Revisiting Chekhov
Ah, Chekhov!
Today’s motivational gurus, those of ‘the glass half-full’ brigade would hate him. And yet, is there a writer, present or past, better able to evoke the complexity of the human condition?
I’m aware that to even speak of the human condition in the age of the Internet and intelligent robots seems anachronistic. Nobody bothers with Sartre or Malraux any more. Things have gotten beyond the condition of the human species. We’re more likely to be concerned with the survival of the planet. And anyway, yesterday’s existentialists are busy taking luxury cruises in the Med. The ideas people of today have reinvented themselves as life coaches and write blogs like, ‘Ten Quick Steps to Success’. The Internet is full of dream peddlers eager to sell us a cure, a business plan, a travel package...
Chekhov invites us to consider our own difficult journey, with melancholy detachment. In doing so he seduces us with grace. Which is ironic because really… Chekhov? Hardly the feel-good companion you’d be looking for. And yet, I was reminded of just how relevant he is recently when I saw a production of ‘Three Sisters’.
Chekhov characters shut inside four walls by the harsh Russian elements (and their own psychological immobility) are condemned to a life of introspection, boredom, angst. Sure, they too have their dreams, they want to escape the tedium of the country and move to Moscow. Moscow is short hand for freedom, creativity, social advancement and career fulfillment. They never get to Moscow of course, how could they? The Moscow of their dreams does not exist. We know it and they, deep down, sense it, but that does not stop them from trying. Just like us.
That train will never be caught, their circumstances will not change because Chekhov’s characters cannot or will not change their essential nature. Naturally many of them embark on self-destructive journeys. Masha, the middle sister, gets into a hopeless love affair with a military man, Vershinin. Andrei, the brother is trapped in an unhappy marriage to a controlling, unfaithful wife. One character gives himself up to gambling, another gets himself killed in an absurd duel. Though Olga, the oldest sister, is able to sublimate her despondency through work and duty to others. It does not make her happy, but happiness, like Moscow, is a mirage and her ability to surface through the mire of the general gloom is a victory of the will.
What saves Chekhov characters from descending into melodrama is that, no matter how hopeless their predicaments or how hard they fall, in the end they are not afraid to look into themselves with honesty and courage. When all else is lost at least they retain their dignity. It’s the quality that redeems the tragic heroes of western literature, from the ill-fated Oedipus, to the introspective Hamlet, and the socially-trapped Hedda Gabler. These flawed characters grapple with their demons and through their struggle shine a light in the dark recesses of us all.