As David Magarshack says in the introduction to this edition, with "The Overcoat", "...Gogol began a new chapter in Russian literature in which the underdog and social misfit is treated not as a nuisance, or a figure of fun, or an object of charity, but as a human being who has as much right to happiness as anyone else". He thereby served as an inspiration to the Russian realist authors who followed, such as Dostoevsky, who famously said "we have all come out from under Gogol's 'Overcoat'".
The two stories I loved most in this collection were "Ivan Fyodorovich Shponka and His Aunt" and "The Overcoat". I disliked "The Nose". The rest were all interesting and as with all great fiction, transported me to another time and place.
Among other things you'll find nationalism ("When Cossack hearts meet, they almost leap out of the breast to greet each other."), superstition (people afraid to walk in the woods after dark for fear of unbaptised children and maidens who have drowned themselves), anti-Semitism ("The majority of its officers drank hard and were very expert at dragging Jews about by their side locks, in which pastime they were as proficient as the hussars"), and poverty ("...I've been in the habit of stopping my ears for the night ever since that damned incident in a Russian inn when a cockroach crawled into my left ear. Those damned Russians, as I found out later, even eat their cabbage soup with cockroaches in it.").
It's not "pretty" fiction; the plots are sometimes irrational and there is a somewhat "raw" feeling throughout.
For all of his love of Russia, Gogol was also in the end was too conservative for his times, supporting serfdom and the patriarchal way of life as the tidal wave of change approached. Ultimately it drove him kinda nuts and he starved himself to death at the age of 42.
I love the linkages between the Russian giants: Gogol's friendship with Pushkin at the age of 22 as he burst upon the scene, Turgenev attending history class at Petersburg University with an inept Gogol as teacher, the critic Belinsky blasting Gogol in a letter, which Dostoevsky then read publicly to a group of radicals causing him to get sentenced to prison, etc.
It's certainly a part of why I read "Dead Souls" as well as these short stories; I enjoyed both and would recommend Gogol to others. I'm surprised at how few have him in their collections.
Quotes...
On death, from "The Overcoat":
"Akaky Akakyevich was taken to the cemetery and buried. And St. Petersburg carried on without Akaky, as though he had never lived there. A human being just disappeared and left no trace, a human being whom no one ever dreamed of protecting, who was not dear to anyone, whom no one thought of taking any interest in, who did not attract the attention even of a naturalist who never fails to stick a pin through an ordinary fly to examine it under the microscope…and upon whose head afterwards disaster had most pitilessly fallen, as it falls upon the heads of the great ones of this Earth!"
On joy in small things, from "Nevsky Avenue":
"He saw the unknown girl run up the steps, turn around, put a finger against her lips, and make a sign to him to follow her. His knees shook; his feelings, his thoughts, were aflame; joy like a flash of lightning pierced his heart, bringing with it the sensation of sharp pain. No, it was certainly not a dream! Oh, how much happiness could be crowded in one brief moment! What a lifetime of ecstasy in only two minutes!"
On old age, from "Ivan Fyodorovich Shponka and His Aunt":
"“…I’m too old. In the old days, I remember, our buckwheat used to reach as high as a man’s waist, but now goodness only knows what it is like. Though, mind you, I am told that everything is much better now.”
Here the old lady heaved a sigh. And some outside observer might have recognized in that sigh the sigh of the eighteenth century."
And again, from "The Portrait":
"He was already beginning, as is the habit of men of his age, to accuse all young people indiscriminately of immoral and viscous trends of thought. … He had, in fact, reached the age when anything showing the slightest flash of inspiration is condemned and frowned upon, when even the mightiest chord reaches the spirit feebly and does not pierce a man’s heart with its sound, when the touch of beauty no longer fans the virgin forces into fire and flame, but all burnt-out feelings respond more easily to the jingle of gold, hearken more attentively to its seductive music and little by little allow themselves unconsciously to be lulled to sleep by it."