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.
After several well-constructed narratives, it appears that the author is stripping things back to better emphasize characters. In the previous entry, “The Student,” he took this to its most trivial potential as a man sat around a campfire recounting a biblical story. The best that can be said about “The Darling” is that there’s more to chew this time around. Even then, the protagonist shares a level of helplessness that has been seen before in Chekhov’s prose, though rarely with this level of attention. Despite sharing sympathy for the working class, the women are often sidelined by the egotistic nature of men who are fighting for any level of dominance. There have been a few standouts, such as in “The Grasshopper,” but not enough to offset the imbalance of focus.
Another important thing to remember about women in Chekhov’s Russia is that they are often second-class citizens by default. They need a man in order to survive while playing the traditional roles of a wife and mother. Time and again, these stories have shown a waywardness when the spouse dies, leaving the woman removed from stability and upward momentum in society. She is, in some sense, now a meaningless figure who (depending on age) has lost the chance for the comforts afforded to the young. She will have the greatest self-awareness of mortality and its relationship to the economy, especially as she becomes more of a caretaker to the family legacy than a producer of anything meaningful.
This gives “The Darling” an amazing pathos that carries an otherwise simple story into one of his more provocative. Given that career expectations for women were more limited at the tail end of the 19th century, it’s easy to see submissiveness less as a tragic disregard for personal goals and more result of being raised on the belief that only men were allowed prosperity. Unlike other stories, Chekhov’s decision to explore in intimate detail the post-mortem period helps this stand out as more than another banal commentary on how we are responsible for bestowing our own meaning on our lives. If anything, it’s the ways that it can be construed by outsiders as well as ourselves.
Protagonist Olenka is called “Darling” because of her kindness. She is quick to help those around her and provide support for people she thinks deserves it. This is an excellent way to go through life in theory. When a society chooses to benefit the collective, it often thrives and produces something greater. Olenka herself may not have many noteworthy achievements, but she is helping to keep the dream alive for many others. If nothing else, her nickname has guaranteed a small legacy of joy in a society that is defined by misery and selfishness.
Throughout the story, she wanders from relationship to relationship without forming much of an independent identity. Everything she does is to the benefit of a masculine character, including a child. Does this mean that her life is tragic? I am unsure if an official read would suggest this. There’s little that directly condemns Olenka’s struggle to find her own identity. Even my interpretation of it as a sad story says more about how I perceive the value of independence. Her lack of authentic thoughts suggests she’s trapped in a prison that is harder to leave than anything found in “Ward No. 6.” Even then, she seems comfortable in this role and never goes through any emotional distress that isn’t attached to traditional feelings of grief.
For what it’s worth, her first two relationships capture the brighter side of Russian culture. Her father is a collegiate assessor while her husband, Kukin, is a local theater owner. Before the first page is complete, she is connected to worlds of free speech. She grew up adjacent to education and the idea of discovering a larger truth about the world. Meanwhile, Kukin receives more time in the short story as he allows her access into the theater world as a box office role managing payments. It’s mostly designed to make Kukin’s job easier, and it also benefits the larger company.
Without her, nobody can get into the theater where they’re producing shows based on Faust and Orpheus & Eurydice. Both center around a man bargaining with the devil for his freedom. The latter has come into fashion again thanks to Hadestown, though little about the narrative has changed. It, ironically, centers around a man being freed of his plight if he can escape the underworld without looking back at his beloved. When he fails, she is sent back, and he is forced to live alone. There is an irony in that Olenka is the one who faces the nonstop torment of men leaving her behind, though again, it’s Orpheus and Faust who have more significant agency in their own stories compared to the women.
Chekhov writes Olenka almost like a parrot. At no point does she have an original thought. The one moment where she gets to express original thought, she finds herself uncomfortable. This becomes true following the death of her father, who, in some ways, reflects a removal from collegiate life. She is no longer connected to a world of deep, intellectual thought. By the time she loses Kukin, there is even more detachment from the life she had taken for granted. Given that she’s a widow at a fairly young age, it means she’s reduced to wandering Russia while trying to find something to fill her time.
It is this section of the story where “The Darling” wins me over. While the idea of a loyal wife is interesting in its own way, Chekhov’s passion lies in her loneliness and attempts to express ideas that aren’t obvious. Her inability to make grand intellectual statements or share an artistic opinion is the tragic crux of the entire piece. It’s here that she struggles to find any solace because her life’s purpose isn’t authenticity. It has always been as a servant to man. This isn’t some grand revelation of feminism and breaking free of constraints. While it can be read as a prison, it’s also suggestive of the emotional weight women are assigned in life to fulfill to keep everyone else’s journey more tolerable. She is a darling towards others, but what is she contributing to herself? Does it matter, or is selflessness a virtue?
While her father and husband are the two most significant relationships in the story, she interacts with several more. There are more funerals and trips to a veterinarian surgeon. In one of the stranger instances, she encounters a kitten whom she tells quite abrasively, “Get along, I don’t want you!” Maybe this behavior was more acceptable in Russia at the time, but given her general niceties, it seems like some attempt to separate herself from greater emotional attachment. After all, a kitten is infantile and doesn’t speak her language. There’s nothing that would make her subservient to it. At best, Olenka is infatuated with codependence that refuses to challenge. The comfort of knowing every detail of her life is idealized.
Another irony of encountering the kitten is that somebody else wants it. In the closing pages, Olenka is put in charge of babysitting Sasha. He’s a young boy who is eager to have a pet and demands a lot of attention from Olenka. As expected, this means that little attention is put on organic thought, and she’s forced to consider the ramblings of a child. Even if it’s a symbolic transition into motherhood, there’s still the ability to find purpose in her life. The story ends with her thinking about Sasha sleeping in the next room while pondering, “I’ll give it you! Get away! Shut up!” If taken indirectly while sticking to the themes, this is the start of her next and more permanent phase, even if it’s a more perverse equation. This is not her child, and yet Sasha will fill that void in her soul that can be read as more bleak than what came before.
The irony of Chekhov’s story is two-fold based on how the reader will take the series of events. Read one way, it’s a cautionary tale of how codependence can keep someone from living an examined life. There’s nothing to show for years of existence save for a nickname and general reputation for being nice. Olenka seems desperate to only befriend those who will use her in a more thematic role. Even if she regurgitates the thoughts of her peers, there’s little to suggest that it’s a personally held belief. At most, she is attracted to being accepted, and it’s come at the expense of any greater development. The fact that Chekhov does this without ever painting her as an entirely one-dimensional object is astounding.
Another way to read everything is that, without expectations of personal gain, Olenka is freer than anyone the author has explored so far. She has no desire for upward momentum. All she needs is a place among the community where she can help others. In an anthology full of characters who lack greater empathy, Olenka reduces tensions by showing compassion. Even if it’s a submissive kind of donation, the idea that having everyone share in this collective mentality could make the world easier to tolerate. If everyone were a darling, there’s a good chance that a lot of problems would be resolved.
Then again, is that an obtainable world? Can everyone offering their services lead to a greater society? Chekhov’s greatest irony is that maybe for everything good that would come of it, there would be an inability to have organic innovation. There would be something hollow if nobody were selfish enough to make art or consider what’s important for academia.
“The Darling” is mostly concerned with how this relates to women, but it could be a stand-in for larger societal woes. The conversation around agency is important, and there’s enough humanity to consider the greater potential. I suppose the conflicting nature was the point, and makes it stand out as something greater than another basic allegory. When forced to decide for yourself whether a life is tragic or triumphant, it becomes more reflective of the nuance that still exists. While feminism has made the world a better place, is it wrong to live a life dedicated to helping others and nothing else? Is there something wrong with not challenging oneself if it provides a cozy alternative?
Much like “The Student,” this is a multifaceted story that is less about any direct idea and more ramifications of what society has created. This is a call for change but also a recognition that the structures Chekhov wants to deconstruct hold some value to few. It doesn’t matter if they’re not afforded greater opportunities. They can still find joy in other things. At the end of the day, Olenka is one of his best written characters because he’s not telling the reader how to feel about her. Instead, she’s symbolic of themes that have always interested him. She exists somewhere in the background of every other story he’s ever written. By having the spotlight thrust upon her, she adds wrinkles to the larger worldview and a web of ironies that surpass anything that’s come before. One can only imagine what other sympathies the author will have going forward.
Coming Up Next: “A Doctor’s Visit”
Comments
Post a Comment