L u a n a

The Master and Margarita takes place in the same setting where it was written- the USSR at the height of the Stalinist period. During that time, artists had to work under strict censorship and were often subject to imprisonment, exile and sometimes even death. Thus, for Bulgakov, there was never any question of publishing the novel, especially one that is consistently and comically critical of authorities. And yet, almost three decades after his death, the book was in fact published, thus becoming an enduring example of how defiant, powerful and indestructible art is. “Manuscripts don’t burn”.  So, what is this book really about? Well, just imagine one spring afternoon in Moscow, when without preamble, in walks Satan with his fascinating retinue of demons. Weaving themselves out of the shadows, they create their own brand of creative mischief. The result is utter chaos in which all sense of reality is completely lost. But it is also a story of Pontius Pilate in ancient Jerusalem as he presides over Jesus’s trial and eventually spends the rest of his life wishing to erase his inaction. It is a story of love between a Master and a Witch but also a fantastical satire of Soviet Russia and Soviet bureaucracy. And it is much more than that. The book mainly explores the ambiguity of good and evil. Woland’s evil manifestations contrast greatly with his force of good in reuniting the Master and Margarita. What would the world be without shadows? Exceedingly bright and painful to our eyes. Each character is too complex to fit inside a simple framework of good and evil, even though it is quite tempting to do so since it’s easier for us to take sides. But we have to admit that no one is one shade of colour, and it is only limiting our sense of who we are by doing so.  “What would your good do if evil didn’t exist, and what would the earth look like if all the shadows  disappeared? After all, shadows are cast by things and people. Here is the shadow of my sword. But shadows also come from trees and living beings. 
Do you want to strip the earth of all trees and living things just because of your fantasy of enjoying naked light?”

July 🌿

Not To Read is a collection of Alejandro Zambra's dispersed thoughts and notes written across the years; mainly book reviews and discussions on reading and writing. His focus is mainly on Latin American literature, dismissing prominent names while shedding light on many lesser known writers who have shaped his reading throughout the years. You could say that Not To Read is an antidote to prescribed reading. School is associated with obligatory reading; we are taught to read in a certain way and with a particular aim. Zambra's approach is altogether more ambivalent. He criticizes the way literature was taught in Chile, how books were ‘beaten into’ the students and how he managed to extricate himself from this confined idea. In his writing Zambra engages with literature from every angle: reading books, buying books, writing books. It feels like I’m reading a collection of letters from an old friend, one who understand my love for literature. #currentlyreading

Madonna in a Fur Coat recounts the story of Raif Bey, a young Turkish student who falls in love with Maria Puder, an artist in 1920s Berlin. Their love story has a beautiful inception: Raif becomes completely bewitched by Maria’s self portrait in an art gallery. Written with such poignancy and introspection, this story is unlike anything I’ve read in a while. Raif is an extremely shy and despondent character and one whose reflections I’ve found particularly relatable. He prefers dreams to the real world and his shyness is often mistaken for foolishness. He erects a barrier of ordinariness that allows him to roam the world without attracting too much attention. “It is perhaps easier to dismiss a man whose face gives no indication of an inner life”. This neutrality precludes any form of curiosity from people who might inadvertently stumble upon a wealth of treasure underneath. Because if anyone dared to look, they would realise that “beneath each surface lies another realm, in which a caged mind whirls alone.” The main theme of this novel is human connection. Reminiscent of John Donne’s poem ‘No Man is an Island’, it emphasises the idea that without human relationships, life is meaningless. Yet the irony lies in the fact that humans themselves are the ones who end up severing this connection. How quickly people assume and judge. How quickly they label and throw away anything that does not immediately pique their interest. “Why, when we are reluctant even to describe a wedge of cheese we are seeing for the first time, do we draw our final conclusions from our first encounters with people, and happily dismiss them?” This is why Raif spends most of his life hiding from people, and repressing his creativity and artistic urges, knowing that painting was a mode of self-expression. It is only through Raif’s diary that we learn about his life and his encounter with Maria. These two lost souls united briefly, yet the memories “were rich enough to fill an entire lifetime”. Through their relationship, the novel becomes a philosophical debate on the nature of love, with an unorthodox dissection of gender, and a search for humanity and that which makes us unique.

New cover artwork for Yet So As By Fire: A Passion Play in Two Acts by Anton Bonnici @demon_potter available from leading online bookstores. // Ink on paper

Reading Updates: -Completely enthralled by Bulgakov’s writing. The Master and Margarita is one of my favorite books and this particular reread is revealing depths and nuances to the story that I hadn’t noticed before. -Just started Madonna in a Fur Coat by Sabahattin Ali, a novel about a Turkish man who falls in love with an artist in 1920s Berlin. The writing has depth and poignancy that I haven’t come across in a while. How about you? x

Recent purchases from @malliadamatobooksstaff an independent online bookstore with a wonderfully curated selection of books, from classics to contemporary fiction and poetry. Companion Piece by Ali Smith is a companion to her previously published Seasonal Quartet and deals with contemporary issues, mainly the pandemic. The Years by Annie Ernaux is a personal narrative from the 1940s to 2006, along with a compilation of images that merge into political, social, aesthetic, and intellectual events. The Unwomanly Face of War by Svetlana Alexievich brings together the experiences of women on the front line, the home front, and occupied territories during the second World War. They are the stories of women who did their duty despite the pain, humiliation, and negative judgement. Looking forward to read all of these soon!

Drive Your Plow is not your conventional murder mystery novel. In fact, who-done-it becomes abundantly clear from the start. What makes it interesting however are the characters and themes discussed throughout. Set in a secluded Polish village right on the Czech-Polish border, a middle aged astrologist battles with arrogant authorities and a bloodthirsty hunting culture as a slew of murders take place in the area. The woman's love for animals surpasses any feeling she might possess for human beings and ardently believes that animals are intelligent enough to be the ones committing revenge on the local hunters. Amongst the plethora of contemporary issues discussed in the novel, Tokarczuk particularly spotlights the anthropogenic impact on the environment, animal cruelty, and issues of double standards and questionable morals, specifically the way people view their position in the environment and amongst each other. “Who divided the world into useless and useful, and by what right? Does a thistle have no right to life, or a Mouse that eats the grain in a warehouse? What about Bees and Drones, weeds and roses? Whose intellect can have had the audacity to judge who is better, and who worse? A large tree, crooked and full of holes, survives for centuries without being cut down, because nothing could possibly be made out of it. […]Everyone knows the profit to be reaped from the useful, but nobody knows the benefit to be gained from the useless.” Who are we to define who or what is useful? These questions pervade the whole novel and bring to light the hypocrisy of political and religious elites. Nature teaches us that each species, no matter how small, has an important role to play. Society however has a tendency to cast aside the people it considers invaluable and unable to contribute to the betterment of the community. It belittles older people, those without a profitable career or wealth. It kills animals just for the fun of it or because its part of the culture. This novel reminds us of our roots. That we’re a part of something huge and complex, and that our actions can devastate just as much as they can rehabilitate.

“The tongue may hide the truth but the eyes—never!” Bulgakov, The Master and Margarita Graphite and charcoal on Moleskine sketchbook; Unsplash photo reference: Perchek Industrie

“Nostalgia in reverse, the longing for yet another strange land, grew especially strong in spring.”Nabokov Last Spring days ft. Bulgakov’s masterpiece. I’ve missed Woland and his retinue so here I am rereading it 🤍

Artful hovers on the boundary between fact and fiction. While meditating on time, form, edge, and reflection as experienced through literature and art, Ali Smith also recounts a story of grief and mourning and how imagination can bring a loved one back from the grave. It is both a conversation between two lovers: the dead and the bereaved, and also a dialogue between the writer and the reader. I was particularly enthralled with her discussion about books and time. “Time means. Time will tell. It’s consequence, suspense, morality, mortality”. We sense a direction of time, always flowing, moving forward. A world without the perception of time is a world without change, suspended, completely unimaginable. Maybe that is why the narrator’s imagined dead lover still undergoes decay, because deterioration is another manifestation of time. Time follows a sequence and brings about a steady passing of events which in turn create a story. Since a sequence is a chain where everything is connected, then a book that has been written in the present is in some way related to others written before it. “Books are produced by books more than by writers; they’re a result of all the books that went before them. Great books are adaptable; they alter with us as we alter in life, they renew themselves as we change and re-read them at different times in our lives”. Heraclitus of Ephesus observed that, if we bathe twice in the same river, neither we nor the river are the same: “everything flows.” So we cannot step into the same book twice. The book cannot step into the same reader twice. We are different from who we were back then. We change with time just as books change us over time. This close-knit relationship we have with time and literature is intricate and indispensable. So it’s truly surprising how we treat books so lightly in contemporary culture. “We’d never expect to understand a piece of music on one listen, but we tend to believe we’ve read a book after reading it just once.”

‘What about me?’ said Grantaire. ‘I’m here.’ ‘You?’ ‘Yes, me.’ ‘You? Rally Republicans! You? In defence of principles, fire up hearts that have grown cold!’ ‘Why not?’ ‘Are you capable of being good for something?’ ‘I have the vague ambition to be,’ said Grantaire. ‘You don’t believe in anything.’ ‘I believe in you.’ Les Misérables is teeming with complex relationships and interesting character dynamics but the one that fascinates me the most is the relationship between Enjolras and Grantaire. On one hand we have the fiery revolutionary leader and on the other, the perpetually drunk and cynical hanger-on. “There are men who seem to be born to be the reverse, the obverse, the wrong side[...] Grantaire was the obverse of Enjolras”. Grantaire adores Enjolras the way a dog looks towards his owner and he is one of the main reasons why he joins the Friends of the ABC. Enjolras disdains him for his skepticism and drunkenness and rejects him outright, but he is never able to fully discourage the man’s presence since he is always met with stubbornness and sarcasm. In the end, despite all this, Grantaire does declare himself to be one of the insurgents...in his own way. “Do you permit it?” was not simply a question of consent. I am thinking of rereading Les Misérables soon. I’m still debating however whether I should read the same translation by Christine Donougher or attempt the one by Lee Fahnestock and Norman Macafee. Thoughts? x