Lives and Deaths: Essential Stories

Lives and Deaths: Essential Stories

Lives and Deaths: Essential Stories

Lives and Deaths: Essential Stories

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Overview

Fresh translations of Tolstoy's four richest shorter works by the award-winning Boris Dralyuk

Tolstoy's stories contain many of the most acutely observed moments in his monumental body of work. This new selection of his shorter works, sensitively translated by the award-winning Boris Dralyuk, showcases the peerless economy with which Tolstoy could render the passions and conflicts of a life.

These are works that take us from a self-interested judge's agonising deathbed to the bristling social world of horses in a stable yard, from the joyful vanity of youth to the painful doubts of sickness and old age. With unwavering precision, Tolstoy's eye brings clarity and richness to the simplest materials.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781782275428
Publisher: Steerforth Press
Publication date: 10/27/2020
Series: Essential Stories , #3
Sold by: Penguin Random House Publisher Services
Format: eBook
Pages: 224
File size: 367 KB

About the Author

About The Author
Leo Tolstoy (1828-1910) was born to an aristocratic family near Tula, Russia. After abandoning his studies he returned to live on his family's estate, later enlisting in the army and serving in the Crimean War. Over the course of his life, he wrote plays, dozens of short stories and many works of philosophy. He is now one of the most widely admired writers of all time.

Date of Birth:

September 9, 1828

Date of Death:

November 20, 1910

Place of Birth:

Tula Province, Russia

Place of Death:

Astapovo, Russia

Education:

Privately educated by French and German tutors; attended the University of Kazan, 1844-47

Read an Excerpt

The Death of
Ivan Ilyich
I
In the large building that housed the halls of
justice, during an adjournment in the Melvinsky
trial, the members of the court and the public prosecutor
gathered in the office of Ivan Yegorovich Shebek.
Their talk soon turned to the famous Krasovsky case.
Fyodor Vasilyevich grew heated, insisting on the
manifest lack of jurisdiction, Ivan Yegorovich wasn’t
swayed, while Pyotr Ivanovich, who had kept out
of the fray from the start, leafed through the latest
issue of the Gazette, which had just been delivered.
“Gentlemen,” he interrupted, “Ivan Ilyich is dead.”
“Can’t be…”
“Here, have a look,” he replied, handing the fresh,
still pungent pages to Fyodor Vasilyevich.
The announcement was bordered in black: “It
is with deepest sorrow that Praskovya Fyodorovna
Golovina informs relatives and friends of the demise
of her beloved spouse, Member of the Appellate
Court Ivan Ilyich Golovin, which occurred on 4th
February 1882. The funeral will be held on Friday,
at one o’clock in the afternoon.”
Ivan Ilyich had been a colleague of the assembled
gentlemen, well liked by all of them. He had been
ill for several weeks; they had heard the illness was
incurable. His position had been kept open, but it
was assumed that, in the event of his death, Alekseyev
would be appointed to replace him, while Alekseyev’s
position would be filled by either Vinnikov or Stabel.
And so, upon learning of Ivan Ilyich’s death, the
first thought that occurred to each of the gentlemen
gathered in the office concerned the potential
reassignments or promotions that this death might
occasion for the members themselves or for their
acquaintances.
Now I’ll surely be named to replace Stabel or Vinnikov,
thought Fyodor Vasilyevich. They’ve been promising me
a promotion for a long time. And it means a raise of eight
hundred roubles, along with an allowance.
I’ll have to apply for my brother-in-law’s transfer from
Kaluga, thought Pyotr Ivanovich. Yes, that ought to make
my wife very happy indeed. No more complaints about my
never doing anything for her family.

What People are Saying About This

From the Publisher

When literature has a Tolstoy, it is easy and gratifying to be a writer. Even if you are aware that you have never accomplished anything, you don't feel so bad, because Tolstoy accomplishes enough for everyone. —Anton Chekhov
The greatest of all novelists. —Virginia Woolf

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