Listed high among the masters of short story is Russian writer Anton Chekhov. Even if you haven’t read his work, there’s a good chance that you’ve heard of his technique in Chekhov’s gun. Instead of living in mystery, I have decided to finally dig into the author’s work and understand just what makes him an essential voice in the written word. Is he more than a simple gimmick and, if so, what does he have to say about the larger world around him? Like everything I’ve covered in the Short Stop column, his is a series defined by searching bookstores to find whatever speaks to me. At long last, I hope to better understand a name I’ve known seemingly since before I was a writing major but never had context for. Is Chekhov as great as they say? Follow along as I try to see if the payoff is worth the set-up.
At long last, this series has reached the story that gave the collection its name. For reasons unbeknownst to me, “Ward No. 6” was the big selling point for an author whose work has been consistently enjoyable. What was it about this gargantuan, borderline novella-length story that found Chekhov challenging the limits of what one narrative could contain? He has been moving in this direction for some time, most notably in “The Kiss” and “The Grasshopper,” where he mixes arts and sciences with infidelity. However, nothing compares to what he achieves over these 60 pages, where he breaks down the entirety of Russian society into a premise that may as well serve as his Rosetta Stone. Everything that’s ever interested him is in this. His study of humanity and the struggle to live a fulfilling life drive the story towards one of his most thought-provoking and effective stories yet.
The big reason this works has to do with the author’s personal perspective. He was a doctor known for traveling to patients, where he often saw humanity at its worst. Even as he objectively had reason to cure people, he was faced so often with mortality that it’s easy to understand why his writing seems so dour. He is infatuated with the lower-class ethos. There is a need to recognize the social ladder and how even climbing above one person has this triumphant, if sadistic, subtext. As a study of what life’s greater value is, it’s one of the best hooks in short fiction that I’ve seen.
Something that stands out about “Ward No. 6” is how sprawling the chapters are. Whereas every other story has this condensed quality that has ideas bumping heads constantly, Chekhov is allowing his prose to breathe here. That may also explain why the pacing may sometimes be a bit uneven, but ultimately builds a collage for a greater idea that’s harder to understand if stated more directly.
The choice to start with a lengthy breakdown of what I’ll just call “The Ward” helps to put the reader into the right headspace. Despite being a place for potential rehabilitation, it’s one of the most miserably kept places. The walls are falling apart, and the ceiling is shrinking. While it wouldn’t seem out of place in an F.W. Murnau film, here it’s a source of unease. Everything is not only collapsing, but it makes anyone who enters feel small. It’s a psychological torture that can’t help but translate into how anyone carries themselves. Whereas the outside world is full of aspirations and hope, the idea of being so low on the chain that your own sanctuary is neglected reflects the conflict of the working class in Russia. While this is technically about a prison and thus a more literal place of censorship, Chekhov’s writing has a universality that challenges the reader to notice what ideas deserve to break free.
At the center of the piece is Dr. Ragin. His irony comes in the form of passion versus career. He isn’t a doctor out of love, but more because his father persuaded him. He wanted a clerical job that would allow him some distance to deconstruct information and understand some greater facts. There was also the belief that being a priest would’ve been a more noble profession, but again, it was overlooked in favor of caring for prisoners. It’s not a flattering job. Most people would assume it comes at the expense of abuse and conditions that are really bad.
The first question of Chekhov’s prose appears here. Why is being a doctor in The Ward such a problem? Shouldn’t the rehabilitation of the criminally insane be a necessity for a functioning society? In theory, yes. However, as seen elsewhere, law enforcement has largely dumped people into The Ward simply to get them out of the public eye. They want to create the illusion of a functioning community while vilifying those who present the least bit of a threat. It may be why any effort to improve The Ward is frowned upon and why the employees seem to have a dissatisfied viewpoint. They lose nothing by ignoring the patients. They have nobody to file complaints with. They are, after all, considered unreliable. What can they do that poses a threat?
And so the layers begin to form. From a distance, the place is a miserable hellscape that feels closer to a desk drawer full of loose knick-knacks than something that anyone talks about with pride. It may be why Ragin starts with the familiar distant mentality that his peers carry. And yet, as the story progresses, reality reveals that Ragin has some compassion for the community he’s forced to watch.
Enter Gromov. He is one of the prisoners of The Ward and the one that Ragin is most interested in. This is because he is an intellectual, at best a political prisoner trapped to avoid problems amid society discourse. He is also a figure who is written off as crazy while, ironically, going madder and madder as he’s forced into solitary confinement. At one point, he even questions the meaning of life if his contributions lack merit. He is the most Chekhovian of the characters in that he directly reflects a familiar worldview. He carries this passion to question the institution, though, unlike Chekhov, doesn’t have the fortitude to make that change. He is looked on as a crazy person who serves no purpose. As a result, society is never likely to subscribe to alternative ideas that could improve compassion for the working class.
Ragin’s ability to notice Gromov as an equal already pierces holes in the logic of prison culture. It’s the old adage asking which one is really insane and, like every other irony, suggests it’s the ones imprisoning the group. Sure, there are others in The Ward who are lacking proper care. They need more than neglect to have any semblance of a meaningful life. And yet, they only get worse under these conditions. The doctors, ironically, cannot help them. They may provide smaller remedies, but don’t have the resources or interest to make a difference. This feels like the 19th-century literary equivalent of a teenager working a fast-food job without a care to assemble the hamburger correctly. They do enough to appease the boss, but whatever mistakes they make trickle down – never up.
Another irony is that Ragin’s trust in Gromov results in his downfall. It’s less because he has suddenly become radicalized, but more because there is conflict around financials. Believing Gromov to be an upstanding citizen, Ragin goes on a journey with him, resulting in the doctor paying for expenses until suddenly there is nothing left. As the destitute are often forced to do, they have to favor necessities over frivolities, which is an issue the upper class lacks. It’s suggested that people in regular society carry this perspective and thus look down with a bourgeois outlook. They mock Ragin for stooping so low. Again, there is an irony of being a doctor, a maligned profession that’s supposed to help others, who ends up broke despite being arguably one of the most essential workers in Russia.
Ragin’s trajectory is downward. He can’t afford the comforts of normal society. He even begins living at The Ward before eventually becoming an inmate. The title alludes to the final twist in which the cast of prisoners goes from five to six. The last is, of course, Ragin, who is last seen receiving treatment to assimilate to his new status. His intellect is literally being taken away, forcing him to become obedient and accepting of his new lot in life. Whereas Gromov was allowed to gradually lose his sanity, it feels like Ragin’s perch was a higher place to fall from and thus poses more of a risk. His awareness of a life outside this discomfort will ultimately cause him the most problems.
While this is a very broad overview of a lengthy and engrossing short story, “Ward No. 6” has everything that one has come to expect from Chekhov up to this point. Like the best of his work, there is something here that feels autobiographical as well as pseudo-activist. He’s tagging in themes of self-worth and how isolation and system codependence can alter one’s own outlook. It’s a spiritual story about what life means when it’s full of suffering and how medical careers should be more designed to help. There’s a lot to chew over, but most of all, it works because Chekhov never loses sight of empathy. He’s always favored the lower class. While this may seem gimmicky as a symbolic “The Ward is Russia,” it actually works within his larger template of how mankind is trapped in self-made and imaginative designs. This just happens to be one of the most literally physical.
I believe there are more accessible stories in this collection, but none that get to the heart of who Chekhov is as a short story writer quite the same. Every idea screams with urgency and presents a world that is immediately recognizable and full of greater thought. It’s not as explicit as other stories like “The Princess” (thankfully), and thus allows for a mix of deliberate action and emotional calls to why this is more than a logical issue. This is about giving everyone a deserving life, even for those who are overlooked or considered lesser because of some shortcoming. A great society is only as good as its weakest citizen. Chekhov knew that, and while I’m unsure how many people listened and made significant change, it does stand out as a strong reason to get out there and try to fix what can be fixed.
Coming Up Next: “Rothschild’s Fiddle”
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