Chekhov wrote concise stories that rivaled the very long, often ponderous, books of his time and place. ( )

I only picked up Chekhov because Woody Allen is a fan, but my socks remained securely on my feet. One in an endless stream of works I appreciate for their innovation but which don't move me personally. Criticism notes that Chekhov “canonizes in literature, the ending without resolution.” He “parts from his hero at the moment his hero begins to reflect, or sink into reflection, about what he has experienced in the events that have been described.” I think I can spot this influence in some of Allen's more dramatic films. ( )

Perhaps unsurprisingly, for a retrospective collection, I found this very patchy. My favourite parts of the collection were actually some of the shortest stories, in which Chekhov did a wonderful job of painting a vivid scene and one or two very real characters in just a couple of pages each time. Some of the longer stories convey a deep sense of pathos, but there were also a few that just didn't engage me emotionally at all. ( )

Perhaps unsurprisingly, for a retrospective collection, I found this very patchy. My favourite parts of the collection were actually some of the shortest stories, in which Chekhov did a wonderful job of painting a vivid scene and one or two very real characters in just a couple of pages each time. Some of the longer stories convey a deep sense of pathos, but there were also a few that just didn't engage me emotionally at all. ( )

This one recalls beery evenings when I still shuddered from the emotional impact of such simple stories. I suppose most folks at the time - the early 1990s - were swayed by Carver or Bukowski. I worked ALL the ime but recall buying this new at hawley Cooke and then being floored. The Grasshopper is the one which lingers, assuming a parallel position with Joyce's Araby and tales from Sherwood Anderson as the haunting foundation of a life spent between pages. ( )