Anton Chekhov

On Friday, I was lucky enough to take my high school juniors and seniors to see "Three Sisters," a play by Anton Chekhov. The set, storyline, and actors were amazing. For me, and maybe this is more evident to me because I've been avidly reading American Lit. all year, but there is a strong connection between the yearnings of the characters for a better life, one that could be achieved if only they could get to Moscow, and Of Mice and Men. I would characterize Chekhov as a Realist, although a book I picked off of my shelf at school, Ward 6 and Other Stories, a collection of Chekhov's short stories, categorizes him as a Modernist writer. Hmmmm. Not sure I agree there, but okay. The deeply psychological exploration of his characters' motives and the fact that the play as well as most of his fiction deals with the grim realities of life make him a Realist to me. I think Steinbeck shares some of these same traits too. Consider the ending of Of Mice and Men and the minute fidelity to detail in The Grapes of Wrath. Both Steinbeck and Chekhov do not pull punches when it comes to the raw inner or outer landscapes of humanity. Maybe that is why I am drawn to both writers.

In the introduction to Ward 6, David Plante, the editor, provides this excerpt from a letter Chekhov wrote to a woman who had sent him one of her stories to read and critique: "When you depict sad or unlucky people, and want to touch the reader's heart, try to be cold--it gives their grief as it were a background against which it stands out in greater relief. As it is, your heroes weep and you sigh. Yes, you must be cold." This gives some insight into Chekhov's motives as a writer: to present the human condition in all its raw coldness so that the grief and troubles of the audience are more clearly brought into the light for them to recognize and, hopefully, to deal with.

One of my favorite Chekhov stories, "The Student," ends with this realization by the main character: "And joy suddenly stirred in his soul, and he even stopped for a minute to take breath. 'The past,' he thought, 'is linked with the present by an unbroken chain of events flowing one out of another.' And it seemed to him that he had just seen both ends of that chain; that when he touched one end the other quivered." The story begins with a cold chill that permeates the landscape as a student walks home alone from a hunting expedition in the forest. He is reminded of Peter's denial of Jesus three times by something he sees and, as he passes two women, he tells them about this biblical connection. They weep. He then realizes that something in that biblical story still resonates with these women so many years later (talk about the power of text-to-self connections!), that there is some personal connection, some personal pain that causes them to weep. This is what lifts him out of his own depressed state: the realization that personal experiences are universally connected throughout time, that the experiences of these two women are connected to the experiences of Peter and Jesus. This makes his heart fill with joy.

In the story, there is mention that Easter will be the day after tomorrow...ah, religious allusions...this story is ripe with religious symbolism...in this case, the resurrection...the main character, the student, who feels so forlorn at the beginning of the story, ends the story with his soul resurrected: "and the feeling of youth, health, vigour--he was only twenty-two--and the inexpressible sweet expectation of happiness, of unknown mysterious happiness, took possession of him little by little, and life seemed to him enchanting, marvelous, and full of lofty meaning."

I remember the first time I read this story. I was twenty-two and reading it two floors below the main library while I was working as a shelver downtown. When I read the end, I too was uplifted. I felt that Chekhov was writing to me across the century...that I also was part of an unbroken chain of events between a Russian writer in 1894 and myself, a student in 2002. I could feel the connection between myself and the "student" Chekhov was writing about 108 years earlier.