Customer Reviews

Ward Number Six and Other Stories (Literature in Translation)

5 star:		(1)
4 star:		(3)
3 star:		(0)
2 star:		(0)
1 star:		(0)

 

 

Chekhov is considered to be one of the greatest short story writers in the world. His short novels and short stories are powerful, intense, different, and meaningful. This book has one of the best of these stories, the very intense "Ward Number Six".

"Ward Number Six" feels like it's a full story by itself. It is, after all, around 45 pages long. Not a full novel, perhaps, but certainly a complete story. What is nice about it, is that it's interesting, drawing, and we get to know the characters well. It's written in Chekhov's typical good writing style, so that's also a plus.

The other stories here too are interesting. "The Butterfly", for example, is a sort of sad little story, but still good. "Ariadne", however, stands above as the strangest story I've ever read. It's told as a story someone told the narrarator, so at some point it just ends, because the rest hasn't happened yet. While a fascinating story, it's funny how it just ENDS.

My only disappointment is that it's so short of a collection. Considering the fact that "Ward Number Six" takes up most of the pages, there are few other stories here. I suppose it's because Oxford World Classics also have other Chekhov collections published and want readers to buy as many as possible. That's quite frustrating. That is the reason for the 4 star rating. It's a nice collection, but I wish there could be a collection with more than a handful of stories.

I'm not sure everybody in this section is reviewing the same book. Some other reviews make mention of there being twenty stories in the compilation. I read the Oxford World's Classics edition, ISBN 0-19-283733-8, which comprises seven stories:
THE BUTTERFLY
WARD NUMBER SIX
ARIADNE
A DREARY STORY
NEIGHBORS
AN ANONYMOUS STORY and
DOCTOR STARTSEV

These are not upbeat tales. I guess the common thread running through them is a very life-weary feel. Chekov does a good job depicting the hardships of 19th century Russia.

The title story concerns itself with country doctor Ragin who would rather talk philosophy with mental patients in Ward Six than round on his other cases. Enter an upstart new doctor Khobotov fresh from the city, who covets Ragin's easy practice. Over time, townspeople start to wonder whether Ragin's prolonged association with the mental patients signifies that he himself may actually be mentally ill. The brilliance of the storytelling is in the uncertainties... could Ragin actually be mentally ill? is this a ploy by Khobotov to usurp Ragin's appointment? is Averanovich Ragin's friend or foe? Although this parable is quite short (47 pages), the complexities running through it are more like what I would expect from a much longer work.

"The Butterfly" and "Ariadne" and "An Anonymouys Story" are cautionary tales about romances built on poor foundations. "Doctor Startsev" is a variation on this theme- a romance which had potential, but which was never allowed to blossom.

In "A Dreary Story", an accomplished academic looks back on his career with disillusionment, and contempt for most of his peers. In that respect, it reminds me of that old movie "The Browning Version". Unfortunately, "Dreary Story" is, in fact, dreary - and offers none of the uplifting redemption that "Browning Version" does.

If you liked Tolstoy's Death of Ivan Ilyich and Other Stories: the Raid Woodfelling Three Deaths Polikushka the Death of Ivan Ilyich after the Ball the Forged Coupon, you should enjoy these selections

I'd long heard that Russian writer Anton Chekhov had written short stories, but like most people it was on the strength of his plays, those intense little mood pieces, that I knew him best. Granted, I thought the plays uniformly strong, and considered him of a stature near that of a Tennessee Williams or George Bernard Shaw. So revered for decades, was Chekhov, for his dramatic works, that he even had an apothegm called Chekhov's Gun named after him. It stated that if in the First Act that there is a gun presented, by Third Act it must be shot, lest its import as symbolism, and effect as a dramatic tool be nil and unjustifiable. Yet, as I've gotten more into reading short stories I discovered that far more people admired his short stories than his plays, or, at least, to a greater degree. Having now read a full collection of twenty-three of his tales, in a Barnes & Noble Classics Edition titled Ward No. 6 And Other Stories, translated by Constance Garnett, I have to say I'm inclined to agree with those who declaim him a superior short fictionist to dramatist. What I do not agree with, though, are those critics who would place him in a direct line from the French Guy de Maupassant, and a confrere of the American O. Henry. The reason is that even in the earliest tales- and they span a range from 1885's The Cook's Wedding to 1902's The Bishop- Chekhov's tales are imbued with an intellectual probing wholly absent from Maupassant or O. Henry. He goes off into soliloquies, rivaling and surpassing the best of Shakespeare, that are far deeper than anything the plot-driven Frenchman or American achieved. Whereas their tales are one dimensional and dependent upon twists at the end, Chekhov's tales are almost devoid of `boom' endings. They just sort of go on in the mind, dependent upon mood and the situations described. The characters' outer actions are almost always mirrors of their inner states of being. That this was achieved in the mid-1880s is truly an accomplishment of great note, for he was, to beg the cliché, truly far ahead of his time.

Yet, he is not a sullen realist. Some critics have disparaged his bleak view of life, but this is not so. Yes, Russian 19th century peasantry was hard, but such is only the milieu in which the tales play out. Many tales are small triumphs of the volitional spirit against the larger burdens of life. And, as the tales in the collection progressed mathematically their psychological complexity seemed to increase geometrically. Having recently read collections of short fiction by modern American writers like TC Boyle, David Foster Wallace, and Rick Moody, I can say unequivocally that Chekhov is not only much better a writer- to the point that I would argue he is practicing a wholly different art form from these poseurs, but his art is far more modern and gripping, as well as, at times, far more funny. Compared to a TC Boyle, Chekhov's humor flows naturally out of the tales and the reader laughs along with the experience, however humiliated the character feels. In a tale by a `humorist' like Boyle a character is set up for ridicule by being shown as a fool with no redeeming qualities, yet it never verges into pure satire for Boyle has never learned that satire and parody work best once you've created a full-bodied character. Then, the humor resonates within and without. Chekhov's characters cause gutbusters that rumble the diaphragm. Boyle's characters result in an, `Oh, wait, he was trying to be comic here. Oh, yeah....I get it. Really, I do.' Boyle and his ilk self-consciously preen their supposed superiority above characters they largely revile, while Chekhov puts a reader `in the moment' with someone they have come to either care or be intrigued with. The best example is probably the uproarious tale The Dependents, in which a sad and sadistic old man basically disowns his dog and horse. He sells both off to be slaughtered after they refuse to leave him after banishment. After their deaths, the old man, either in stupor or grief, offers himself up for slaughter, too. The end image after it's plain he was not slaughtered, is poignant, yet also humorous. TC Boyle, in a dozen lifetimes, could never write a tale like this. The difference in quality and personal maturity is very telling....He is still vibrant and relevant. By contrast, I recently read a David Foster Wallace book of short stories that, a mere decade and a half after their appearance, are as dated as a John Dryden courtly poem. This is because Chekhov possesses an immediacy in his description that rips a reader back into his world, and lets you not focus away to bring in many assumptions or presumptions of the world outside the story, nor what comes after it, in the narrative line, nor the real world. The Russian Masters- Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, Turgenev- are often criticized, rightly, for their lack of subtlety, and hammering home points too often, too long, and too stridently. In a sense their art is akin to the Big Box retail stores of today: Wal-Mart, Home Depot, K-Mart. If so, then Chekhov is a fleet newcomer- someone with innovations the others lack, while having all their introspection, yet none of their literary bloat. He is concise, with no pointless nor wasteful digressions. And this is what makes him- even just taking his prose fiction alone- the greatest of the 19th Century Russian Literary Masters. The essential dilemma he presents is a cosmos of its own demarcation, seemingly banal, but highly intimate, for Chekhov rarely imposes more than the basics, and allows imbuement to flower again and again in the minds of every individual reader. This philosophy is best summed up in a quote that reflects Chekhov's approach to art, life, and meaning: `Don't tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.' In such moonshine are masterworks reflected.

I am a junior doc and enjoying reading these stories after work. Conditions is hospitals are better then those Chekhov described and no-one wears frock coats anymore, but the things that are said in Ward number 6 resonate with things you hear disaffected doctors saying. Short engaging stories. Ideal for a week of nights.