This is about the adventures of Chichikov, who trolls around the Russian countryside trying to buy dead souls from landowners. Though he is referred to as "our hero" he's definitely not a traditional kind of hero, but the personable narrator explains those perfect characters are boring anyway. So most of Gogol's characters have flaws, but that is so we can see ourselves in them. He has an excellent eye for detail and that really enriches the characters and makes it fun to watch Chichikov play off them as he sneakily tries to get their dead souls. Most of these encounters are funny, from the bland nice Manilov to the bearlike, people-hating Sobakevich. Nozdryov is a highlight with his compulsive lying and fucking people's shit up but still being friendly. I also really liked the narrator and how he'd wait until Chichikov is asleep to go off ono a tangent, or his justifications for writing about the kind of people he writes about, or his thoughts on believed Rus! Russians are obsessed with their special national character it seems, but they aren't afraid to mention their tragic flaws. At the end of Volume I Russia is compared to the racing troika, speeding away out of control, no one knows where she is going and she will not answer. Maybe the novel just should have ended there, after all the plot was tied up so nicely with Chichikov running out of town. Part II wasn't nearly as good, but that's because it's unfinished. It lacks focus and even Chichikov is admittedly not the same as before. It's also hard with the abrupt page breaks. Although there is some good material there, I wish it had been completed to see the point of it all. But overall this is a great book- satirical but also patriotic, and madcap but meaningful! ( )

I actually listened to the Librivox recording of this book, but I didn't find a record for that version.

The audio version I listened to was read by multiple people with varying degrees of skill--some I enjoyed, the others not as much. The recording was of a translation by D. J. Hogarth.

Beyond the issue of the reading, though, the story itself was not that interesting to me, and I stopped listening to it about a quarter of the way through. While I could appreciate the irony and humor in Gogol's writing, his style just was not for me. Ultra-detailed, the descriptions just went on and on, and the main character seemed to be following the same general scheme multiple times over. On top of that, I didn't really like the main character--oh, I know he is supposed to be a scoundrel, but there wasn't even anything that made me want to be on his side.

Meh. Poor Gogol. I did find the introduction about the author's life interesting, but he fretted too much about getting every detail right, and in the end all that it produced was an incredibly intricate (and incomplete) story about a guy I didn't like. ( )

I still can't decide whether 'Dead Souls' was the perfect book to read over Brexit Day or just the opposite. It's a peculiar and disorientating reading experience, not least because there are various parts missing that make the pacing rather erratic. Its pessimistic cynicism certainly fitted my mood on Brexit day. The narrative follows Chichikov, who can be charitably described as entrepreneurial. In his determination to make money, he laboriously tours Russia with his two servants attempting to purchase dead serfs. My initial theory as to why he was doing this was that he could sell them to the army and skim off funds for provisioning a non-existent regiment. As it turned out, his scheme was slightly less elaborate than that, but equally dubious. The reader follows Chichikov into an unnamed provincial town, where he immediately makes friends and enemies that prove about equally unhelpful to him.

Gogol certainly has a genius for depicting plausibly terrible people, notably the dissolute liar Nozdryov and the maddeningly obsequious Manilov, not to mention that terrible miser whose name I forget. What's wonderful about these three characters and others is that their speeches and quirks make them so convincing, thus simultaneously horrifying and sympathetic in their pathos. I'm surely not the only reader to think, "I've met this very guy at a party and what a pain in the arse he was." Chichikov himself is complex enough to be genuinely difficult to make judgements of. Considering what the society he grew up in made of others he encounters, the man himself seems positively reasonably and his actions relatively comprehensible. This is not to call them laudable. Every person depicted in 'Dead Souls' is full of flaws and Gogol periodically interjects to ascribe this to Russia's national character. Not that he considers any other country to be superior. What makes such pervasive cynicism digestible for the reader, though, is the mordant humour. 'Dead Souls' is very funny, full of dry observations and dialogue that punctures pomposities. I particularly loved the rumour that Chichikov was Napoleon in disguise. A subtle and serious critique of corruption and venality is tempered with jokes about food and dogs. At one point a baby throws up on Chichov, ruining his coat.

As for what reminded me of Brexit:

These officials are strange gentlemen, although they have all the requisite qualifications: after all they knew very well that Nozdryov was a liar and that not a word he said, even on a trivial subject, could be believed, and yet they resorted to him. Try and make sense of a human being: he may not believe in God, but he believes that if the bridge of his nose itches then he is going to die; he will ignore something a poet has created, as clear as daylight, imbued with harmony and the lofty wisdom of simplicity, but he will enthuse over some fearless ignoramus who obscures, tangles, twists, and perverts nature, and he'll start screeching with pleasure, "That's real knowledge of the innermost secrets of the heart for you!" He'll hold doctors in contempt all his life and end by turning to a pleasant wise woman who will treat him with whispered spells and magic dollops of spit or, better yet, himself invent some concoction of God knows what rubbish, which he will imagine to be, God knows why, the right medicine for his illness. One can, of course, to a certain extent forgive the officials because of their genuinely difficult situation.

Gogol's writing is uncomfortably perceptive and he is frank enough to say he won't write female characters because he doesn't understand them. (If only Hemingway had that level of self-awareness.) 'Dead Souls' is full of interesting historical details, while also offering a timeless analysis of human failings. It is perhaps fitting that the edition I read ends abruptly mid-sentence, in the midst of a speech that begs officials to lay aside their corrupt ways. I don't think the reader is expected to think this will have a lasting effect; appeals to people's better nature avail little in the world depicted here. ( )

To be clear, Volume one of this book is a 5 star work, no question about it, and I would venture to guess it is solely upon this part of the book that Dead Souls reputation as a classic rests. So rare is it to find a work of art, even among the very best works, where you feel like the creator is right there with you, leading you along the winding path of their work, and you are able to completely relinquish yourself to the process of absorbing what they have made. Gogol achieves this effect in Vol. 1. This was clearly an artist that felt no pressure to make his story conform to any convention, and simply follows his interests towards wherever they might take them. Interspersed with extremely funny scenes (all the more impressive for having survived 200 years of interceding time as well as translation across culture and language) we get meditation on the psychology of humanity, reflections on the state of Russia, and beautifully vibrant descriptions of scenes and landscapes. The plot isn’t of great importance here as each new encounter Chichikov has with the sundry noblemen and landowners he meets along the way follow the same general pattern - what makes this a classic is the probably the same thing that raises every good story to the level of real art - the keen eye and capacious intellect of the artist.

I’m far from the first to think Vol. 2 is a big drop off - that’s general consensus it seems. Besides the fact that this part of the book seems only partially finished (so much so that my edition included more than a dozen footnotes denoting blank spaces in the manuscript or errors in continuity) it also loses the gleeful cynicism that makes Vol. 1 so funny and relatable, as people haven’t changed much in the intervening couple of centuries. Wikipedia tells me Gogol was a conservative, although like all the best satires, the political perspective of the creator isn’t important when it’s done right. Vol. 2 it’s easier to see where he was coming from, when Chichikov gets his comeuppance for all his slimy wheeling and dealing. Apparently Dead Souls was meant to be a kind of Divine Comedy, with Chichikov making his way from a good for nothing shister to a pious example of Russian morality. Maybe it’s just me, but I’m not so interested in this transformation, nor do I think writing this kind of story is where Gogol’s talent lies. There are a few scenes where the inspiration of Vol. 1 shines through, but not enough to save it from dragging. ( )

An intriguing, unfinished book (there are two volumes, with the second unfinished, and unreleasedin Gogol's lifetime). A satirical novel which explores Russian society, and particularly the ruling and landownding classes, in the early 19th century. In general, they are depicted as being some combination of weak, venal, idiotic, criminal, mean, gluttonous, etc., etc. It's pretty scathing, but in an cheery, good-natured way.

The main character, Chichikov, has a huge amount of energy and ambition for making his fortune through shady schemes. The main one he pursues through the book is the purchasing of dead peasants (the "Dead Souls" of the title) from estate owners - presumably so he could mortgage them, although that's not entirely clear (and I hoped, as I was reading, for a more creative use to reveal itself).

The book is sprawling, and kinda overlong by modern standards, but definitely has a modern feel to it. It is playful, and genuinely funny in parts.

The second volume is unfinished, and it is very strange reading a story that has unfinished sentences and, larger and larger chunks missing as you get toward the end. Your interest necessarily wanes, until you and the book just drift away from each other. It's like a amicable, mutual break-up. ( )