Reading Chekhov: A Critical Journey

Rating:
Summary: A fine meditation on a great writer
Review: "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.

Rating:
Summary: One to avoid...
Review: "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.

Rating:
Summary: One to avoid...
Review: I am a huge fan of Chekhov, a taste that was cultivated during a two year stint working in Russia, and will read pretty much anything I can find about him. I'm also a fan of literary journalism & travel writing in general, so you can imagine my enthusiasm as I picked this gemm off the shelf and settled into the nearest comfie chair. Malcolm attempts to weave back and forth between journalism, travel narrative, and literary criticism, but this book is a lightweight in each of those genres, and at times is even embarrassing. I know Malcolm is a fairly well-respected writer, which just adds to my surprise at how weak this book really is. The first issue I have with this book is that her "experience" in Russia seems to have been limited to guided tours. What kind of a journalist would conduct all her research on a guided tour? Can you imagine Joan Didion or Paul Theroux doing such a thing? The problem with this is that all her insights, such as they are, are relegated to what she saw while being lead around by her tour guides, including one named Sonia with whom Malcolm seems to have a very strange and at times even disturbing relationship. "Sonia saw her job as a guide as an exercise in control, and over the two days I spent with her I grew to detest her ... my struggle with Sonia was almost always over small-stakes points of touristic arrangement; and her power to get to me was, of course, by my journalist's wicked awareness of the incalcuable journalistsc value of poor character." It's always nice to see a wealthy tourist squable with the locals who were probably once skilled professionals now forced to work menial jobs to support their families. All of her observations seem to be very surface-level things that any tourist with limited experience would pick up on. She has no unique perspective on Chekhov or Russia primarily because she is not able to get past the minor inconveniences she faces along the way. Note one scene where she is "unhappily" climbing a hill that Chekhov used in "The lady with the Dog." She's unhappy, you see, because her luggage was lost the previous day... interesting that someone who was out for adventure would get so bent out of shape over a few missing shirts (they do have clothing stores in Russia). She does, of course, try to use these "mishaps" to help her with her readings of chekhov and analysis of life in modern Russia, but it falls flat simply because she doesn't appear to be a sympathetic or even likable character in her own story. She comes off as being smug and aloof most of the time. The idea for the book, I think, is an interesting one, but it helps to get off the beaten path once in a while, to get out there and do some exploring. Meet some some people who aren't being paid to walk you around and you might get a deeper sense of what their life is like. Spend some quality time in the places Chekhov wrote about and they might take on greater significance. I picked up this book expecting an homage from one writer to another -- a labor of love, so to speak -- but the result feels more like a throw-away side project with little value to anyone with a genuine interest in Russia or Checkov... I suspect that, deep down, even Malcolm knows this is true.

Rating:
Summary: Rate is not the right word.
Review: I do not rate Janet Malcolm's books, I read them and pass them along to friend's and relatives. The best rating of Janet Malcolm that I have read was by a man who wrote (this was a few years ago) of his experience when he heard that a new book on Sylvia Plath was coming out. He started to moan -- "Not another one!" And then he saw that the new book was by Janet Malcolm and he quickly became very interested -- that, you see, makes all the difference. The worst rating of Janet Malcolm I have ever read was by the woman who reviews in the daily Times, Machiko Kakitani (sp?), who said foolish things about "The Purloined Clinic, Selected Writings"(1992). Her review questioned the reasons for reprinting these pieces, most of which had first appeared in The New Yorker. This was a sad bit of business, for Kakitani has been writing reviews for quite a few years and probably her work will never be collected and published in book form;she has to live with this fact, but it does seem unfortunate that she could not see that unlike her work, Malcolm's work is retained and read again. On another level, it is unbecoming of the editors at the Times to allow things of that kind to be written in their pages. They should, in my view, have a roster of "National Treasures," in their offices and the names on this list should be entitled to certain considerations -- not entitled, by any means to good reviews but entitled to care and respect. Then, just as our language is given this kind of respect in the paper (We hope), writer's who have proven that they use the language at a certain level of excellence would be subject to equal consideration. This is a rather complicated way of saying that with writers of Janet Malcolm's class you shouldn't be questioning the legitimacy of the decision to publish her book. Is that 1000 words?

Rating:
Summary: Rate is not the right word.
Review: I do not rate Janet Malcolm's books, I read them and pass them along to friend's and relatives. The best rating of Janet Malcolm that I have read was by a man who wrote (this was a few years ago) of his experience when he heard that a new book on Sylvia Plath was coming out. He started to moan -- "Not another one!" And then he saw that the new book was by Janet Malcolm and he quickly became very interested -- that, you see, makes all the difference. The worst rating of Janet Malcolm I have ever read was by the woman who reviews in the daily Times, Machiko Kakitani (sp?), who said foolish things about "The Purloined Clinic, Selected Writings"(1992). Her review questioned the reasons for reprinting these pieces, most of which had first appeared in The New Yorker. This was a sad bit of business, for Kakitani has been writing reviews for quite a few years and probably her work will never be collected and published in book form;she has to live with this fact, but it does seem unfortunate that she could not see that unlike her work, Malcolm's work is retained and read again. On another level, it is unbecoming of the editors at the Times to allow things of that kind to be written in their pages. They should, in my view, have a roster of "National Treasures," in their offices and the names on this list should be entitled to certain considerations -- not entitled, by any means to good reviews but entitled to care and respect. Then, just as our language is given this kind of respect in the paper (We hope), writer's who have proven that they use the language at a certain level of excellence would be subject to equal consideration. This is a rather complicated way of saying that with writers of Janet Malcolm's class you shouldn't be questioning the legitimacy of the decision to publish her book. Is that 1000 words?

Rating:
Summary: Pleasant and Edifying
Review: 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.