Russian Language Blog

I’m no «букинист» [book dealer, typically specializing in rare or antiquarian books], so it came as a surprise to learn that first edition of Master and Margarita such as this one was listed on the Russian rare books site for approximately $3,600.

What is «жилплощадь»? Ah, the wonderful or rather wonder-inspiring language of «Совдепия» [Sovietdom]! «Жиплощадь» is short for «жилая площадь», meaning «обитаемая, предназначенная для жилья площадь дома, квартиры» [floor space of a living areas of an apartment or a house]. So why not say «квартира» [apartment] or «комната» [room] when referring to one’s living quarters?

Back in the days, including when «история Мастера и Маргариты» [story of Master and Margarita] took place, few individuals or even families could boast living in separate apartments. Instead, a certain number of square meters of living space was allocated to each and every city dweller.

Do you know the old Communist principle «каждому – по потребностям, от каждого – по способностям» [to each - according to his needs; from each - according to his abilities]? Except when it came to «получение жилплощади» [obtaining living space] it was exactly the opposite and «каждому – по способностям» [to each - according to his abilities], specifically – abilities to make all the right moves and pull all the right strings.

One couldn’t buy «жилплощадь» [living space]. Instead, they could «достать» [to obtain], «выбить» [to wheedle out], or «получить» [to receive] the coveted square meters from «жилотдел» [office responsible for keeping track of and allocating housing]. In order to do this, one had to «встать в очередь» [to queue], «подать заявление» [to submit application] or «предъявить претензию» [to file a claim], «собрать справки» [to collect supporting documents], and «ждать» [to wait]. Thanks to «долгострой» [never-ending construction projects], insufficient resources directed to the public housing and all-pervasive «волокита» [red tape] such «ожидание» [wait] could last «до второго пришествия» [‘til the Second Coming].

The problem of insufficient housing existed long after hapless «председатель жилищного товарищества дома №302-бис Никанор Иванович Босой» [chairman of the housing committee of #302-B Nikanor Ivanovich Bosoi] fell victim to «Коровьевские штуки» [Koroviev’s tricks].

You’d think that now that Russia embraced capitalism, the housing difficulties «остались в прошлом» [are left in the past]. No such thing! In fact, catchy late-Soviet «каждой семье – отдельную квартиру к 2000 году» [a separate apartment for each family by the year 2000] slogan notwithstanding, the issue has never been resolved.

The hand-written sign on the bathroom door in a «коммунальная квартира»: Don’t smoke! Smart? Leaving? Turn the water off!!! Floor is wet? Clean it up! Is the bath tub clean? Did YOU clean up after YOURSELF?!! (You can seem more photos of communal flats on Brikinzewall LiveJournal).

No one knows how many Russians still live in «коммуналки» or «коммунальные квартиры» [communal apartments], but by some estimates it’s 1 out of 10 Russian citizens. In case you don’t know, «коммунальная квартира» is a large apartment shared by several individuals and/or families. Each family has its own room and all share common areas – bathroom, kitchen and hallway. If you’d like, you can have a virtual tour of a typical «коммуналка» from the comfort of your home.

No wonder that Russian language has quite a few words that deal with «жильё» [housing]. For example, in addition to the already-mentioned «жилплощадь» and «жилотдел», there is «жилуправление» – a department that deals with maintenance and repairs issues staffed with «жилуправленцы» [bureaucrats working at the housing maintenance and repairs department].

Agglomerations of faceless apartment buildings built «по типовому проекту» [according to generic design plan] are referred to as «жилмассивы».

Not to mention a slew of acronyms, including «ЖЭК – жилищно-эксплуатационная контора» [local building and utilities office]. By the way, while the word «контора» [office] is feminine, the acronym «ЖЭК» is masculine thus determining the ending of the word «реагировать» [to react; here - to respond] in the following sentence – «крыша протекла, а ЖЭК не реагировал на жалобы» [the roof leaked, but ZhEK did not respond to complaints].

Needless to say, many of the officials in the building and utilities sector, including the aforementioned «Никанор Босой» [Nikanor Bosoi] were corrupt and used their «служебное положение» [position] « в корыстных целях» [in order to ingratiate themselves]. Not only were they, using Korovyev’s description, «выжиги и плуты» [greedy rogues and cheats], but «взяточники» [bribe takers] as well.

As to the ordinary Russians, in addition to communal flats, they had such wonderful inventions as «семейное общежитие» [dormitories for married couples and families] and «подселение» [a situation when one room in a single-family apartment is allocated to another individual or even a family]. Individual apartments were (and many still are) small, often housing three and even four generations under one roof. Understandable, «квартирный вопрос стоял остро» [housing problem was acute].

«Давайте принесём Булгакова на пляж!» [Let's bring Bulgakov to the beach!]

Russians – like most people that live in geographical regions where the longest season of the year is «зима» [winter] – can’t afford «пренебрегать летом: солнцем и теплом» [impfv. to neglect (also: to scorn; disdain; disregard; ignore) the summer: the sun and the warmth] considering how brief it is. It is over even before you’ve had enough time to dust off your bikini/bathing shorts! Can you believe that it is already «конец июля» [the end of July] and soon all we’ll have left of the summer of 2010 is our «загар» [suntan]? If we managed «загореть хорошенько» [pfv. to get sunburned properly (also: thoroughly)], that is. When feeling torn as to what to do: stay inside «и читать» [and impfv. read] or go outside – for example, «на пляж» [to the beach] – «и загорать» [and impfv. to sun-bathe (in this sense the verb is used only in impfv.)], why not combine the two? If you’re like any other «северянин или северянка» [northerner (male and female)], then your biggest concern with «чтение под солнцем» [reading under the sun] is that «загар будет неровным» [the suntan will become uneven]. But that’s not a good enough reason as to not give it a try, right?

What does all of this have to do «с восьмой главой» [with the eight chapter] «в Мастере и Маргарите» [in “Master and Margarita”]? Well, not much – except that I myself read it earlier while I was «на пляже» [at (lit.: on) the beach] trying «загореть» [pfv. to get (or become) sunburned]. The good thing about bringing a Russian book with you to the beach – if this beach happens to be somewhere in Russia (why not pretend that we’re all currently soaking up the sun «на Байкале» [at Lake Baikal]?) – is that you can ask native speakers around you to explain difficult words that you do not understand. Let’s use a word from chapter 8, entitled «Поединок между профессором и поэтом» [The/A Duel between the Professor and the Poet], to illustrate how helpful Russians can be while at the beach. You’re reading the sentence «…Иван едва руками не всплеснул от развязности женщины и молча ткнул пальцем в пижаму из пунцовой байки» [...Ivan almost threw out with his hands because of the woman’s familiarity and silently pointed his finger at the pajama made from…] and suddenly find yourself unable to translate anymore in your head for you must ask yourself «что такое пунцовая байка?» [what is ‘puntsovaya baika’?]. And not asking it out loud – even more so because you left your «словарь» [dictionary] at home – will not get you anywhere. So how do you ask? You might want to try any one of these phrases:

This is the most neutral question: «Извините, можно у вас спросить?» [Excuse me (lit.: forgive me), may I ask you a question (lit.: is it possible to pfv. ask you)?]

This is for being a little bit more specific: «Простите, вы можете ответить на один вопрос?» [Excuse me (lit.: forgive me), can you pfv. answer one question?]

This one is for those not afraid of publicly displaying desperation: «Будьте добры, помогите мне с русским языком!» [Be kind, pfv. help me with Russian language!]

This one is for those always in need of being explicit: «Не могли бы вы объяснить мне одно трудное слово из “Мастера и Маргариты” Булгакова?» [Could you pfv. explain one difficult word from Bulgakov’s “The Master & Margarita” to me?]

This is to be used only if you think they speak your own language: «Вас не затруднит перевести для меня одно слово?» [Could you (lit.: will it not pfv. bother you to) pfv. translate one word for me?]

Now that you’ve asked the question – any of the five suggested above should do the trick and get the attention of the native speaker of Russian – you must concentrate yourself even more for now comes the «ответ» [answer]! Don’t be ashamed to say «повторите, пожалуйста!» [repeat, please!] or «говорите ясно и медленно, пожалуйста!» [speak clearly and slowly, please!] if you do not understand what the person’s «ответ» [answer] was. But first what they say might not be more difficult than the following (and forgive me, but these examples are all positive – for in my world Russians are a helpful people):

The most obvious: «Да» [Yes].

And also rather obvious: «Что?» [What?]

The polite answer: «Слушаю» [I’m listening].

An even more polite – so polite it is sometimes used ironically – answer: «Чем могу быть полезен/полезна?» [How can I be of help (lit.: with what can I be useful?)]

Also very polite or a little bit ironic: «Я к вашим услугам» [I’m at your service].

If the addressee is not sure that it is he or she you’re addressing, the response may be: «Вы меня?» [Are you talking to me? (lit.: You me?)]

Now that you’ve got both the native speaker’s attention as well as her or his willingness to help, it is high time to ask what it is you’re wondering about:

«Что значит “пунцовая байка”?» [What does ‘crimson colored flannel’ mean?]

To such a question you might receive many answers and varied explanations. You might hear the very heart-wrenching:

«Я не знаю» [I don’t know].

Or the equally disappointing: «Не могу сказать» [I can’t tell you].

But you might also get lucky and happen to ask a person who is not only very helpful and willing to help, but also rather good at explaining Russian words in Russian. An explanation from such a person might sound something like: «Ну, байка – это вид ткани, довольно тёплый и мягкий. А пунцовый – это вариант красного цвета» [Well, flannel is a kind of fabric, rather warm and soft. And crimson – that’s a variant of the color red].

Of course, if you’re going to ask about every word that you come across in chapter 8 of “Master & Margarita” – you’ll probably be at the beach long after sunset! But then again, that’s the time for «шашлыки» [pl. shashlik; shish kebab]! Happy sun-bathing and happy reading and happy bothering the native speakers with all your most annoying questions on grammar and vocabulary, everyone! Remember: «скоро всё это закончится» [soon all of this will be over]… With «это» [this] I mean «лето» [summer] – nothing else!

It doesn’t really feel like «лето» [summer] until you’ve spent an entire afternoon doing nothing but the following simultaneously: «лежать в траве» [to lie in the grass], «пить холодное молоко» [to drink cold milk] and «читать Булгакова» [to read Bulgakov]. «Россия» [Russia] is a wonderful country in many, many ways – but during my six years there I wasn’t able to find and buy milk «без лактозы» [without lactose]. Thus «Швеция» [Sweden] is the better choice for anybody allergic to dairy…

If we keep up this slow pace that we’ve been reading our way through «Мастер и Маргарита» [“The Master & Margarita”] since our start in June – one chapter per week – I suspect we’ll finish it only in time for «Рождество и Новый год» [Christmas and New Year]. But who’s in any rush? Maybe being a «тормоз» [1. brake; 2. fig. brake, drag; hindrance, obstacle] – a noun made from the verb «тормозить» [impfv. 1. to brake, to apply the brakes; 2. fig. to hinder, hamper, impede, retard] (or maybe the other way around: the verb was made from the noun – «кто знает?» [who knows?]) – isn’t necessarily a bad thing when it comes to us and «господин писатель Булгаков» [‘mister writer Bulgakov’ (P.S. I think it is safe to say that I’m being ironic when I call «Михаил Афанасьевич» that – do not take after my reckless behavior! Stick with «имя и отчество» [name and patronymic] if you want to show proper «уважение» [respect] and no irony at all)? Maybe our slow pace will as a matter of fact help us to learn even more along than road? Maybe taking things slow isn’t simply cliché or something people say when they’re dating someone but not really that interested, but pretty good advice?  Once again, «кто знает?» [who knows?] – only those who stick it out until the end will know for sure! Here to guide you through «глава 6 (шестая): Шизофрения, как и было сказано» [chapter 6: Schizophrenia, as had been said] is a woman who has made a habit of calling herself «тормоз и лох» [‘a drag and a nerd’] before anyone else does it. What does that have to do with today’s chapter in the novel? you might be asking yourself. Well, it has everything to do with it because today’s post will be all about «ругать» [imfv., here: to call names] in Russian. The perfect ‘friend’ of this verb in this meaning is «обругать» [pfv. 1. to curse out, call names; 2. colloq. to criticize, attack, pan]. Why is that important? you wonder. Because chapter 6 is the chapter where «Иван Николаевич Бездомный обругал доктора и поэта Рюхина» [Ivan Nikolaevich ‘Homeless’ called the doctor and the poet Ryukhin names] «в доме скорби» [in ‘the house of grief/sorrow’].

From the previous chapter you might remember that everybody’s favorite poet, famous under the pseudonym ‘Homeless’, turned up one evening in May in the literary organization’s restaurant wearing nothing but underpants, all the while holding an icon and a light candle in front of him. Everyone is was rather surprised and wondered «что случилось» [what had happened]. Berlioz had been killed and Ivan was of course on the hunt after the man who did it – the «иностранец» [foreigner] who «предвидел смерть Берлиоза» [[foresaw Berlioz’s death], «знал Понтия Пилата лично» [knew Pontius Pilate personally] and regretted that he didn’t ask what «шизофрения» [schizophrenia] was… Ivan didn’t get any help with that, instead he was sent by his literary colleagues to the «знаменитая психиатрическая клиника» [famous psychiatric clinic] outside of Moscow. And that’s where chapter 6 takes place, while the «доктор» [doctor] and the poet «Рюхин» [Ryukhin] try and figure out «что не так» [what’s wrong] with Ivan. And in this dialogue, we find the following new and interesting words –  try and remember them, for who knows when you’ll have to call someone names in Russian in the future?:

Ivan greets doctor with two words: «Здорово, вредитель!» [”Hello there, economic saboteur!”]. And that’s when we know how this poet feels for representatives of the medical profession.

«вредитель» – 1. pest, pl. vermin; 2. economic saboteur.

Then Ivan calls his ‘friend’ and fellow poet Ryukhin «гнида» – 1. nit (louse egg); 2. scumbag, rascal. But that’s not the end of his unenthusiastic feelings toward this person – for soon Ivan elaborates:

«Нашёлся наконец один нормальный среди идиотов, из которых первый – балбес и бездарность Сашка!» [Finally someone normal turned up among all of these idiots, the first of whom is the talentless nitwit Sashka!]. Placing the postfix «-ка» in the diminutive form of a name is always a sign of dislike for this particular person.

«идиот» – idiot.

«балбес» – colloq. booby, nitwit.

«бездарность» – 1. lack of talent; 2. fig. person with no talent (it should be added that to be called «бездарность» in Russian is and feels much more worse than to be called ‘a person with no talent’ in English).

Ivan doesn’t stop there when it comes to giving a detailed description of Ryukhin’s character. He continues: «Типичный кулачок по своей психологии…» [He’s got the typical psychological traits of a little kulak…]. Ouch! In the 1930’s Soviet Union nothing could have been worse than to be called «кулачок». Except the word which is diminutive of: «кулак» [1. fist; 2. hist. kulak (wealthy farmer who takes advantage of his less fortunate neighbors)] – being called that was the first step on a long journey either to labor camps or for your entire family to be forced to move somewhere cold and unpleasant. And Russia was – is? – a huge country with plenty of cold and unpleasant places where one could be put away…

But even when using this clear expression Ivan finds it necessary to elaborate: «…и притом кулачок, тщательно маскирующийся под пролетария» [And moreover he’s a little kulak masking himself carefully as a proletarian]. Ouch again! That must have hurt!

While reading “Master & Margarita” you might find something interesting if you underline the word «чёрт» [devil] every time is used, no matter in what context. You’ll come to see that it is used many, many times in several expressions (three whole times only in chapter 6!) throughout the novel, as if the characters in it were calling the Devil to come to Moscow… The doctor asks Ivan how he was brought to the hospital, at which he answers: «Да чёрт их возьми, олухов!» [lit. ‘Let the devil take them, blockheads!’, or: ‘To hell with them, blockheads!’].

«олух» – colloq. oaf; dolt; blockhead.

Ivan calls the people at the mental hospital «бандиты» [bandits, thugs] before we’re left watching as he’s taken away at the end of chapter 6.

And to finish off the chapter, Ryukhin calls «Арчибальд Арчибальдович» [Archibald Archilbaldovich] «пират» [a pirate]. Not to his face – but still! It is not a very kind thing to think about a fellow human being. Next chapter is «Глава 7 (седьмая): Нехорошая квартира» [Chapter 7: Not a Good Apartment] – I can’t wait! Will we finally be introduced to Begemot?!