Reading Chekhov: A Critical Journey Book

About mid-book I was rating this one higher, but by the end I felt Malcolm tried to do too much with such a short book. It starts out almost as a travel book, with meditations on Chekhov, where he lived, traveled, what he wrote and what he wrote about, died, etc., contrasted with present day Russia. Her guide is a difficult pensioner trying to steer Malcolm to sites she doesn't care to see. (To be honest, Malcolm struck me throughout as being something of prickly pear herself.) That interesting aspect of the book is soon virtually abandoned, as Malcolm focuses more on more on Chekhov's life and writing. I guess something had to go, but I thought the original concept was fascinating. Malcolm's close reading of Chekhov's stories and letters are fascinating and well done. For that alone I recommend the book. I was also pleased to see that she used the Garnett translations as opposed to more recent and trendier versions. She doesn't say why, though I suspect it would be my answer. There's nothing wrong Garnett. Her versions flow beautifully. Weirdly, at one point, Malcolm spends about 12 pages hashing over the various versions of Chekhov's death. She calls it one of the "great set pieces of literary history." Maybe. I wasn't blown away by it. But Malcolm's point, as it turns out, has less to do with the drama of Chekhov's death, and more to do with the role of a biographer, as she notes how subsequent biographers appear to have moved away from Olga Chekhov's original account. (And Olga herself may not have even been present when Chekhov passed away.) It gets so bad that one late biographer is caught out using a description from a Raymond Carver short story -- which itself builds around Olga's original description. I suppose it's kind of funny, but in a 200 page book, something of a belabored point that does little to sell Chekhov the writer and why we should read him. (And you should read him.) Also wrapped up in this little package are discussions of Tolstoy and Chekhov (interesting, because they admired each other), Dostoevsky and Chekhov (a waste of pages since Chekhov didn't care for D.), and the great poet Anna Akhamatova and Chekhov . That's also something of a waste, since AA didn't think much of Chekhov and his "mud-coloured world," but Malcolm's description of Akhmatova and her life is nevertheless well done. Overall, a mixed bag, but probably worth checking out if you're a fan Chekhov or modern Russian Literature.