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nicktraynor 's review for:
Dead Souls
by Nikolai Gogol
There is as much of interest in the circumstances surrounding the genesis, production and partial destruction of this novel as in the story itself. The central idea was entrusted by Pushkin himself to Gogol, it was written in alternations of messianic inspiration and self-abnegating despair, and the manuscript of the second part was largely destroyed in a fit of religious repentance, with the third part never begun. Gogol too was consumed in his own flame, in an event intimately connected with part two's combustion. What we are left with is the spangling hilarity and psychological penetration of the polished first part, and snatches of the development of the story in the more sombre second part, the remaining sections of which are obviously an early draft.
Fittingly, I think, the most luminescent section of the novel describes, in fevered detail, the garden of the landowner Plyushkin, surely named in homage to the novel's benefactor. There were so many moments where I laughed, where I read in admiration of a Russian intelligence flashing its special brand of brilliance, and where I acknowledged the author's insight into human behaviour and minds, transcendent of national borders.
A particularly amusing line I noted: "they had quarrelled violently over some young woman, as fresh and firm as a juicy turnip" typifies Gogol's droll humour.
It is a truly great shame that Gogol's vision went unfulfilled, but a comfort that the first part was finished and preserved. Gogol was never really able to articulate the means of salvation with which he hoped to guide the future course to glory for his countrymen, but who has been able to achieve such a goal?
Fittingly, I think, the most luminescent section of the novel describes, in fevered detail, the garden of the landowner Plyushkin, surely named in homage to the novel's benefactor. There were so many moments where I laughed, where I read in admiration of a Russian intelligence flashing its special brand of brilliance, and where I acknowledged the author's insight into human behaviour and minds, transcendent of national borders.
A particularly amusing line I noted: "they had quarrelled violently over some young woman, as fresh and firm as a juicy turnip" typifies Gogol's droll humour.
It is a truly great shame that Gogol's vision went unfulfilled, but a comfort that the first part was finished and preserved. Gogol was never really able to articulate the means of salvation with which he hoped to guide the future course to glory for his countrymen, but who has been able to achieve such a goal?