This review is written with
a GPL 4.0 license and the rights contained therein shall supersede
all TOS by any and all websites in regards to copying and sharing
without proper authorization and permissions. Crossposted at
WordPress & Blogspot by Bookstooge’s Exalted Permission
Title: The Death of Ivan Ilyich
Series:
(The Russians)
Author: Leo Tolstoy
Translator:
Rating: 3 of 5 Stars
Genre:
Classic
Pages: 82
Words: 22K
While I found this engaging and well written (ie, translated), I also had issues with it on multiple levels.
On a literary level, Ilyich is an unpleasant man who becomes even more unpleasant as he sees his death approaching. I did not enjoy reading about him. And as he got sicker and became more and more unpleasant and unbearable, it was not cathartic knowing he was going to die. The story starts AFTER his death and even that was unpleasant as the people he associated with were just as unpleasant as him.
On a spiritual level, I also found this unpleasant. Ivan Ilyich is dying and somehow magically sees God’s Plan and loses all fear of death, or something like that. There wasn’t one mention of Jesus Christ or His death, resurrection and redemption of humanity. This is one ongoing issue I have with old time’y Russians who claim to be Christians. Most of their spiritually is as mystical and unknowable as any pagan religion. This was one of the more egregious examples and it totally rubbed me the wrong way.
Thankfully, at just over 80 pages it didn’t last long. I’m glad I read this but like a lot of these Russian novellas, have no plans to ever re-read it.
★★★☆☆
From Wikipedia.org
Ivan Ilyich lives a carefree life that is "most simple and most ordinary and therefore most terrible." Like everyone he knows, he spends his life climbing the social ladder. Enduring marriage to a woman whom he often finds too demanding, he works his way up to be a magistrate, thanks to the influence he has over a friend who has just been promoted, focusing more on his work as his family life becomes less tolerable.
While hanging curtains for his new home one day, he falls awkwardly and hurts his side. Though he does not think much of it at first, he begins to suffer from a pain in his side. As his discomfort grows, his behavior towards his family becomes more irritable. His wife finally insists that he visit a physician. The physician cannot pinpoint the source of his malady, but soon it becomes clear that his condition is terminal (although no diagnosis is ever stated by the physician.) Confronted with his terminal condition, Ivan attempts every remedy he can to obtain a cure for his worsening situation, until the pain grows so intense that he is forced to cease working and spend the remainder of his days in bed. Here, he is brought face to face with his mortality and realizes that, although he knows of it, he does not truly grasp it.
During the long and painful process of dying, Ivan dwells on the idea that he does not deserve his suffering because he has lived rightly. If he had not lived a good life, there could be a reason for his pain; but he has, so pain and death must be arbitrary and senseless. As he begins to hate his family for avoiding the subject of his death, for pretending he is only sick and not dying, he finds his only comfort in his peasant boy servant, Gerasim, the only person in Ivan's life who does not fear death, and also the only one who, apart from his own son, shows compassion for him. Ivan begins to question whether he has, in fact, lived a good life.
In the final days of his life, Ivan makes a clear split between an artificial life, such as his own, which masks the true meaning of life and makes one fear death, and an authentic life, the life of Gerasim. Authentic life is marked by compassion and sympathy, the artificial life by self-interest. Then "some force" strikes Ivan in the chest and side, and he is brought into the presence of a bright light. His hand falls onto his nearby son's head, and Ivan pities his son. He no longer hates his daughter or wife, but rather feels pity for them, and hopes his death will release them. In so doing, his terror of death leaves him, and as Tolstoy suggests, death itself disappears.
