Reading Chekhov: A Critical Journey

Sometimes I think that if Janet Malcolm decided to write a meditation about the way lint accumulates under beds, it would be an interesting book. Everything she puts her hand to becomes larger and more significant, increases in periphery, and connects to matters one would never have thought of oneself. And so with her book on Chekhov, a writer whose transfigurations of the ordinary, whose appreciation of the extraordinary, and whose reticence in his art and his life constitute a beauty and decency that transforms. In _Reading Chekhov_ crucial data from half a dozen biographies are distilled and linked to selected precis of critical articles and by contrast to Malcolm's own observations of Russia, which she visited, one gathers, largely in homage to Chekhov himself. The pace of her treatment is just right; each subject--Chekhov's death, Olga's role in his life, the trip to Sakhalin, the relationship to Suvorin--is given brisk yet full-feeling treatment and placed in the arc of the book, which moves slowly toward the center of Chekhov's personality, which apparently Chekhov took care would be ultimately unknowable. The story that begins and ends Malcolm's visit is the famous "Lady with a Lapdog"--a work alternately analyzed by "Aaron Green" in Malcolm's earlier _Psychoanalysis: the Impossible Profession._ The profundity, elegance, revelatory possibilities, and double-sidedness of the approach in that previous book and of that short story serve the presentation of Chekhov well. He emerges as the most delicate of perceivers, a man hesitant to say one jot more than he believes, as a twentieth century writer (as opposed to his hero Tolstoy), as a passionate moralist who understands how dubious it is to be a passionate moralist, as a devotee of loveliness and talent who respects honest, even dull and repetitious work. The sense of the word "Chekhovian"--that mute combination of goodness and passivity--resonates throughout, with the singular difference that Malcolm conveys on every page: that Chekhov was a literary genius. After reading her fresh, reinforcing, and deeper-seeking illuminations, I pulled down my eight collections, wanting to reread everything all at once, "The Kiss," "The Steppe," "A Dreary Story," "A Duel," "Ionivitch," "In the Ravine," "Three Years," "Ward No. 6," "Little Apples," "Ariadne," the plays. (I don't have "Kashtanka," but that's what libraries are for.) Another book by Janet Malcolm is coming out in September 2007--_Two Lives._ Just as _Psychoanalysis_ was like analysis itself, _Reading Chekhov_ is a seminar taught by a teacher in love with her subject. And look at how many stories and plays (the list above is not complete) and how much of Chekhov's life Malcolm presents in under 210 pages!

Few readers have time to wrestle with the long biographies and academic treatises that proliferate on beloved writers. Lack of time trumps the best intentions. Janet Malcolm has saved Chekhov enthusiasts the trouble by doing the reading herself, adding her own insights, and throwing in a bit of travel writing as well. Literary criticism predominates in this 200-page book, with biography taking second place and travelogue third. Malcolm weaves the biographical details around comments about the stories and plays; so, for example, we learn that Chekhov was steeped in Russian Orthodoxy--more so, apparently, than even Tolstoy. What makes that especially interesting is the contrast between Chekhov's self-proclaimed nonbelief and the way he handles religious themes in the stories; there is some evidence, presented in this book, that these matters were not as settled in Chekhov's mind as one might think just based on his statements. (I, for one, have always been impressed with the sympathy Chekhov shows to the characters who appear in The Bishop, a story not discussed by Malcolm.) Malcolm also takes on in brief compass Chekhov's trip to Sakhalin (arduous to get there; led to a rather dull, non-Chekhovian book); his death at 44 from tuberculosis in a hotel in Germany (which had various eyewitnesses and led to a variety of embellished accounts); and his relationships with women (he liked them pretty and well-dressed), with his publisher, with Tolstoy, and with his parents and siblings. She spices it up with thought-provoking insights; one example: "In his stories and plays, Chekhov is afraid for all men. He was only in his twenties and thirties when he wrote most of them, but like other geniuses--especially those who die prematurely--he wrote as if he were old. Toward the end of Ward No. 6, he veers off--as he does in other dark and terrible works, such as Peasants and In the Ravine--to rejoice for all men in the beauty of the world." As for her travels, Malcolm visits St. Petersburg, Moscow, and Yalta, each city in the company of a different tour guide. Her observations, far from being unfairly critical, are subtle, sardonic, and on the mark--certainly anyone who has traveled to Russia will recognize her guides. As I wrote this, I changed the rating from four to five stars--I can't really think what would improve it. An index perhaps, since despite its brevity one would like to be able to search the contents more easily. And I would disagree with the book's jacket, which claims that those unfamiliar with Chekhov could enjoy this volume. At the very least, one should have read a volume of the major stories and be familiar with the plays. Among other works, she discusses The Lady with the Lapdog, The Steppe, The Kiss, The Schoolmistress, The Three Sisters, Uncle Vanya, The Cherry Orhard, and more. Confound it, however, you're never off the hook--the book whets your appetite for more, naturally! Those longer biographies and critical treatments beckon.

For any lover of Chekhov this wonderful breeze of a book is a must. It was all the more poignant for me having, a few years ago, visited the places in the Crimea mentioned here, including Chekhov`s villa. Janet Malcolm interweaves her own journeys in Russia and Ukraine with pertinent scenes from the master`s stories and (occasionally) plays, in a way which sends one diving back to the sources once again. In the subtlest, most modest of ways, this author heightens one`s respect for Chekhov and his art, and made this reader fall in love once again with Chekhov the writer and Chekhov the man.

This is an intelligent study of one reader's relationship to Chekhov. She's especially insightful when reading Chekhov and comparing experience in his stories to the experience of our lives. For me, it's a keeper. This is a work of literary journalism, not investigative journalism, so I don't quite understand the comments of some of the more hostile reviewers.

"Reading Chekhov" is a beautifully written book, with sparkling insights on Chekhov's work in every chapter. It is less an academic or scholarly investigation than a meditation and exploration, which might have been titled, "Travels Through Russia While Thinking About Chekhov". Chekhov is certainly a writer who has been thought about quite a bit, and I was skeptical at first about how much Janet Malcolm would be able to contribute to a field which is glutted with critical studies and appreciations, but her book is unique (though at its best it shares qualities with V.S. Pritchett's fine study from 1988).Malcolm offers just enough biographical information for the reader who knows little about Chekhov to be able to appreciate this book, and she is also able to give an interesting enough perspective for her book to be worthwhile for someone who knows as much about Chekhov as she does. Aside from the short story "The Lady with the Dog", which serves as a touchstone for the book's narrative, Malcolm doesn't explore any of Chekhov's work in depth. The beauty of what she has created here, though, is that she is able to give a sense of Chekhov as a whole: his life, his writings, and the varied responses to his works and life. For instance, one of the most fascinating passages of the book compares how various biographers have portrayed Chekhov's last moments and death, and then what these portrayals might say about how Chekhov's entire life is portrayed, and how his works are interpreted.Unlike many studies of writers and their work, this one is subtle and repays rereading. Malcolm wastes no words, which is, on the whole, admirable (particularly when writing about such an efficient writer as Chekhov), but at times is tantalizing -- some of her ideas could be spun into entire books of their own. Nonetheless, this is a fine book, a pleasure to read,resonant and even Chekhovian.