Chekhov adopts the Flaubertian objectivity and reluctance towards commenting on his characters. But where Flaubert’s withdrawal from revealing his approval/disapproval and the sheer coldness of his prose itself become a kind of condescending commentary that gives away his opinions, Chekhov steers clear of it by not only becoming his characters but also being a mere passerby. A passerby who can not only witness and empathize with his often lonely characters but can also detach himself abruptly and walk away without an iota of moralizing—this abruptness, and this desire to be two things at once are what make his stories seem as if they don’t really end at all.

This wanting to be two things at once is clearly seen in the story-within-a-story frame that Chekhov sometimes sets up, where two or more characters engage in a conversation and one of them, all passionate, narrates a story. The tale, which usually seems like the failure of the teller’s privacy, may be about a peasant narrating how painful his life has been, or a passionate case on happiness, or a man’s secret about his adulterous love affair, etc. This story is often passionately concluded with the teller’s own moral opinion, so passionate that even the reader is convinced by his notion. But all this teller’s passion and secret is greeted with, is the listeners’ boredom and indifference. What’s in the speaker’s head is interesting and urgent only to him; it sounds great only in his head, and not when blurted out. But again the teller is often not privy to the listener’s boredom—a typically Chekhovian trick. Their lives go on. It’s not just his abrupt endings that make them ambiguous: it’s also the absence of Chekhov, coupled with his free characters.

One of the other things that sets him apart is his concise, unlyrical, and (sometimes almost) flat prose that doesn’t linger much on static detail: though when it does, detail seems almost arbitrarily sprinkled. This and the lack of authorial commentary, allow his characters a kind of freedom where they not only seem to live but almost float.

Chekhov is free of any ideological consistency, but the one thing he’s unfailingly consistent is the capital-R Realism, though his version differs a little from the other 19th-century heavyweights. He doesn’t seem to be arguing for his own ideologies, nor is he interested in neatly wrapping things up by shoving moral epiphanies down the throats of his characters. He just shows you both the sides and shrugs, says “I don’t know,” and walks away.

I'm refraining from rating it because I don't really like the much acclaimed Pevear and Volokhonsky's translation, plus this selection also leaves out a lot of his important short pieces. Comparing it with other translations, I find their version to chase concision at the expense of clarity. I'll probably check out Constance Garnett's translation, which, though sometimes too literal, looks rather lucid.

"Hundreds of miles of deserted, monotonous, scorched steppe cannot produce such gloom as one man when he sits and talks and nobody knows when he will leave."

Liūdnai skaitėsi. Pastoviai lydėjo nuotaika lyg būtų sekmadienis, septinta valanda vakaro arba per ilgai būčiau žiūrėjęs į pilką dangų.

من اعنف ما كتب في الادب الروسي "

لقد توفيت منذ دقيقتين ..وجدت نفسي هنا وحدي معي مجموعة من الملائكة،و آخرين لا أعرف ما هم،توسلت بهم أن يعيدونني إلى الحياة،من أجل زوجتي التي لا تزال صغيرة وولدي الذي لم يرَ النور بعد،لقد كانت زوجتي حامل في شهرها الثالث،مرت عدة دقائق اخرى ،
جاء احد الملائكة يحمل شيء يشبه شاشة التلفاز أخبرني ان التوقيت بين الدنيا والآخرة يختلف كثيرا الدقائق هنا تعادل الكثير من الايام هناك
" تستطيع ان تطمئن عليهم من هنا "
قام بتشغيل الشاشة فظهرت زوجتي مباشرةً تحمل طفلاً صغيراً !
الصورة كانت مسرعة جداً،الزمن كان يتغير كل دقيقه،كان ابني يكبر ويكبر،وكل شيء يتغير،غيرت زوجتي الأثاث،استطاعت أن تحصل على مرتبي التقاعدي،دخل ابني للمدرسة،تزوج اخوتي الواحد تلو الآخر،أصبح للجميع حياته الخاصة،مرت الكثير من الحوادث،وفي زحمة الحركة والصورة المشوشة،لاحظت شيئاً ثابتاً في الخلف،يبدو كالظل الأسود،مرت دقائق كثيرة،
ولا يزال الظل ذاته في جميع الصور،كانت تمر هنالك السنوات،كان الظل يصغر،و يخفت،ناديت على أحد الملائكة،توسلته أن يقرب لي هذا الظل حتى اراه جيدا،لقد كان ملاكا عطوفاً،لم يقم فقط بتقريب الصورة،بل عرض المشهد بذات التوقيت الأرضي،و لا ازال هنا قابعاً في مكاني،منذ خمسة عشر عام،أشاهد هذا الظل يبكي فأبكي،لم يكن هذا الظل سوى "أمي " .

أنطون تشيخوف

বিশ্বসাহিত্য কেন্দ্র কিংবা ভারতীয় অনুবাদের হাত ধরে চেকফ আগে পড়া হয়নি, তা নয়। কিন্তু হাইস্কুলের পাতা থেকে সেইসব গল্প ঝাপসা হয়ে এসেছে অনেকাংশে, এক বন্ধু চেকফ পড়ে সম্প্রতি যখন মুগ্ধতার কথা জানালো, কী ভেবে খুঁজে বের করলাম চেকফের এই সংকলন।

অপূর্ব এক-একটা গল্প। ছোটর মাঝেও ছোট গল্পগুলোয় চেকফ মানুষকে ধরেছেন মুহুর্তের মহিমায়, আর গল্প যখন একটু বড় হয়েছে, রাশিয়ার সর্বস্তরের আপাদমস্তক বৈশিষ্ট্যহীন মানুষগুলো তার বয়ানে হয়ে উঠেছে চিরকালের মানুষ।

চেকফ অল্প বলেছেন। এবং, চেকফ গল্প বলেছেন।

7 sao!. Hãy xem một nhận xét về ông:
"You know, man, it doesn't matter who translates you. You always sound just like yourself. A casual observer. And yet the casualness reveals so much about us."

Sau ông, mọi cây bút truyện ngắn xuất sắc khác chỉ làm được mỗi một việc mới nữa là gợi nhắc về ông!

I've read almost five hundred books by now and I know that this is not in any way a spectacular quantity or a particular feat, but recently I've been left feeling insipid after an end. Like when you took sample of too many perfume, or fruity beverages and all the taste started to blur together until they all looked the same thing. So, I've felt the same with hype books, sure it's nice reads, liked them but that was about all, and there was this creeping feeling-watching other people loved and were emotionally affected by theirs- of fear that I am losing that experience of magic. Then I read Chekhov. The first paragraph into The Death of a Government Clerk, and I was struck to the core with that speechless WOW. Three pages of a story and I was positively inspired. Utter brilliance, incomparable, ingenious talent.

I started off bored. But then my dearest Chekhov picked it up and suddenly I was questioning the meaning of life. His descriptions of life in Russia in the day are superb and put me there in some hut with only kasha to eat and the floor to sleep on. Time travel is real I suppose cuz I did it reading this sucker. The stories are chill and have very mild to no plots but nonetheless the setting and characters are phenomenal. My fav stories were: the kiss, ward no 6, my life, and the darling. Chekhov touches on some deep stuff. Russians are kinda depressing.

These are masterful short stories, and have helped me to accept my trials as being part of the greater whole. He also imparts hope in our ability to soldier through. Above all, he renders life with sensitivity, candor, and a deep loyalty to truth.

I loved most all of these stories, but my favorite ones were "The Huntsman," "Ward No. 6," "The Black Monk," "The Student," and "The Bishop." Like reading Dahl's short stories, these all contain gritty moments that make the reader squirm, without the least degree of gratuity. These are recognizable moments; like Dostoevsky, Chekhov's authentic experience with his characters comes through. The stories brilliantly depict pride, mental illness, sorrow, regret, unease, hypocrisy, youthful energy and faith, and the ravages of physical illness. He maps the contours of natural consequence unflinchingly, never shirking cold reality, never introducing a Deus ex Machina to fix what's wrong. Caveat Lectorum.

My favorite quotes:
--"The need for a new, better life wrung his heart with unbearable anguish." pg. 7 (Small Fry)
--"Once a free spirit settles into a man, there's no getting it out of him." pg. 11 (The Huntsman)
--"Exactly the same pain must have been felt day after day, for years, by these people who now looked like black shadows in the moonlight." pg. 219 (Ward No. 6)
--"Doctors and kind relations will finally make it so that mankind will grwo dull, mediocrity wil lbe considered genius, and civilization will die out." pg. 247 (The Black Monk)
--"The past . . . is connected with the present in an unbroken chain of events flowing one out of the other." pg. 266 (The Student)
--"At the door of every contented, happy man somebody should stand with a little hammer, constantly tapping, to remind him that unhappy people exist, that however happy he may be, sooner or later life will show him its claws, some calamity will befall him--illness, poverty, loss--and nobody will hear or see, just as he doesn't hear or see others now." pg. 318 (Gooseberries)
--"In all the time he had been there, not a single person had spoken to him sincerely, simply, humanly; even his old mother seemed not the same, not the same at all!" pg. 429 (The Bishop)

Anton Chekhov was a doctor by training and by temperament. No wonder, then, that death has such a strong presence in all of his work. In many of his later stories the approach of death is the major theme.
He believed that people die in a very ordinary way, many times thinking about life. Death, for Chekhov, was simply part of a natural process, something inescapable. Rather the opposite of Tolstoy who felt horror when thinking of death.
Chekhov's stories have an air of impassivity though the reader can sense indignation smoldering quietly in the background. Resignation and revolt are mysteriously blended together in his work.
For Chekhov, the order of the world is implacable and indifferent to human suffering. His real hero is the hopeless man, a man who has no action left in him in life except, perhaps, beat his head on the wall.
He is a compassionate writer who creates an elusive mood just by registering ordinary events, by including a few trivial details and a few spoken words. He embraces all Russian life in its various manifestations. He delights in the absurd and he has a sharp eye for human folly.
I cannot recommend his unsettling, sobering short stories enough. Fortunately, I still can look forward to his plays and short novels.

In a league of his own.

Best author I've read from in a while. Might dare to say he's now my favorite. I learned new things from every story and he has brought new thoughts, ideas, and now Russian history for me to further explore.