The Death of Ivan Ilyich by Leo Tolstoy (English) Paperback Book

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A carefree Russian official has what seems to be a trivial accident...

FORMATPaperback LANGUAGEEnglish CONDITIONBrand New Publisher Description

46 new books in the bestselling Little Black Classics series, to celebrate the first ever Penguin Classic in 1946Launched in 2015, the extraordinarily successful Little Black Classics series has now sold nearly 1 million copies in the UK alone and over 2 million worldwide, making their way into retailers such as Tesco and the series' most popular book.This second batch of 46 titles includes authors and works new to the Penguin Classics list, as well as bite-sized tasters of the Classics' diverse global range - the unusual choices are guaranteed to get the media talking again'It is only a bruise'A carefree Russian official has what seems to be a trivial accident...One of 46 new books in the bestselling Little Black Classics series, to celebrate the first ever Penguin Classic in 1946. Each book gives readers a taste of the Classics' huge range and diversity, with works from around the world and across the centuries - including fables, decadence, heartbreak, tall tales, satire, ghosts, battles and elephants.

Notes

Part of a release of 46 new Little Black Classics to celebrate the anniversary of the first Penguin Classic in 1946.

Author Biography

Count Leo Tolstoy was born in 1828 at Yasnaya Polyana, in the Tula province, and educated privately. He studied Oriental languages and law at the University of Kazan, then led a life of pleasure until 1851 when he joined an artillery regiment in the Caucasus. He took part in the Crimean War and after the defence of Sebastopol he wrote The Sebastopol Sketches (1855-6), which established his reputation. After a period in St Petersburg and abroad, where he studied educational methods for use in his school for peasant children in Yasnaya Polyana, he married Sofya Andreyevna Behrs in 1862. The next fifteen years was a period of great happiness; they had thirteen children, and Tolstoy managed his vast estates in the Volga Steppes, continued his educational projects, cared for his peasants and wrote War and Peace (1869) and Anna Karenina (1877). A Confession (1879-82) marked a spiritual crisis in his life; he became an extreme moralist and in a series of pamphlets after 1880 expressed his rejection of state and church, indictment of the weaknesses of the flesh and denunciation of private property. His teaching earned him numerous followers at home and abroad, but also much opposition, and in 1901 he was excommuincated by the Russian Holy Synod. He died in 1910, in the course of a dramamtic flight from home, at the small railway station of Astapovo.

Review

 "The English-speaking world is indebted to these two translators." —Orlando Figes, The New York Review of Books"Excellent. . . . The duo has managed to convey the rather simple elegance of Tolstoy's prose." —The New Criterion"Pevear and Volokhonsky's new version is . . .  flexible individuated, immediate." —The Nation"Well translated. As a lover of Tolstoy's work, one couldn't ask for more, and I can't recommend it highly enough." —André Alexis, The Globe and Mail (Toronto)

Promotional

Laying humanity bare, these two devastating stories ask- is it possible to have a good death? And what does it mean to truly live?

Promotional "Headline"

Laying humanity bare, these two devastating stories ask- is it possible to have a good death? And what does it mean to truly live?

Excerpt from Book

CHAPTER 1 In the large building housing the Law Courts, during a recess in the Melvinsky proceedings, members of the court and the public prosecutor met in the office of Ivan Egorovich Shebek, where the conversation turned on the celebrated Krasov case. Fyodor Vasilyevich vehemently denied that it was subject to their jurisdiction, Ivan Egorovich clung to his own view, while Pyotr Ivanovich, who had taken no part in the dispute from the outset, glanced through a copy of the News that had just been delivered. "Gentlemen!" he said. "Ivan Ilyich is dead." "Really?" "Here, read this," he said to Fyodor Vasilyevich, handing him the fresh issue, still smelling of printer''s ink. Framed in black was the following announcement: "With profound sorrow Praskovya Fyodorovna Golovina informs relatives and acquaintances that her beloved husband, Ivan Ilyich Golovin, Member of the Court of Justice, passed away on the 4th of February, 1882. The funeral will be held on Friday at one o''clock." Ivan Ilyich had been a colleague of the gentlemen assembled here and they had all been fond of him. He had been ill for some weeks and his disease was said to be incurable. His post had been kept open for him, but it had been speculated that in the event of his death Alekseev might be appointed to his place and either Vinnikov or Shtabel succeed Alekseev. And so the first thought that occurred to each of the gentlemen in this office, learning of Ivan Ilyich''s death, was what effect it would have on their own transfers and promotions or those of their acquaintances. "Now I''m sure to get Shtabel''s post or Vinnikov''s," thought Fyodor Vasilyevich. "It was promised to me long ago, and the promotion will mean an increase of eight hundred rubles in salary plus an allowance for office expenses." "I must put in a request to have my brother-in-law transferred from Kaluga," thought Pyotr Ivanovich. "My wife will be very happy. Now she won''t be able to say I never do anything for her family." "I had a feeling he''d never get over it," said Pyotr Ivanovich. "Sad." "What, exactly, was the matter with him?" "The doctors couldn''t decide. That is, they decided, but in different ways. When I last saw him, I thought he would recover." "And I haven''t been there since the holidays. I kept meaning to go." "Was he a man of any means?" "His wife has a little something, I think, but nothing much." "Well, there''s no question but that we''ll have to go and see her. They live so terribly far away." "From you, that is. From your place, everything''s far away." "You see, he just can''t forgive me for living on the other side of the river," said Pyotr Ivanovich, smiling at Shebek. And with that they began talking about relative distances in town and went back to the courtroom. In addition to the speculations aroused in each man''s mind about the transfers and likely job changes this death might occasion, the very fact of the death of a close acquaintance evoked in them all the usual feeling of relief that it was someone else, not they, who had died. "Well, isn''t that something--he''s dead, but I''m not," was what each of them thought or felt. The closer acquaintances, the so-called friends of Ivan Ilyich, involuntarily added to themselves that now they had to fulfill the tedious demands of propriety by attending the funeral service and paying the widow a condolence call. Fyodor Vasilyevich and Pyotr Ivanovich had been closest to him. Pyotr Ivanovich had studied law with Ivan Ilyich and considered himself indebted to him. At dinner that evening he told his wife the news of Ivan Ilyich''s death, conjectured about the possibility of having her brother transferred to their district, and then, dispensing with his usual nap, he put on a dress coat and drove to Ivan Ilyich''s home. A carriage and two cabs were parked before the entrance. Downstairs in the hallway, next to the coat stand, a coffin lid decorated with silk brocade, tassels, and highly polished gilt braid was propped against the wall. Two women in black were taking off their fur coats. One of them he recognized as Ivan Ilyich''s sister; the other was a stranger. Schwartz, his colleague, was just starting down the stairs, but on seeing Pyotr Ivanovich enter, he paused at the top step and winked at him as if to say: "Ivan Ilyich has really bungled--not the sort of thing you and I would do." There was, as usual, an air of elegant solemnity about Schwartz, with his English side-whiskers and his lean figure in a dress coat, and this solemnity, always such a marked contrast to his playful personality, had a special piquancy here. So, at least, Pyotr Ivanovich thought. Pyotr Ivanovich stepped aside to let the ladies pass and slowly followed them up the stairs. Schwartz did not proceed downward but remained on the landing. Pyotr Ivanovich understood why; obviously, he wanted to arrange where they should play whist that evening. The ladies went upstairs to the widow''s quarters, while Schwartz, his lips compressed into a serious expression and his eyes gleaming playfully, jerked his brows to the right to indicate the room where the dead man lay. Pyotr Ivanovich went in bewildered, as people invariably are, about what he was expected to do there. The one thing he knew was that on such occasions it never did any harm to cross oneself. He was not quite certain whether he ought also to bow and so he adopted a middle course: on entering the room he began to cross himself and make a slight movement resembling a bow. At the same time, to the extent that the motions of his hands and head permitted, he glanced about the room. Two young people, apparently nephews, one of them a gymnasium student, were crossing themselves as they left the room. An old woman was standing motionless. And a lady with peculiarly arched brows was whispering something to her. A church reader in a frock coat--a vigorous, resolute fellow--was reading something in a loud voice and in a tone that brooked no contradiction. The pantry boy, Gerasim, stepped lightly in front of Pyotr Ivanovich, sprinkling something about the floor. Seeing this, Pyotr Ivanovich immediately became aware of a faint odor of decomposition. On his last visit Pyotr Ivanovich had seen this peasant boy in Ivan Ilyich''s study; he had acted as a sick nurse to the dying man and Ivan Ilyich had been particularly fond of him. Pyotr Ivanovich went on crossing himself and bowing slightly in a direction midway between the coffin, the church reader, and the icons on a table in the corner. Then, when he felt he had overdone the crossing, he paused and began to examine the dead man. The body lay, as the dead invariably do, in a peculiarly heavy manner, with its rigid limbs sunk into the bedding of the coffin and its head eternally bowed on the pillow, exhibiting, as do all dead bodies, a yellow waxen forehead (with bald patches gleaming on the sunken temples), the protruding nose beneath seeming to press down against the upper lip. Ivan Ilyich had changed a great deal, grown even thinner since Pyotr Ivanovich had last seen him, and yet, as with all dead men, his face had acquired an expression of greater beauty--above all, of greater significance--than it had in life. Its expression implied that what needed to be done had been done and done properly. Moreover, there was in this expression a reproach or a reminder to the living. This reminder seemed out of place to Pyotr Ivanovich, or at least inapplicable to him. He began to feel somewhat uncomfortable and so he crossed himself hurriedly (all too hurriedly, he felt, from the standpoint of propriety), turned, and headed for the door. In the adjoining room Schwartz was waiting for him, his feet planted solidly apart, his hands toying with the top hat he held behind his back. One glance at his playful, well-groomed, elegant figure was enough to revive Pyotr Ivanovich. He felt that Schwartz was above all this and would not succumb to mournful impressions. His very appearance seemed to say: "In no way can the incident of this funeral service for Ivan Ilyich be considered sufficient grounds for canceling the regular session; that is, nothing can prevent us from meeting tonight and flipping through a new deck of cards while a footman places four fresh candles around the table. There is, in fact, no reason to assume this incident can keep us from spending a pleasant evening." And he said as much to Pyotr Ivanovich in a whisper, proposing they meet for a game at Fyodor Vasilyevich''s. But Pyotr Ivanovich was not destined to play cards that evening. Praskovya Fyodorovna, a short, stocky woman (far broader at the hips than at the shoulders, despite all her efforts to the contrary), dressed all in black, with a lace shawl on her head and with the same peculiarly arched brows as the woman facing the coffin, emerged from her chambers with some other ladies whom she showed to the door of the room where the dead man lay, and said: "The service is about to begin, do go in." Schwartz made a vague sort of bow, then stopped, neither accepting nor rejecting the invitation. Recognizing Pyotr Ivanovich, Praskovya Fyodorovna sighed, went right up to him, took his hand, and said: "I know you were a true friend of Ivan Ilyich''s . . ." and looked at him, awaiting a fitting response. Pyotr Ivanovich knew that just as he had to cross himself in there, here he had to press her hand, sigh, and say: "I assure you!" And so he did. And having done so felt he had achieved the desired effect: he was touched and so was she. "Come, before it begins, I must have a talk with you," said the wi

Details ISBN0241251761 Author Anthony Briggs Pages 128 Publisher Penguin Books Ltd Year 2016 ISBN-10 0241251761 ISBN-13 9780241251768 Format Paperback Publication Date 2016-03-03 Series Penguin Little Black Classics Media Book Place of Publication London Country of Publication United Kingdom Death 1910 DEWEY 891.733 Translated from Russian Edition 87th Imprint Penguin Classics Language English UK Release Date 2016-03-03 Translator Anthony Briggs Narrator Tom Judd Birth 19610722 Affiliation Associate Professor of Psychiatry, Bipolar Clinic and Reseach Program, Massachusetts General Hospital Position Associate Professor of Psychiatry Qualifications PsyD Alternative 9780241251775 Audience General NZ Release Date 2016-05-01 AU Release Date 2016-05-01 We've got this

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