I'm glad to provide a portion - no spoiler options.

The book is divided into chapters with each chapter written from the title characters POV. Apparently it was written from actual diaries of the people involved. This is taken from Bulgakov (Valentin's) chapter of introduction and is the second chapter. The first is Sofya's about their courtship and early marriage when she hand copied War and Peace and Anna Karenina while he wrote. This is her perspective of the marriage in contrast to what Chertkov says below.

I chose this part because it summarizes the main conflict of the novel, which is between Chertkov and Sofya with both trying to gain the allegiance of Valentin. The issue is more than personality conflicts because the real subject is Tolstoy's will which will determine the publishing rights of all his writings and who owns them. So it is about the money - even in 1910. Everyone in the compound has an opinion

Valentin has to come to his own conclusions while living in an environment that is filled with hurt and anger. So this provides the conflict that JM says is important in a role. I would think it would be an emotionally draining shoot and am glad to have a little side story romance to relieve the stress for the reader/viewer. I think I read someplace that this romance is magnified in the book. THANK YOU JAY PIRINI!

This begins almost immediately after my earlier quotes.

*****
'I know that Count Tolstoy does not approve of sexual relations.'

'He despises them,' Chertkov replied. 'And if I may advise you, he does not use his title. He renounced it years ago.'

Chertkov unnerved me. I felt uncomfortable not using Tolstoy's title. I had been brought up in polite company, taught to defer to those with power. It annoyed me that Chertkov imagined I wouldn't know about the renunciation of that title. I know practically everything about Tolstoy that can be learned from his writings, and much else besides. There is a thick smoke of gossip surround the name of Leo Tolstoy, and I had inhaled that smoke on every possible occasion.

'You must call him Leo Nikolayevich, like the rest of us,' Chertkov added, 'He prefers that.'

Chertkov's chameleon like skin puffed loosely about his bald, pear-shaped head. I could almost see through his forehead to the frontal lobes of his brain. He spoke stiffly, tapping his puffy fingers on the bare table. 'I take it you have read The Kreustzer Sonata?'

I nodded, though I hoped we would not discuss this particular work. The Kreutzer Sonata is Tolstoy's one failure, as I see it. Is there anything in common between Pozdnyshev, the hero of that tale, and Leo Tolstoy? I cannot believe it. It's the story of a man who murders his wife. Many readers - I don't go this far myself - consider it a tract against marriage, a missile of hate, a vile book. It is so unlike Anna Karenina, where Tolstoy celebrates the marriage of Kitty and Levin, raises it like a banner across the cold Russian sky. But Pozdnyshev!

'I don't want to belabor the point of chastity, but I arranged for a servant last year who proceeded to ruin two young housemaids who had been with the Tolstoy family for many years. It upset Leo Nikolayevich terribly. I want to make clear that this won't be a problem.'

I shook my head in outward assurance but inwardly was horrified that I should be classified with a servant. I think my anger showed in my cheeks. I tried to cover them with my hands.

I'm sorry to bring up a delicate subject,' Chertkov said. 'One can never be two specific, I always say.'

'It's all right,' I said. 'I understand.'

The job seemed to slip away from me, and I panicked. More than anything I wanted to be Tolstoy's private secretary.

Cherkov circled the desk and stood beside me. He put a cold hand on my wrist. ' I have heard only good things about you from Makovitsky and the others. And I have read carefully what you have written about Leo Nikolayevich. So has he. It is somewhat…youthful. But quite sound.'

Tolstoy has read my essays?'

Cherkov shook his head in confirmation. I beamed. I appeared that everything would fall, amazingly, into place.

'I don't want to prejudice you against Sofya Andreyevna, but it would be impolitc of me not to mention her disagreements with Leo Nikolayevich,' Cherkov went on. 'It has been an unfortunate marriage - for him.' He began to pull his silky black beard, drawing it to a point beneath his chin. The beard gives him the look of a Tartar. 'Frankly,' he continued, 'she is not one of us. I would go so far as to say that she despises us and would do anything in her power to see that her husband's work does not go forward.'

'But they've been married for nearly fifty years! Surely, this…' I was not sure what I meant.

Chertkov leaned back against the desk and smile. 'You are an honest fellow, Valentin Fedorovich. I see why you came so highly recommended. Dushan Makovitsky is not overly intelligent, but he's a good judge of character.'

'I have heard about these problems between -'

'Don't let any of this trouble you,' Chertkov said. 'But remember that she will say dreadful things about me,' He seemed uncomfortable saying this and shifted. 'Sofya Andreayevna and I have not always been on bad terms. When I first exiled, she protested to the tsar. And she often wrote to me in England, passing along news of Leo Nikolayevich. Now she does not want me near her husband. It made her furious that I bought the house a Telyantinki, even though I am not allowed to live there.

'Disgraceful,' I said, surprised at my own vehemence.

'I'm what you might call living contraband,' he said smiling. It was the first time he had smiled since I'd called on him. He reached out again, taking my hands in his.

'My dear Valentin Fedorovich, you have been offered a great gift. You will see Leo Nikolayevich every day. You will take meals with him. You will walk in the forest by his side. And you will find your soul warmed daily by his fire. I hope that you will love him as I do. And that you will learn from him.' He let go of my hands and walked to the window parting the curtain to look at the falling snow. 'What he says will ring in your head forever.'

********
I have more thoughts about the book and its relevance to today, as well as history, but maybe if enough people read it we can have a discussion later. After Wanted comes out, it may be a slow time waiting for this movie. I ordered from Amazon but I think it is published somewhere in Britian.

Yes Bluebell, I could easily visualize JM as Valentin throughout the book. Can't you see Paul Giamatti as Chertkov too?

Do you want me to write about the introduction between JM and AM?

Valentin and Sasha (AM) don't have very many one on one scenes together (at least in the book). It doesn't give Sasha's age, but I think she is older than Valentin.

This is taken from Sasha's chapter.

******************

Mama came into the Remington room this morning as I was typing, carrying a shawl. A blue shawl. A blue shawl spun to a woolly froth, which she insisted I simply must have over my legs. 'You've never been a healthy girl,' she said, tucking the ends around my knees. I reminded her that it was Masha who had always been ill, not me. Mama just wanted to snoop.

'So what is this you're typing?' she asked casually. 'Letters? A new story?' The woman has no grace.

'A nosy woman soon loses her nose,' I said.

'Alexandra Lvovna!'

Whenever she wants to feign disapproval, she calls me by my Christian names. Even the servants around here call me Sasha. I am not pretentious.

"He's working with Bulgakov on For Every Day,' I said. 'You needn't worry. He's been saying nothing in print about you.' We both know that Papa writes the truth abut her in his diary. That's why she wants to read it all the time, and why Papa tries to keep it hidden. It's become a silly game of hide-and-seek.

'You've become rude and unladylike,' Mama said. 'I don't know why Papa makes you do all his dirty work,' she added, gesturing toward the typewriter.

'There's nothing dirty about the work I do for Papa.' I turned my back and began typing again.

'Do you like Bulgakov?'

'Well enough,' I said. 'He's polite. A bit naïve, perhaps. But he's young.' In fact, I find him disingenuous, even shifty. But I would not tell Mama such a thing. She is always looking for potential allies, and Bulgakov strikes me as one of those people who quickly turn the color of any room they enter.

This past year Mama has become impossible, positively bleeding the jealousy and bourgeoisie rancor. Weeping, preening in the mirror, prowling about the house all night like a crazed animal. Papa does not deserve this. I cannot understand why God put this particular burden on Russia's greatest author.

Masha, my sister, was Papa's favorite before she died. She always appeared to understand his ideas, though I doubt she did; still, it's not worth criticizing the dead. Since she passed away, I have made myself indispensable to Papa, and he is grateful to me. He loves me know, much as I love him.

A few pages later.

An hour later we gathered for tea. Mama had invited Bulgkov to stay. He seemed to gape at everyone and blew his nose repeatedly on a dirty handkerchief. I can hardly stand him. Pap's last secretary, Gusev, was ever so much better, a sincere man who understood Papa's ideas better than Papa does himself. Even Chertkov said so.

***************

More scenes in a few days...

I think you'll agree the casting is perfect.

edited for typo