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, the series on Anton Chekhov has come to an end. While this anthology wasn’t personally curated by the author, the selection for farewell feels like the perfect sendoff for an author who spent his career criticizing public institutions. In “The Bishop,” he reflects on one man’s final days as he falls further into illness and loses his voice. The irony is that he is the titular bishop and this is the final week of Lent, a period when many religious ceremonies call to his need. Some have seen this as an allegory for Chekhov himself, and, if you look at the dates, it begins to make sense. He died in 1904, two years after publication, at the age of 44, after complications with tuberculosis. Many who had seen him around the time would suggest his fate was nearing. In that regard, “The Bishop” transcends the typical humorous irony and serves as a loving tribute to the acclaimed master of short fiction.
Before wrapping up with some thoughts on Chekhov’s place in that pantheon, it’s important to stick to tradition. Like every story, he was fixated on the ways that humanity imprisons itself with self-made laws, creating hierarchies that seek to worsen the livelihoods of others for no discernible reason. A lot of it falls under the institution of faith, which has its value in comforting people from the uncertain, but it also validates poor behavior toward people who don’t follow the rules. It’s an institution founded on charity, but has, historically, influenced real-world violence. While “The Bishop” doesn’t address the larger parameters, it does feel like the perfect summation of an author realizing that for everything that one can do to better the world, there is a tax to being mortal. Death will come for everyone sooner or later, and then who’s there to spread salvation?
The timeline of events is especially interesting. The week that “The Bishop” takes place during is the final week of Lent, and one that is significant to Catholic doctrine. For those who want a more elaborate read of this, the musical Jesus Christ Superstar covers the timeline pretty well. For everyone else, the short version is this. Jesus arrives on Palm Sunday, where his loving followers fawn over him with palm leaves. From there, conflict emerges as Judas betrays him and he is eventually crucified for telling people he is the savior. He dies on Good Friday before rising on Easter Sunday. An ascension follows sometime after he reunited with his disciples to provide a parting message. There are several annual rituals that take place to commemorate this occasion, some of which are covered within the story.
What is important to know is that the bishop, Pytor, is in charge of events. As one of the highest ranked officials at the convent, he is responsible for organizing events and giving regular public speeches. The name in itself provides another irony as the Anglo-Saxon version of the name, Peter, refers to the saint who holds The Keys of Heaven. He determines who is virtuous enough to determine who has lived a good life. Given that this is the week when Jesus both dies and is resurrected, Pyotr is placed in an odd circumstance of needing to keep the narrative going for the sake of tradition. He must overcome his mortality and let people know that their savior, as he did the year before, survives the harrowing journey.
Chekhov cycles through the days by mixing tradition with a sense of decay. At every turn, Pyotr emerges to speak before allowing the congregation to provide their input. There’s choirs and additional speakers to fill out the ceremonies, though it’s not enough to stop him from participating in the more physical activities. At one point, he is required to wash the feet of the townspeople, making for an all-too-poignant image of a dying man taking care of those who will outlive him and, unfortunately, forget who he was. This is all a futile task, and it becomes clear the longer that everything goes on.
Nowhere is this clearer than in how people talk to him. Outside of his private quarters, the general public isn’t concerned enough to ask about his health. There’s nobody who could respectfully carry on with tradition. While there are those who accept religion as having unbreakable rules, it still reflects the way that mankind can overlook humanity for the sake of tradition. It is believed that suffering is crucial to Pytor’s life. The fact that it parallels very loosely the journey of Jesus adds a morbid sense of humor that is only outdone by the fact that people are denying him in more realistic and human manners. Whereas disciples denied knowing Jesus being the messiah, people deny that Pytor will die, even as his voice cracks. It becomes especially brutal when his own mother can’t talk to him like a relative.
The additional read is, of course, towards Chekhov’s career. While he’s often used doctors as a stand-in, there’s a good chance that he sees himself metaphorically as a bishop speaking to his audience. As he coughs and finds his body collapsing, he has no choice but to consider a life without him. What happens when he lacks the physical abilities to pick up a pen and writer or, more horrifically, have anything in his brain worth sharing? Pyotr’s inevitable demise is a fate we all worry about, and it makes sense that a man who lived by helping others both in medical and literary fields would worry that nothing he did will last. Is it possible that those hours of crafting the perfect prose would now wind up in a land heap? Anyone who has been ill knows that it’s impossible to be an optimist when your body aches and routines fall apart. There’s no denying that even if Chekhov had moments of positive disposition that he associated more with the morgue than the living at times.
The story ends with another one of his abrupt turns of phrase. Anyone who had read the prior 15 pages will not be surprised to know that Pyotr dies. However, there’s something that feels different about this one. Maybe it’s that it’s the final story in a 23-story collection. Maybe it’s that it’s one of the few times that Chekhov locked into a character’s final days and tried to understand them with a sensitivity that extended beyond cruelty. There’s this greater sense of isolation and unable to feel at peace despite living a virtuous life. As a bishop, he should theoretically be in the best spot for the afterlife. His name exists in the ledger of the convent but, like many of the popes in history, Chekhov chooses to reveal that his fate is to be a nobody, somebody who fades away as the next bishop is instated. Even less is known about the new guy, but that’s where the story ends.
Much like William Faulkner’s story “Carcassonne,” Chekhov’s decision to write “The Bishop” is a powerful late-career entry that at times feels ominous for several reasons. Thematically, it ties into everything that has come before, recognizing that no matter what humanity does to make itself feel important, there is still the reality that these institutions are, in some ways, placebos. They give purpose while on Earth, but the great unknown of the afterlife remains. There’s no way to stop the inevitable from happening. On a deeper, subtextual level, it’s a commentary on Chekhov’s greater insecurities and results in a story that may be his most layered study of how everyone will inevitably fall victim to groupthink. Despite his attacks on institutions, Chekhov was always part of that class system. If there’s one caveat, “The Bishop” is a tad more direct and less bleak than “Carcassonne.”
To close out this series, I want to address the larger question posed in the mission statement. Do I think that Anton Chekhov is the greatest short fiction writer in history? Having done research, I’m aware that these 23 stories are not the complete picture. There’s even more out there that could possibly persuade me more to think in each direction. Judging from this collection, I’m assuming that these have been decided as the collective best. As someone not familiar with anything else the author produced, this small sample size is what I’m choosing to comment on.
In short, he’s not my favorite author. Just in the Short Stop series, I have been won over by Faulkner and Alice Munro as more contemporary masters of the craft. However, there’s recognition that Chekhov predates them by decades and also presents themes that may not be culturally significant to me. Even then, his search for humanity transcends any niche detail regarding references to cities or literary topics. His work still speaks to something that’s core in humanity, and it’s why he remains appealing over 130 years later. He was more than someone who wrote with an activist tone. He considered the emotional weight of his topic, which left many stories able to linger in my mind even after concluding that week’s entry.
I also would consider him, at times, in close proximity, to be dry and redundant in terms of themes. However, his work has this puzzle-like nature that I found a lot of fun. The singularity of his identity meant that it was easier to search for how every story was connected and that the moral complications were what made them human. There were some outright duds in this (I didn’t care for “The Princess”), but that may result from being 130 years on and the themes and ideas being more prominent in fiction. Even then, I look at “The Cook’s Wedding,” which I read over nine months ago now, and still think about how it mixed humor with social commentary and used perspective effectively. For a story that seems obvious on the surface, Chekhov’s ability to find nuance in the desperation allowed it to convey his larger worldview better.
This is all to say that I’d probably list a dozen of these stories as being very good or some of the best short fiction that I’ve covered so far. If that’s anything to go off of, then yes, Chekhov is one of the best authors. If nothing else, he’s one of the most purposeful. His encouragement of attention to fine detail never overwhelms the humanity, nor the intriguing way that he incorporates environment as a factor in their mood. There’s been writers who I feel are more engaging, but again… that may be in part because of where Chekhov took his career.
In closing, I wouldn’t encourage anyone to start with “The Bishop.” While it’s a singular work that perfectly captures Chekhov’s humor and cleverness, there’s others that evoke his more positive feelings about what it means to be alive. These stories live in great uncertainty, but, most importantly, they asked for readers to consider their community and not forget that sometimes kindness goes a long way. He may have spoke of dark times, but he encouraged everyone to do their part to not make it worse. Given the irony of “The Bishop” showing the opposite happening, it’s a study of the ultimate fear that Chekhov has of humanity. Not only will it forget him, but maybe it will forget to spread the wealth. As a final note, he wrote something that's as much about him as it is the reader. It’s up to you to determine if anyone was paying attention.
Comments
Post a Comment