either. Nevsky Prospect alone is a story of two very foolish men, one in his romantic ideals and the other in his lustful desires, both writing their doom with how they'd like the world to be instead of seeing how it really is. Neither of the men really deserves the world to change for them, and I was quite glad to read how both of their stories went, the army man trounced in his arrogance, and the romantic shown the fool he was, and a misogynistic one at that, caring idealistically for the body and soul of the woman with no thought at all for her mind. Despise of sex work is heavy in the tale, but not all of it coming from the author, instead playing on the naive (and kinda offensive) beliefs of the idealistic young man. That the story doesn't really seem to believe in the good of his actions is commendable. I was pleasantly surprised by how much personality the sex worker had by the end, though I'm not sure Gogol viewed her as positively as I did.

And the portrayal/treatment of women in the other stories is somewhat better, though the best again when they're left untreated at all. Gogol’s favourite subject though is doomed men. Just like in Nevsky Prospect, but none are as doomed as the leads of The Diary of the Madman and The Overcoat.

Both stories are ultimately critical of the failures of Russian institutions of the time, in The Overcoat it's expressed in the raging inequality the lead has to face for a paltry overcoat, and then the absolute lack of care from anyone in power when it is lost, leaving him as hopeless and helpless as if he were all alone - which, let's not kid ourselves, he is.

And the Madman - if the owner of The Overcoat reacted to the merciless inequality of his society with deathly sickness, this man reacts by doing the only thing that could help him achieve what men of his position never do - by going mad.

He won't have it in real life anyway, might as well in the imaginary.

For a while it's funny, seeing the world so dedicatedly described through his mad mind and knowing all the while what others are really thinking of him. But of course the psychiatric system was as rotten as anything else and the madman has no more hope than the good eternal servant - the final part of the story is truly sad, and indescribably hopeless.

It does bother me a bit the way Gogol, not a stranger to the experience of the penniless saps he wrote about but not quite as hopeless, prefers to write about them so jokingly, creating a sense he doesn't really care much for their travails, or at least they're just part and parcel for his amused fancy.

It all became the most bothersome when I was reading (out of order as the last) part 1 of The Portrait - how cruel it is for a beneficiary of people with means to write of poverty-stricken lonely artists who sell their soul to the devil so cruelly while elevating an artist who gave their love to the art of painting - in Italy. Trust me, Gogol - the poor artist would have gladly gone to Italy and dedicated themself to painting, had they the money for the trip and survival. It is difficult to begrudge a poor person who's lucked into money holding on to it like there's no tomorrow - unless of course money's never been that much of a problem for you; pretty easy to despise money when you’ve never found reason to miss it.

Still, it is a poignant warning of selling out, of turning into what you hated, of becoming a self-defensive hypocrite who runs after whatever feels important in the moment with no care for any higher ideals. There are many of those who criticise others not because they really see something to criticise, but because to criticise is, for them, to defend themself, and oh how they feel they must defend themselves. Perhaps they are right, sometimes, but how indignant it is, and leaving aside the class troubles, The Portrait’s first part is a great story of one such arc, and a yearning creed for a higher being, and the price of becoming mundane.

Just pretty rich coming from a guy who often wrote whatever pleased the prevailing moods (even nationalistic garbage), but hey, there is some truth to it.

Part 2 feels then almost like a trifle, at first near meaningless in its disconnect, but it continues playing on the theme of artistic integrity, banging the drum for dedicating yourself to the good work and avoiding envy and all such that aids to one’s value of self but none of one’s work. It could still be almost its own work, its connection to the previous part honestly undermining its human value by turning it into the work of the devil. Still, there's some joy to be found in its layered narrative, the depth, and Gogol's oft-great way of writing.

The Nose I found the hardest to gel with, and reading on the possible interpretations on Wikipedia, it seems I'm not the only one, one literary critic after another trying to find something metaphorical or meaningful in it, coming up with the wildest things. They often succeed, as critics are wont to do, and it's not a bad tale, it's just pretty absurd and occasionally loses itself. There are some great moments though, but the selling point of finding your nose has achieved greater rank than you really isn't that big a part of it.

Still, this is the collection of stories during which I found myself really enjoying Gogol. From the previous collection I had really liked only one story, feeling the others subpar or outright horrid, but here each and every story is entertaining, witty, and has something poignant in it. There's considerable humour in quite a few, even when tinged with the heaviness of the subjects Gogol was daintily handling. I enjoyed the atmosphere of them all, and the chance to peek into the world of early 19th century Russia.

If we continue like this, I might actually genuinely start liking the man; and what will I think of myself then?

mimsen's review against another edition

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dark funny medium-paced

3.75

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