The "not too horridiferous" Anton Chekhov

I finished reading several of A. Chekhov's stories from the Penguin Collection "Lady With Lapdog".

It's a painful experience.

There are plenty of reviewers offering pretentious reveiws of Chekhov. I think that it is a test - a real test - of some of the reviewers to try to find new ways to worship him.

If dreary, depressing tales are what you are seeking, Chekhov's your man. No matter the droll humor, the sublime insights, Chekhov will leave one with a sense that humanitys lot is one of misery, despair, and death. And that it's usually self-inflicted.

Chekhov's outlook on life comes across as "life's a bitch, then you die" but with some added detail. More like "Life's a bitch, you attempt some ultimately futile attempt to change things, then you physically die, but only long after the light of your soul has snuffed out."

And by the way, forget the luxury of going blissfully ignorant into that good night; many of his characters realize on death's door they've pissed their life away.

Christ, he's dreary.

I'm done with A. Chekhov.

The obligatory test

Let the blogging begin.