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51 pages 1 hour read

George Saunders

A Swim in a Pond in the Rain: In Which Four Russians Give a Master Class on Writing, Reading, and Life

Nonfiction | Essay Collection | Adult | Published in 2021

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“Master and Man”Chapter Summaries & Analyses

“Master and Man” Summary

“Master and Man” is a short story by Leo Tolstoy, written in 1895. Its two main characters are Vasili, a prosperous merchant and landowner, and Nikita, the peasant who works for him. Vasili is self-important and business-minded, while Nikita is good-humored and long-suffering. Vasili often takes advantage of Nikita, skimping on his pay or selling him goods at an inflated rate. He convinces himself, however, that he is not cheating Nikita, but is rather his “benefactor” (205).

One night just after the holidays, Vasili decides to travel to a plot of land that he wishes to buy. Even though it is storming outside, he feels an urgency about traveling that night, so as to buy the land at a reduced rate before competitors can swoop in. His wife insists that Nikita accompany him. After Nikita saddles his beloved horse Mukhorty to a sledge, and the two of them set out in the storm. Vasili’s young son, whom Vasili thinks of as his “heir” (209), rides along on the blades of their sledge until Vasili shoos him off and tells him to go home.

The storm is bad, but Vasili, who is driving the sledge, insists on taking the shortest route to the grove, even though Nikita counsels him that the longer route is safer. When Vasili drives off the road, Nikita gets off the sledge and looks for the stakes that mark the road. They set out once more, but soon have to stop again, when the horse gets stuck in a ditch. Nikita again gets out of the sledge and tries to establish where the road is. He remains cheerful and diplomatic, although he is secretly doubtful of their journey’s success.

Eventually, they reach the small town of Grishkino, where a peasant gives them directions on how to get to Goryachin, their ultimate destination. The peasant also advises them to stay the night in Grishkino, advice which Vasili ignores. Back on the road, they are overtaken by a cartful of drunken peasants. Vasili is “cheered” (224) by the encounter, and in his exhilaration soon drives the sledge off the road and gets them lost again. Nikita, who is beginning to lose his patience, again gets out of the sledge to look for the road.

The horse takes them back into Grishkino. This time, they knock on the door of a wealthy acquaintance of Vasili’s. The man, an elderly patriarch, insists that they come in to warm themselves. They visit with the man, his wife, their two sons and families, and a neighbor. They are offered vodka, which Vasili accepts but which Nikita, who has quit drinking, refuses. After they drink several cups of tea, the patriarch’s wife asks them to stay the night, but Vasili again refuses. They go out again into the storm; the family’s peasant servant, a boy named Petrushka, accompanies them to a fork in the road.

Their horse becomes increasingly slow and tired. They are soon disoriented in the storm, and Nikita must get out of the sledge again. This time, when he gets back in, he takes the reins from Vasili. They drive a short distance, but must stop again when the horse balks. Nikita gets out of the sledge and immediately falls down the edge of a ravine—the reason the horse stopped. Once he clambers out, he tells Vasili that they have no choice but to spend the night where they are.

Vasili makes a bed for himself in the sledge, telling Nikita that there is no room for him. Nikita does not object, but digs a hole for himself in the snow at the foot of the sledge, after first covering Mukhorty with straw and a blanket. He covers his hole with straw as well, wraps himself up in sackcloth, and settles in for the night.

The story shifts to Vasili’s point of view. Alone in the sledge, he grows restless and thinks compulsively of his various holdings and business dealings, “the one thing that constituted the sole aim, pleasure and pride of his life” (247). He thinks of Nikita only in a dismissive and contemptuous way: “he disapproved of the peasant’s stupidity and lack of education” (247). Eventually, Vasili decides to set off alone on horseback, leaving Nikita in the snow, callously assuming that “it’s all the same to him whether he lives or dies” (255).

Woken by Vasili riding off, Nikita shouts for Vasili to at least leave the horse’s blanket for him, but Vasili doesn’t hear him. Nikita is cold and frightened, but comforted by thoughts of God, his “Chief Master” (257). He tells himself that he will soon be reunited with this Master, and gradually loses consciousness. Out in the storm, Vasili becomes more and more frightened and lost. He hears the sounds of wolves in the distance, and is startled by his horse whinnying. The horse eventually throws Vasili off to return to Nikita and the sledge.

Left alone, Vasili prays in terror, but finds it futile: “he clearly and indubitably realized that the icon, its frame, the candles, the priest, and the thanksgiving service, though very important and necessary in church, could do nothing for him here” (262) He sees a black shape in the distance, and soon recognizes the horse and sledge. Moving towards it, he sees Nikita, still slumped in the sledge. Nikita awakens, tells Vasili that he is dying, and asks that Vasili pay his family the money that he owes him. Instead, Vasili covers Nikita’s body with his own, taking spiritual as well as physical solace in their closeness, “a peculiar joy which he had never felt before” (265).

Both men fall asleep. Vasili dies during the night, as does Mukhorty, the horse. Only Nikita survives, kept warm by Vasili’s body. When other peasants find them the following morning, Nikita is taken to the hospital. We are told that he will live another 20 years, still working as a laborer despite having lost three toes to frostbite. He will die in his own bed, surrounded by his family and ready to leave this world for the next: “Whether he is better or worse there where he awoke after his death […] we shall all soon learn” (272).

“And Yet They Drove On: Thoughts on ‘Master and Man’” Summary and Analysis

Saunders analyses the techniques behind this story, which has an illusion of omniscience and seamless control. He points out that while Tolstoy was known as a philosopher and a mystic, his writing style is simple and concrete: “this prose consists almost entirely of facts. The language isn’t particularly elevated or poetic or overtly philosophical. It’s mostly just descriptions of people doing things” (273).

Saunders suggests that because Tolstoy was torn between writing fiction and writing religious and political tracts, he wanted his fiction to be about important subjects. Still, “the writer is not the person” (277)—Tolstoy was much less compassionate in his domestic life than he appears to be as a writer. Czech author Milan Kundera noted that Tolstoy became more generous in his writing with each revision: “he was listening to another voice than that of his personal moral conviction. He was listening to what I would call the wisdom of the novel” (277).

Saunders discusses Tolstoy’s shifts of point of view in this story. The story is written from an omniscient perspective, but also moves in and out of different characters’ thoughts. Tolstoy was able to do this not because of any innate wisdom, but because of his belief that “more people are similar to him than different […] This confidence serves as a gateway to (what reads as) saintly compassion” (279). The language that Tolstoy uses to comment on characters, or to describe their thoughts and feelings, is just as plain and concrete as when he is stating facts: “it’s not just the mind-to-mind movement that makes us believe. It’s what Tolstoy does once he’s in a mind: he makes a direct, factual report of what he finds there” (279).

“Master and Man,” like Chekhov’s “The Darling,” is a pattern story. In this case, the pattern that is established is one of repeated reversals. Each time that the main characters in the story set out on a mission, they are thwarted in some way; the reader is therefore set up to expect these repeated failures, which creates narrative suspense. Tolstoy also establishes “causality” (285) in his narration, which is one of the hardest things for a beginning writer to learn . Each action in his story leads to the next, as when Vasili and Nikita encounter a cartload of drunken peasants: Although newly sober Nikita is appalled by the peasants’ drunkenness, Vasili is exhilarated by the prospect of racing them. In his exhilaration, he drives the sledge off the road and gets them lost.

Even details and symbols in the story advance the narration. For example, a clothesline at the entrance of the town of Grishkino is described several times. Each time, the description is slightly altered to reflect the characters’ increasing sense of entrapment and panic. Incidental scenes in the story, such as the conversation among the family that Vasili and Nikita visit, galvanize the main characters and move the story forward: The family patriarch’s complaint about his sons disobeying him motivates Vasili to leave, in the hopes of being a more respected and dynamic patriarch than his host seems to be.

The story’s suspense ultimately is not whether the main characters will survive the storm, but whether the experience of the storm will change Vasili for the better. This narrative tension prompts a larger philosophical question about whether bad people can become good. According to Saunders, Tolstoy resolves the narrative dilemma in a realistic way: by making Vasili act in character, while serving uncharacteristically generous ends. Vasili is not a reflective man, but is accustomed to action, as a means of feeling in control. He is also a proud man—even while he is heroically saving Nikita’s life—and dying for Nikita’s sake—he cannot stop himself from marveling at his own nobility: “He’s still himself, still self-celebratory, still living to feel good about himself, still fundamentally selfish and proud. (He’s so good at saving people!)” (304).

Saunders intersperses this discussion with a memory of having almost been in a plane crash. His terror was similar to Vasili’s terror at wandering alone out in the storm. Saunders analyses the source of this fear as a sudden realization that death is not abstract but inevitable: “Death is coming for Vasili, and it’s nothing personal. This is just what Death does” (298). Like Vasili, Saunders was able to partly escape his terror by acting in a generous way, consoling the teenage boy sitting next to him. Placating and joking was a normal part of Saunders’s personality already; like Vasili, he was being himself but for a higher purpose: “We don’t have to become an entirely new person to do better; our view just has to be readjusted, our natural energy turned in the right direction” (305).

“Afterthought #4” Summary and Analysis

Saunders has a “quibble” (288) with the story about Nikita, whom Saunders finds to be overly simple and saintly. Nikita, unlike Vasili, is not changed at all by his experience in the storm; even when he fears that he is going to die, he quickly resolves his fear by telling himself that he will now be reunited with his Creator. Saunders suggests that this one-dimensional portrayal is rooted in an unexamined condescension that Tolstoy had towards peasants, even while he exalted their way of life.

Saunders argues that flat characterization of this kind is a moral failure that can be addressed technically: “any story that suffers from what seems like a moral failing (that seems sexist, racist, homophobic, transphobic, pedantic, appropriative [...] and so on) will be seen, with sufficient analytical snooping, to be suffering from a technical failing, and if that failing is addressed, it will (always) become a better story” (309-10). He once had a discussion with his students about a Gogol story that a woman in the class believed to be sexist. In response, Saunders had the class collectively imagine what the story would be like with a fuller female character: “There followed a bit of silence and then a collective sigh/smile, as we all, at once, saw the better story it could have been: just as dark and strange, but funnier and more honest” (309). 

Saunders suggests attempting a similar experiment with the Tolstoy story: rewriting Section X—in which we are told about the remainder of Nikita’s life—so that Nikita becomes a more complex and thoughtful character, possibly working through the fact that “Throughout the story, Vasili has underestimated Nikita, but, in truth, Nikita has also been underestimating Vasili” (310), and that the reader currently does not have access to any surprise that Nikita might have felt about Vasili’s transformation. Saunders proposes that we change this, but “Write it like Tolstoy. Use, you know, a lot of facts. Ha, ha” (310).

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