Aylmer Maude

Leo Tolstoy

Complete and unabridged edition. First published in 1886.

The Death of Ivan Ilych

By the time he dies, Ivan Ilych has come to understand the worthlessness of his life. Paradoxically, this elevates him above the common man, who avoids the reality of death and the effort it takes to make life worthwhile. In Tolstoy's own words, "Ivan Ilyich's life had been . . . most ordinary and therefore most terrible." Newly designed and typeset in a modern 5.5-by-8.5-inch format by Waking Lion Press.

The Death of Ivan Ilyich

It was this living a lie, all around him and within him that did most to poison the last days in the life of Ivan Ilyich.

The Death of Ivan Ilyich (Naxos Complete Classics)

Iara Ferreira Figueira

Easy, fast paced, short, chill read. 

On the downside, however,

*Paranoid thoughts activated*

i want to revisit this book every 5-6 years, mortality feels so morbid and the thought of regretting ones live saddens me, lots to learn as i reread it with more perspective in the future, lots to examine about in my own life and how im prioritizing things

mimi nguyen

Meu primeiro contato com Tolstói não poderia ter sido mais transformador, um realismo psicológico que não condena mas quase nos induz ao erro, e a verdadeira tragédia é que nos reconhecemos com auspiciosa empatia. Como quem hackeia o código da existência, Liev vira Deus e através do verbo, pela fala, faz e refaz o mundo. Propositalmente arrastei a leitura por uma semana e pude vir a definhar e (um pouco) morrer junto com o personagem. Tudo era amargo, indigerível e toxico. Penso que pouquíssimas vezes a arte chegou perto de eliminar a impossibilidade de transmissão da dor. Dor essa que só compreende-se através da experimentação, e quão desesperador é não encontrar tradução ou empatia para com algo que nos dilacera e humilha. Aquele que observa a dor do outro pouco pode fazer além de acolher, então, a cegueira moral foi o que matou Ivan em vida? Por que justo esse homem, dentro todos os outros, não merecia a compaixão que se dá a quem não fez tanto ou pouco? O caminho que orgulhosamente teceu em vida é o motivo de derradeiros questionamentos até seu ultimo suspiro, antes que se permita ir. A morte deixa de ser uma sentença maligna e passa a significar uma ultima e devida saída de uma vida que não foi vivida plenamente.

Não esperava certamente um final tão lúcido. Saí não apenas impactada pela tragédia individual, mas com a fome de reexaminar minha própria vida, rotinas e valores. Mais do que um relato de agonia e audaciosa crítica atemporal, a obra é um espelho perturbador e, ao mesmo tempo, profundamente humano.

Dedico essa leitura, e honestamente, tudo que leio, ao Guilherme. Por alguns anos minha bússola de pertencimento esteve guiada ao que nós dois éramos. Juntos ou separados. E se a terceira morte de fato nos ocorre quando tocam no nosso nome pela ultima vez, o dele ecoará através do tempo. “E o silêncio, o imenso silêncio, que atravessou domingo de sol, e eu chovi sem parar”.

yasmin ribeiro

Meu primeiro contato com Tolstói não poderia ter sido mais transformador, um realismo psicológico que não condena mas quase nos induz ao erro, e a verdadeira tragédia é que nos reconhecemos com auspiciosa empatia. Como quem hackeia o código da existência, Liev vira Deus e através do verbo, pela fala, faz e refaz o mundo. Propositalmente arrastei a leitura por uma semana e pude vir a definhar e (um pouco) morrer junto com o personagem. Tudo era amargo, indigerível e toxico. Penso que pouquíssimas vezes a arte chegou perto de eliminar a impossibilidade de transmissão da dor. Dor essa que só compreende-se através da experimentação, e quão desesperador é não encontrar tradução ou empatia para com algo que nos dilacera e humilha. Aquele que observa a dor do outro pouco pode fazer além de acolher, então, a cegueira moral foi o que matou Ivan em vida? Por que justo esse homem, dentro todos os outros, não merecia a compaixão que se dá a quem não fez tanto ou pouco? O caminho que orgulhosamente teceu em vida é o motivo de derradeiros questionamentos até seu ultimo suspiro, antes que se permita ir. A morte deixa de ser uma sentença maligna e passa a significar uma ultima e devida saída de uma vida que não foi vivida plenamente.

Não esperava certamente um final tão lúcido. Saí não apenas impactada pela tragédia individual, mas com a fome de reexaminar minha própria vida, rotinas e valores. Mais do que um relato de agonia e audaciosa crítica atemporal, a obra é um espelho perturbador e, ao mesmo tempo, profundamente humano.

Dedico essa leitura, e honestamente, tudo que leio, ao Guilherme. Por alguns anos minha bússola de pertencimento esteve guiada ao que nós dois éramos. Juntos ou separados. E se a terceira morte de fato nos ocorre quando tocam no nosso nome pela ultima vez, o dele ecoará através do tempo. “E o silêncio, o imenso silêncio, que atravessou domingo de sol, e eu chovi sem parar”.

Death of Ivan Ilyich

In terms of what this book aimed to do, it definitely succeeded in showing tthe thoughts of a dying man thinking about how useless his life was despite following the social norms and formula to make one "happy". But in terms of making me care about the character, well, I didn't care about him at all, which, honestly just shows how great the point came across. 

Mirror

Shidehdeishidi

Christian Bager Bach Houmann

The Death of Ivan Ilych is short and hard to put down.

It is a classic. A reminder that we will all die some day. It is like having Ivan's life flashing before your eyes, slowing down upon the moments of his death.

Wassim

Victoria 

"Ivan Ilych was...a capable, cheerful, good-natured, and sociable man" until... 

"Death is finished, he said to himself. It is no more!" What a ride.

The book was fast paced and well written. However, there was nothing too extraordinary about it.  The overall message was deep and meaningful which I liked.

Ksenija 

jack

"The most elementary remarks upon modern English fiction can hardly avoid some
mention of the Russian influence, and if the Russians are mentioned one runs the risk of
feeling that to write of any fiction save theirs is waste of time. If we want understanding
of the soul and heart where else shall we find it of comparable profundity?" -Virginia Woolf

really wonderful. after reading some of tolstoy's much shorter work in high school, getting a bit more length was nice. still excited to see what he does with much (much) more room, as this still felt a little brief. reminded me at times of a modern candide or a russian death of a salesman, but more profound than either. really beautiful. im 2 or 3 books away in my queue from anna karenina, so this has me excited for that.

sophie <3

The Little Black Classics

Archiell

Benedict Neo

I think it's really scary to be struck by disease one day out of the blue, and progressively have your health deteriorate, with no cure or hope in sight, and have your own family doubt you, and see other people continue on their lives without you. 

There comes a day when even getting out of bed is no longer possible, you become immobile, you lay down and all you can think about is how you've wasted your life. All your deepest regrets start creeping in, the unspoken words, the dreams that you've put off, the ideal version of yourself that you still have yet to achieve.

It was a good reminder to live every day like it's the last. To not take health for granted because everything can be taken away from you in an instant. Hold those dear to you closely. Don't forget to live a little.

I finished this on a plane back to Iowa after my summer internship with Tesla ended the second time. And it's a time when I still am suffering from GERD, which made me relate to Ivan in a lot of ways. It's a disease that has no cure, that is killing me from the inside and makes me feel like my live is being taken away from me with no cure in sight. I remain optimistic.

jennifer 

a really gutting depiction of the isolation of illness and the resentment it breeds. also the anxiety that comes with the inevitable was portrayed in tummy turning way as well. read very fast

Andrew John Kinney

This is my second Tolstoy book after The Cossacks; since I will likely never undertake War and Peace, I'm enjoying Tolstoy in smaller bites. The Death of Ivan Ilyich is thought of as a masterpiece in terms of its depiction of a man coming to terms with impending death, and I agree, almost completely. My only qualification is that the ending will be more satisfying to a Christian than to a non-aligned party. Having been myself a caregiver for a dying parent, the realism of Tolstoy's writing is clear. The realization by Ivan of the meaningless of ambition and rank at the end of life is expertly drawn, as is his growing intolerance of anything less than the whole truth. The shocking realization that life is over, or about to be over, and the dawning regrets that crowd in as a consequence are certainly meant as a cautionary tale by the mystical Tolstoy, as they should be for anyone. 

Highly recommended. By sheer coincidence, I heard the Philip Larkin poem below recited yesterday, and it mirrors the tone of Ivan's progression toward death:

I work all day, and get half-drunk at night. 
Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare. 
In time the curtain-edges will grow light. 
Till then I see what’s really always there: 
Unresting death, a whole day nearer now, 
Making all thought impossible but how 
And where and when I shall myself die. 
Arid interrogation: yet the dread
Of dying, and being dead,
Flashes afresh to hold and horrify.

The mind blanks at the glare. Not in remorse 
—The good not done, the love not given, time 
Torn off unused—nor wretchedly because 
An only life can take so long to climb
Clear of its wrong beginnings, and may never; 
But at the total emptiness for ever,
The sure extinction that we travel to
And shall be lost in always. Not to be here, 
Not to be anywhere,
And soon; nothing more terrible, nothing more true.

This is a special way of being afraid
No trick dispels. Religion used to try,
That vast moth-eaten musical brocade
Created to pretend we never die,
And specious stuff that says No rational being
Can fear a thing it will not feel, not seeing
That this is what we fear—no sight, no sound, 
No touch or taste or smell, nothing to think with, 
Nothing to love or link with,
The anaesthetic from which none come round.

Rohit Arondekar

What is a good life? How should one live a meaningful life? How should one handle mortality? These questions have been contemplated by philosophers and writers for ages. The Death of Ivan Ilyich was my first book by Leo Tolstoy and I loved the writing and story telling.

Shay

1001 Books You Must Read Before You Die #205

The Death of Ivan Ilych is an 1886 Russian novella that explores themes of mortality, morality, and the meaning of life. We follow a high court judge named Ivan Ilych Golovin through his final moments leading up to his death as he reflects on all he's done in his life and ponders the true purpose of living. 

I honestly (truly) was not expecting to love this story as much as I did. I was very intimidated by Russian classics because they can be a bit depressing to read at times, but there's something that's refreshingly frank about the way Tolstoy told this story. We got a glimpse into the little moments of Ivan Ilych's life in a way I haven't seen many other writers execute and I thought it was brilliant. 

Tolstoy also wrote The Death of Ivan Ilych shortly after he suffered an existential crisis. He then converted to Russian Orthodox, discovered that the church was corrupt due to it's influence with government, and then left the church. Along with his personal experiences with government corruption, the 1880's in Russia also brought the assassination of Alexander II, who was succeeded by Alexander III (a tyrannical ruler who imposed harsh rules to maintain his power.)

Tolstoy's beliefs on religion and politics are intrinsically connected to this novella, and you can see that in the very first chapter when he mocks all of the men who are vying to replace Ivan Ilych as high court judge. These are people who may have called him friend and played games with him and yet they're all more worried about what fortunes may fall on them now that Ivan Ilych is out of the picture. 

Despite Ivan Ilych being the antithesis of a likeable character, I couldn't help but feel sorry for what he was going through and for the time that he had lost believing that there was only one proper way to live a good life and that involved always being proper and often being unhappy. 

This novella may have only been 96 pages, but it was a very emotionally heavy piece that makes you think long and hard about what defines a 'good' life. I really enjoyed it.

the first half of this book was hard for me to get through, a bit dense as it is, yet the later chapters, after everything goes downhill, felt like falling for me, too. i was, along with ivan ilych, refusing the imminent despite knowing it was coming. now that i’ve finished the book i understand that, in order to fully grasp the character of ivan ilych and the meaning of his death, those chapters where nothing of interest truly happened are needed. the writing style, although i’m aware a translation can never be as faithful to the original text as we wished it could be, isn’t my cup of tea either, but it was good, it delivered some punches with its prose, and it allowed me to learn ivan ilych’s story—or, shall i say, the story of his death and awakening.

leo tolstoy successfully critiques society with this book; poses the question of whether a life lived by the rules, by what we are told is correct, can ever be fulfilling and end without rueful grief for ourselves. it asks, can a human being ever become a person, grow, and love, if it never lets itself fall into the clutches of sin? of lust, and greed, and envy and wrath, god, wrath, so feared and hated by all but so terribly necessary if we ever want to know a joy that goes beyond the superficial. ivan ilych, who lived his life bound by the chains of rightfulness; ivan ilych, who becomes hostile and angry and so lonely the closest death seems to be. as life, his ordinary and thus miserable life, slips away from him, he lets go of his duties as a person who lives 

 and returns to childhood to become everything he repressed for so, so long, but that he undeniably is. he becomes angry, he becomes selfish, he becomes, finally, human. and then, as he dies, he exclaims, “death is finished!” and it is. because, in death, he lived, even as his limbs ached and he struggled to understand. he lived, because his thoughts were consumed by his own sense of self and his own ideas and wonders, and not his duties as a proper person anymore.

this book is a must-read by anyone, i think, even if—like me—the translation isn’t your favorite or you find it boring at the beginning. because the message it gives, the harsh way in which it addresses human nature, our innate sense of survival, is marvelous. it might make you cry, like it happened to me, especially if you know grief; it might, hopefully, make you feel, too. but more importantly, it 

 make you think, and wonder, and that is enough. 

lena

the first half of this book was hard for me to get through, a bit dense as it is, yet the later chapters, after everything goes downhill, felt like falling for me, too. i was, along with ivan ilych, refusing the imminent despite knowing it was coming. now that i’ve finished the book i understand that, in order to fully grasp the character of ivan ilych and the meaning of his death, those chapters where nothing of interest truly happened are needed. the writing style, although i’m aware a translation can never be as faithful to the original text as we wished it could be, isn’t my cup of tea either, but it was good, it delivered some punches with its prose, and it allowed me to learn ivan ilych’s story—or, shall i say, the story of his death and awakening.

leo tolstoy successfully critiques society with this book; poses the question of whether a life lived by the rules, by what we are told is correct, can ever be fulfilling and end without rueful grief for ourselves. it asks, can a human being ever become a person, grow, and love, if it never lets itself fall into the clutches of sin? of lust, and greed, and envy and wrath, god, wrath, so feared and hated by all but so terribly necessary if we ever want to know a joy that goes beyond the superficial. ivan ilych, who lived his life bound by the chains of rightfulness; ivan ilych, who becomes hostile and angry and so lonely the closest death seems to be. as life, his ordinary and thus miserable life, slips away from him, he lets go of his duties as a person who lives the right way and returns to childhood to become everything he repressed for so, so long, but that he undeniably is. he becomes angry, he becomes selfish, he becomes, finally, human. and then, as he dies, he exclaims, “death is finished!” and it is. because, in death, he lived, even as his limbs ached and he struggled to understand. he lived, because his thoughts were consumed by his own sense of self and his own ideas and wonders, and not his duties as a proper person anymore.

this book is a must-read by anyone, i think, even if—like me—the translation isn’t your favorite or you find it boring at the beginning. because the message it gives, the harsh way in which it addresses human nature, our innate sense of survival, is marvelous. it might make you cry, like it happened to me, especially if you know grief; it might, hopefully, make you feel, too. but more importantly, it will make you think, and wonder, and that is enough. (less)

Hellboy TCR

Emilia 

** spoiler alert **
           Er ging een man dood

Heather Anne

solidly mid. actually honestly, only the end was good. The entire beginning and especially the middle was just....rough

Celeste Richardson

I have this problem with Tolstoy. His work always starts out so slow to me. And the talk of finances and politics, position and social standing are incredibly hard for me to wade through. But his stories are worth the wading. The only work of his I read prior to this short story was Anna Karenina, which was one of many assigned readings and thus was something to be checked off of a list, not digested properly. I feel like I truly digested The Death of Ivan Ilych .

Spoilers Ahead!

Once I got past the first five chapters, the story was incredibly moving. As Ivan Ilych struggled with his pain and mortality, he seemed to become a real person for the first time in his life. When his inner thoughts cycled around the memory of Caius, the mortal, I truly felt for him for the first time in the story. It’s terrifying to realize your mortality.

Ivan Ilych’s inability to admit to any wrongdoing in his life was also uncomfortably familiar. Don’t we all try to justify our lives, to prove to ourselves and others that we’ve done the best we could? He fought against conviction and death and the unknown as hard as he could, bringing immensely more pain to himself and his family. 
At the same time he fought against the truth of his failings, he loathed the same falsehood in others, especially those closest to him. He grew to despise his wife and doctors, and mainly ignore his children. His only solace was found in Gerasim, the robust and good-natured man servant who alone in his master’s life did not shy from Ivan Ilych’s looming death.

In the last chapter of the story, as Ivan Ilych fought and raged against his impending demise, beauty came into the tale. When his son, who besides Gerasim was the only member of the family to feel true sympathy for his father’s suffering, entered the room and kissed his father’s hand, Ivan Ilych finally gave into the pull of the darkness. In the midst of the darkness, he saw that light existed. Here, in the darkness he had dreaded, was the beauty and meaning he had searched for in his memories. Here, he found his Savior. Ivan Ilych finally admitted his failings, and found forgiveness in the light of Christ. Finally, in death, Ivan Ilych found freedom.

The Death of Ivan Ilych was a beautiful representation of the Gospel of Christ, and I’m glad to have read it. Sometimes I’m intimidated by classics. It’s easier to read something more accessible, something easier to digest. Which is why I’m so glad I found this group. I had never even heard of this Tolstoy work, and would have never read it had it not been the Short Story Read this month. Thank you to whoever nominated it, for directing me to a story that moved me.

The Death of Ivan Ilych

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