Leer a Chéjov es leer al ser humano, sus sueños, sus desvelos, sus angustías...; es, en suma, leer la existencia. Dueño de un original credo estético, es en la narrativa breve donde el ruso universal despliega la excepcional maestría de su obra. En Los campesinos, Chéjov concentró, en 16 relatos, lo mejor de su fecunda producción cuentística. Brevedad, sencillez, dolor, piedad, y una aguda penetración del alma humana definen el estilo de este poeta de lo cotidiano. Retratista de lo trágico en las pequeñas cosas, en las pequeñas vidas, Anton Chéjov, que afirmó: «La felicidad no existe. Lo único que existe es el deseo de ser feliz», nos regala en este extraordinario volumen unas ficciones absorbentes, apasionantes e inolvidables.
Dramas, such as The Seagull (1896, revised 1898), and including "A Dreary Story" (1889) of Russian writer Anton Pavlovich Chekhov, also Chekov, concern the inability of humans to communicate.
Born (Антон Павлович Чехов) in the small southern seaport of Taganrog, the son of a grocer. His grandfather, a serf, bought his own freedom and that of his three sons in 1841. He also taught to read. A cloth merchant fathered Yevgenia Morozova, his mother.
"When I think back on my childhood," Chekhov recalled, "it all seems quite gloomy to me." Tyranny of his father, religious fanaticism, and long nights in the store, open from five in the morning till midnight, shadowed his early years. He attended a school for Greek boys in Taganrog from 1867 to 1868 and then Taganrog grammar school. Bankruptcy of his father compelled the family to move to Moscow. At the age of 16 years in 1876, independent Chekhov for some time alone in his native town supported through private tutoring.
In 1879, Chekhov left grammar school and entered the university medical school at Moscow. In the school, he began to publish hundreds of short comics to support his mother, sisters and brothers. Nicholas Leikin published him at this period and owned Oskolki (splinters), the journal of Saint Petersburg. His subjected silly social situations, marital problems, and farcical encounters among husbands, wives, mistresses, and lust; even after his marriage, Chekhov, the shy author, knew not much of whims of young women.
Nenunzhaya pobeda, first novel of Chekhov, set in 1882 in Hungary, parodied the novels of the popular Mór Jókai. People also mocked ideological optimism of Jókai as a politician.
Chekhov graduated in 1884 and practiced medicine. He worked from 1885 in Peterburskaia gazeta.
In 1886, Chekhov met H.S. Suvorin, who invited him, a regular contributor, to work for Novoe vremya, the daily paper of Saint Petersburg. He gained a wide fame before 1886. He authored The Shooting Party, his second full-length novel, later translated into English. Agatha Christie used its characters and atmosphere in later her mystery novel The Murder of Roger Ackroyd. First book of Chekhov in 1886 succeeded, and he gradually committed full time. The refusal of the author to join the ranks of social critics arose the wrath of liberal and radical intelligentsia, who criticized him for dealing with serious social and moral questions but avoiding giving answers. Such leaders as Leo Tolstoy and Nikolai Leskov, however, defended him. "I'm not a liberal, or a conservative, or a gradualist, or a monk, or an indifferentist. I should like to be a free artist and that's all..." Chekhov said in 1888.
The failure of The Wood Demon, play in 1889, and problems with novel made Chekhov to withdraw from literature for a period. In 1890, he traveled across Siberia to Sakhalin, remote prison island. He conducted a detailed census of ten thousand convicts and settlers, condemned to live on that harsh island. Chekhov expected to use the results of his research for his doctoral dissertation. Hard conditions on the island probably also weakened his own physical condition. From this journey came his famous travel book.
Chekhov practiced medicine until 1892. During these years, Chechov developed his concept of the dispassionate, non-judgmental author. He outlined his program in a letter to his brother Aleksandr: "1. Absence of lengthy verbiage of political-social-economic nature; 2. total objectivity; 3. truthful descriptions of persons and objects; 4. extreme brevity; 5. audacity and originality; flee the stereotype; 6. compassion." Because he objected that the paper conducted against Alfred Dreyfus, his friendship with Suvorin ended
No matter how much Russian literature I read—in English translation, of course—and no matter who the translator happens to be, I am left with the nagging suspicion that there is something essential about Russian literature and culture that I don't fully 'get.' The reactions and behavior of these characters and the social milieux they inhabit are mostly familiar, I suppose, but they are also haunted around the edges by an irreducible strangeness which no particular translation and no generosity of footnotes will ever make fully intelligible to the non-Russian. And I would be lying if I told you that this elusiveness isn't part of this literature's appeal. Anton Chekhov is no different from his marquee name compatriots Dostoevsky and Tolstoy in this respect. The several short stories and two novellas in this Edmund Wilson-curated collection point to sociocultural questions about Russian life at the end of the 19th century and the very beginning of the 20th century that Chekhov, of course, takes for granted. This, in fact, is the distinction of this collection, as Wilson points out in his brief introduction; these late stories of Chekhov, all relatively bleak, speak of the greater social problems of Russian life at this unique moment of transformation. And make no mistake: Chekhov harbors no illusions about the future; his prognosis for Russian society is hardly optimistic and offers few consolations to its victims. A stubbornly backward, underdeveloped empire has been delivered into the 20th century greatly handicapped by its cultural immensity and diffusion, its recalcitrance in the face of 'progress,' and the tragic collisions between the old and the new. In this collection of stories, translated by Constance Garnett, Chekhov illustrates these 'challenges' (this word feels like a banal euphemism here) with sadness and, occasionally, with bitterness—but never with garish sentimentality. In the story 'In the Ravine,' for example, a vulgar, well-to-do family of the developing merchant class live in a typically wretched Russian village, making money off the peasantry through black market sales, while bribing the powers-that-be; the unscrupulous son of the family takes a poor peasant girl as his wife, simply because of her beauty. The misery that's heaped upon this girl at the hands of this miserable family is nearly unbearable to read, and yet she takes this cruelty almost as a matter of course. Her equanimity is disturbing, in fact, to this reader. This is part of the inscrutability of Russian literature for me. Characters often don't act in ways you'd expect—or, more accurately, in ways you'd want them to. Their resignation to or acquiescence in their fate sometimes seems hopeless—and yet very real. I think it's wrong to assume that stories like these were the norm of Russian life at the time, but they certainly highlight the unique circumstances of fin de siècle Russia—a nation which seems always to be the exception to every known rule.
Again, Chekhov convinces me. The way he describes in a few pages the situation of the peasants in 19th century Russia after the abolition of serfdom is again proof for me that he is THE master of short stories. Do read Chekhov, dear GR-friends!
Chekov is an astute observer of society and social status. He beautifully illustrates the range of human behaviour in different vignettes. Although each story has its central plot, we encounter a number of subplot and secondary characters. With all these he shows how different social groups view each other and the interaction between these groups: men and women, master and servant, landowners and peasants. The wealthy were usually portrayed as trying to contribute to society whereas the poor were unable to help themselves, even if money were given to them. Alcoholism features prominently. There were contrasts between characters which were responsible and irresponsible, faithful and unfaithful, honest and fake.
There were several comparisons between urban (Moscow) and rural living. Commonly, the working class was driven out of the city with the loss of employment. They return to the countryside, only to find more hardship. The rich chose the countryside for the environment, only to be driven back to the city by provincial attitudes of the locals.
The stories seem a bit meaningless at first because Chekov does not provide any proper conclusions or solutions to the stories. But as I persevere and read along, I get a feel of his style and a better appreciation all the nuances. He certainly is a master of the short story.
Chekhov makes me wish I knew Russian, because I'd love to read him in his own language. I wonder if he's capable with prose of the same accomplishments he made with character and structure, of the very essential sense of story, that draws me to him. Still, every decent translation shares those qualities, so I can safely assume they're original to his work, and this is why I love Chekhov. Who else can get away with the kind of meandering organicism, the almost digressive sense of plot, that Chekhov uses? Who else can start a story in one perspective and shift seemingly at random, as though subconciously, to another perspective, even an entirely different narrative voice, and slip it past us so smoothly we barely notice and easily forgive it? Who else makes us eager for the shift? Who else can drop the end of the story--often no end at all--like a punch in the gut and makes us crave more of the same? Maybe Dan Chaon. Maybe Debra Monroe. Maybe. But no one can do it as beautifully--as spiritually--as Chekhov, and these stories are a delight, a kind of masters class in his range and his beauty.
Me gustó. Rescato con cariño a los personajes: Sacha, Olga; Nicolas, Motka y María. Kiriak y el viejo Osip(padre), aunque no es lógico, me cayeron bien. A quienes realmente no soporté fue a la vieja y a Fekla.
Es lo primero que leo de Anton Paulovich Chejov. <3
Chekhov is a good writer with a penchant for describing a scene in such a Way that you can imagine yourself as one of the characters occupying the space, however, it only goes as far as the senses. Most of these stories deal with the peasant class of post-serfdom Russia, where the lines are blurred when it comes to social mobility.
Chekhov broaches some interesting topics, delving into the psychology of the newly rich, the destitute, and those that would have nothing to do with either, and how they all justify themselves and their actions. It’s all quite funny, if it weren’t also so very depressing… Chekhov’s description can feel drawn out at times, as he is not reluctant to take his time to set up a story. This makes the book a long haul and can often feel repetitive.
I enjoyed the book, particularly his way of writing conversations and endings, and some stories resonated with me deeply, even though they were written more than a hundred years ago.
An NYRB curio. I have no argument with Chekhov's stories, they are wonderful and should be read by all. However, those collected in this volume are the Garnett translations--a good starting place, but certainly not definitive. There is also a throwaway introduction by Edmund Wilson, of all people, delineating what is perhaps the least interesting thing about Chekhov: the social background and class of his characters. The NYRB has rendered innumerable services to literature by reprinting out-of-print works and drawing fresh attention to forgotten authors. With so many excellent Chekhov anthologies on the market, I fail to see the necessity of this volume.
What may I speak in honor of great Anton Chekhov? What dreadfulness it is to be poor, is something that could easily be learned from the peasants. Apparently his prose has it's ultimate effect, the plots and the way of expressing is just mind boggling. Yet many might argue that, it was translated but, in my perspective the genuine is always better. Indubitably the translator hadn't added something from his own side to the book. Whether in Russian or any other language, even a translation cannot outdo the genuine work. Hats off!
I'm not sure the translation I read was that good. It was done by Constance Garnett. I'm beginning to fully appreciate the translator's contribution. I wonder if there is anyone who rates translators.
Este libro es hermoso. Con algunos cuentos estuve apunto de llorar y sin embargo, también me reí. Otros cuentos simplemente me divirtieron muchísimo. Es una delicia leer a Chéjov.
As the "liner" notes on the back of this collection of stories states; "Chekhov strips away unneeded narrative and exposition, and what is left is slices of life or sketches." I would have to agree and also state that Chekhov impresses with his writing. These short stories truly grab you and even though they are written by a Russian author of the late 1800's, it translates so well. The only complaint is these are just sketches, and really all the stories offer no closure. So, some might be put off by this...but then actual life, things don't always tie up neatly like a hourly long scripted TV drama. All the stories tend to look at class structure of the entitled class compared to the lower classes (peasants, working people, or common folk). The best of the stories is a tale entitled "The Bet." Where a young man takes a self-imposed imprisonment of sorts for 15 years, on a bet to win 2 million dollars from a well-to-do banker. The story is striped of all unnecessary trappings, and what is left is thought provoking tale of personal morals. Anyways, Anton Chekhov was a excellent writer! I just minus one star because the lack of closure on some of the tales is a bit off-putting. Being the stories are so good you wish they would have gone on longer.
Chekov is a mind-blowing writer by nature and the Russian literature is just so rich in ways no one can imagine. He managed to reveal the poor, painful and low life of peasants in a marvelous way. You can feel their pain, weakness, failure,ego, meanness, poverty,hunger and powerlessness. And even though they can barely live or feed themselves they are always ready to sell their souls for a half bottle of Vodka. The other story about the mental health hospital. This was a story out of this world. And the conversation between the patient and the doctor was really unique. And the ending was really the cherry on top. I do believe that the real crazy people are the ones who are walking down the streets not the one in the hospitals.
This book made me realize that the Russian history I've taken would have been aided immeasurably by having me read Chekhov stories along the way. The stories in this book are sharp analyses of various social classes in late Imperial Russia.
I can't really pick out a "favorite" or praise the structure of a story, the way I have with other Chekhov collections that I've read. "Plot" doesn't seem important here. What caught me and pulled me through the book was the depiction of the various social classes and how they interacted, for good or for ill.
¿Cómo no ponerle cinco estrellas a una obra de arte de la Literatura? Pero, la verdad, creo que ha envejecido mal. La visión del ser humano que plasma de manera tan gráfica no sé si guarda alguna relación con las vidas que llevamos ahora. Fuera de eso, es deliciosa.
The most famous story here is "The Peasants" about a Moscow waiter named Nikolai who, in old age, loses his health an job and thus must move with his wife back to the very small village of huts where others of his family live. Village peasant life was stark, harsh, grim, a struggle living, with nearby some beautiful scenes and churches. Moscow was the longed-for "Mecca" which seems to hold glorious promise if only they could be admitted to work there. The deplorable conditions of these uneducated peasants is described superbly by Chekhov. These peasants "lived worse than cattle, and it was terrible to live with them; they were coarse, filth, dishonest, and drunken; they did not live together in peace, but continually quarreled, because they did not respect but feared and suspected one another. Who keeps the pothouse and makes drunkards of the people? The peasant." And so it continues, all woes caused by the peasants. One example is their feelings about death, described in part as:- "Only the rich peasants feared death; the richer they grew the less they believed in God and in the salvation of the soul.... The poorer peasants had no fear of death. The old man and Granny were told to their faces that they had lived too long, that it was time for them to die, and they did not mind.... They had no fear of death, but had an exaggerated terror of all sickness."
My copy of this collection has 20 stories, a tale "The Peasants" being the best known. Other stories all I've read: The Confession, He Understood, At Sea: A Sailor's Story, A Nincompoop, Surgery, Ninochka, A Cure for Drinking, The Darling, The Jailer Jailed, The Dance Pianist, the Milksop, Marriage in 10 or 15 years, In Spring, Agafya, the Kiss (I'd previously read), The Father, In Exile, The House with the Mansard- An Artist's Story, and the longest of these tales(90 p.) 'Three Years' which I found a rather tedious three years of a disfunctional wealthy business family going nowhere yet the protagonists suffering unhappily.
My paperback is falling apart, literally, yet I've now read them all, so it goes in the dust bin!
Ahh, excellent, excellent. Chekhov's stories are all incredibly atmospheric and engrossing, which is great when you're on the train- nothing like being distracted from public transportation by the grim portrayal of peasant life in late 19th-century Russia. But seriously, he creates some amazing stories in such a short frame. One of the things I enjoy about short stories is to say so much while not using that many words. My personal favourite story was "The Duel," and if you can only read one of these stories, read that one- it's a little longer, but it's worth it. One of the reasons I love the old Russian novelists so much is their ability to reach into the human psyche, and this was no different.
Interesting look at various classes of Russian society around the turn of the 19th/20th century. I like how he made an effort to develop stories that featured the lives of peasants and working classes. So much of Russian writing involves characters who are nobility or functionaries, this collection wove stories around the other segments of society.
I found the writing to be typical of Russian authors, every dense and the story concluding with a moral ending, and not necessarily a happy one.
I only have two stories left, but I don't know if I can finish this book. It is far too depressing. When I got to the part where a jealous woman murders the newborn of another women by pouring scalding water over it, I had had enough.
I'm sure I'm supposed to rate this higher because it's Chekhov... I read 4 stories from the collection for a discussion group. Somewhat interesting, I understand the importance, and done.