Reading the Bolshevik [Lenin] failure of the July Days against The Black Monk [and vice versa]

The July days of 1917 [the 3rd through the 7th] were a time of open demonstration against the provisional government of Russia. The demonstrations were started by the 1st machine gun regiment and in conjunction with the Kronstad sailors and workers from the local Petrograd Soviet. Though popular sentiment for Soviet power was growing during this time, and support for the provisional government was dwindling it was still a surprising turn of events, sparked in part by the failure of the first offensive effort against the Germans in many months, the Galician Offensive, which resulted in 200,000 casualties. There were Bolsheviks amongst the ranks of the Kronstad sailors and it appeared to some members of the Provisional Government to be an attempted Bolshevik coup. This vision of the protests, or at least the ideals of the Kronstad Sailors, are illuminated by the shouts of the Bolshevik slogan "All Power to the Soviets!" At the peak of the protests a workers apparently shouted in the face of S.R. Minister of Agriculture Chernov, screaming "Take power, you son of a bitch, when it's given to you."

However, upon the arrival of the Sailors, Soldiers and Workers at the Bolshevik headquarters in Kseshinskaya Palace, Lenin did not greet them in a way that would befit the arrival of allied brothers in revolutionary struggle, but rather sent them off, not encouraging them to take action against the leadership of either the provisional government, or the present leaders of the Soviet. "Confused and lacking leadership and specific plans, the demonstrators roamed the city, fell to drinking and looting and eventually dispersed."

Lenin and the Bolsheviks had been unprepared for this, caught off balance if you will. As Fitzpatrick describers it, "The Kronstadt Bolsheviks, responding to the sailors' revolutionary mood, had taken an initiative, which, in effect, the Bolshevik Central Committee had disowned. The whole affair damaged Bolshevik morale and Lenin's credibility as a revolutionary leader" Furthermore, despite disowning this effort, the Bolsheviks were still blamed for it and there was a crackdown upon revolutionary groups, many were arrested, including Trotsky and Lenin fled the country for Finland.

Background established. Creative re-reading of this event, particularly Lenin's failure to seize the revolutionary moment, which is made clear through his writings from Finland, calling for the Bolsheviks to be prepared for armed insurrection, to be prepared to seize the moment - obviously he had no interest in missing yet another opportunity. 

First the easier way - Contextualizing these events through the Чёрный монах - Creatively - Associatively, almost with out goal.

The first concept that comes to mind is [perhaps of course] insurrection as Lenin's Black Monk. He had dreamed of the story regarding it, or perhaps been told the story? He cannon be sure, but then it appears before him, with little warning. He was not prepared for it and he interacted with the Monk/demonstrators, he was not as articulate as he would have liked to have been. When the conversation had passed, he could think only of questions he would liked to have asked [Read: actions he would liked to have taken]. While he had prepared himself for such an arrival, in theory, as Fitzpatrick says of Lenin with the Kronstad Bolsheviks, he was caught off balance. Lenin almost certainly would have been pleased to see revolutionary sentiment growing, and growing along the lines that he had set, Bolshevism. As Kovrin was pleased to have seen the Monk. He desired to see his Monk again, and to able to have that dialogue, as a matter of fact, he would miss it for no think. Kovrin meditated on the idea in his study and hoped that by revisiting the same places, he would again have his opprotunity. Lenin wrote letters from Finland, informing his Bolshevik comrades that the time was coming, his specter, his Black Monk would return and they must be ready to seize all of the momentum, speed and knowledge of the fast flying creature which visits those who do the "Work of the Gods" - to create a revolution.

Lenin as certain characters within the story, holds appeal for me. Perhaps it is because of his role as a primary actor in the stories regarding early days leading up to the Bolshevik Coup, and these characters are at the least, somewhat active in their environment. Perhaps it is worth musing on Lenin as the Black Monk himself. Appearing and disappearing throughout this revolutionary environment in which we're swimming. The Black Monk appears on the scene and stirs the emotions of certain individuals, however, when the situation becomes to heated [and through this reading, Kovrin's health degrades to such a degree that he receives assistance and stops working] he disappears [To Finland]. The Bolshevik movement is damamged severely and sentiment regarding them as a leader of revolution dwindles to a degree. But Lenin continues to work, writing to the dedicated Bolsheviks and Kovrin continues, in role now as perhaps an arrested Bolshevik [Trostky?], to consider his life before - the work, the love of the work, his goals, despite the illness that it eventually caused. Eventually the role of the monk grows  and he returns, on a sealed German train, to awake the sleepy Kovrin and draw him back into the revolutionary moment. Perhaps there is then a stronger metaphorical choice than Trotsky here, someone who suffered due Lenin's choice, perhaps the people in general again, as one can certainly point out that Lenin's eventual rule was not without cruelty - and in the end Kovrin dies. However, it is worth noting - Kovrin built his revolution in the end. Though it cost him his life, the end of The Black Monk details how he died with a smile upon his face. 

It seems difficult to me to separate these ideas. To read Lenin's failure of the July Days against the Black Monk and then to do the same thing in reverse - rather than to have a dialogue between the two, in which they inform one another. This is something from a literary and historical analysis standpoint that I will have to explore further. It feels important to be able to make this distinction more clearly. Worth coming back to. 

Reflections on Slavoj Žižek's Stalinism Revisited [from his text In Defense of Lost Causes]

When trying to reflect on a piece by Slavoj Žižek I often find myself at a loss for where to begin. This is also true with his piece Stalinism revisited, in which he looks back upon the times of Stalin's great Purges in Soviet Russia with a critical lens, but one that is able to see [somewhat] past the blood and body counts.


Though it would be hard to claim an overriding thesis for the piece as there are several subsections each with their own emphasis, and ambiguity is something that Žižek has been accused of on more than one occasion, they are all connected under the banner of re-evaluating Stalinism on a more even footing than is often achieved.

In short however, if I were pressed for a thesis out of this work I would posit one from near the beginning, which sets the tone for this, slightly overwhelming, work.

The conservative counter cultural revolution brought forth by Stalin was not

a thermidor [or retreat from revolutionary ideals], but rather may

have saved humanity, and even mankind.

This is a big claim, and to support it Žižek employs an interesting strategy. Early on he makes this broad claim, which sounds absurd, perhaps even offensive, and provides a few quick supports to the idea. Particularly the emphasis on mechanization of a populace as a work force, positing that the creation of "Proletarian Units" is a form of biopolitics and the creation of a people who's functioning [happiness?] would no longer be measured, "by a shout or a smile, but by a pressure gauge or a speedometer," could actually, if played out have proved worse for humanity than the Purges of Stalin. After all, the purges and cultural revolution led by Stalin brought back earlier versions of morality and artistic forms that were attractive to large crowds [prerevolutionary art forms, stepping away from modernism].

In this way, constraining this move towards modernism and a populace of mechanized humans [to risk sounding dramatic], Žižek argues that Stalin may have in fact saved what kept these people human.

While for my own purposes of understand I almost feel compelled to restate all of Žižek's claims here, but that was not the purpose of this reading and this space is not for that purpose either. So, moving on to a more analytical position.

This was interesting for me on two levels. One: Žižek's structuring of his argument is very interesting. He provides us with a daring claim, supports it immediately in a way that is concrete and understandable, and then proceeds to use that first success as a framework for the further discussion on Stalinism to come. This further discussion is thus not only based on the premise that there may some validity to Žižek's thesis, but it acts in both ways: it both reinforces the thesis and is reinforced by the thesis.

Furthermore, Žižek draws upon unusual sources for illustration of his points. At one moment I think I am attempting to understand how there is a "fetishization of the Other" [capitalization intentional] and that Stalin, as well as those under him act on behalf of a concept of the People, rather than the people's wants members of a whole, when all of a sudden I'm reading about Shostakovitch's music and how it presents an example of a split...Ok. Not such a stretch to draw upon a Russian composer writing under the Stalinist regime in order illustrate an idea about how this system worked. However, as the adage most attributed to Martin Mull goes, "Writing about music is like dancing about architecture." On some level perhaps Žižek was aware of this, and the line of reasoning was not terribly clear, until he brought in a seemingly random support for it - and before I know it I am reading a small handful of pages focused on a 3.5 second segment in the film Casablanca . While this seems almost non-sensical this move was incredible on the part of Žižek. The analogy with the logical choice, A Russian composer in the period being discussed, had little hope of being clear or compelling, so a seemingly unrelated analogy was brought in to supplement it and thus not only was the use of Shostakovitch now more clear, so was this facet of his argument.

Here I can see how this sort of a strategy may assist my analysis on my topic (which is of course the purpose of reading an author such as Žižek at this point in the project). While I do not anticipate digging into American film in order to illustrate a point about Russian sentiment at the turn of the century, I am attempting to utilize certain works or art, and artistic movements in this way. Either using something a lens between two objects [say for example, Lenin's refusal to assist the Bolshevik shippers soviet, and Checkhov's Black monk] or utilizing it to strengthen a logical support that may need clarification.
An interesting tactic, to be sure.
[And now I want to watch Casablanca] 

Secondly, as a bit of an aside, this article on Stalinism is providing an interesting extra perspective for me, as I am currently also reading Keeping Faith With the Party, by Nanci Adler. The text documents the great number of Soviet citizen's who returned, after having been imprisoned in the Gulag unjustly during the purges, only still strongly support the Bolshevik Communist Party and it discusses the authoritarian framework and psychological processes that would allow this to happen with such frequency. The two texts are informing one another for me the result of which I am still somewhat processing. The Adler text is certainly the result of historical, as well as psychological research, while Žižek, while his roots are in history, in a historical event, his methodology is decidedly philosophical.

[To be expanded/concluded]

Harmonizing Thoughts on the week's research

John:
We think we see something, the far edge of the water, but ours is a vantage point from which, when we focus, the image blurs.


Paul:
The clouds are growing, our intentions notwithstanding, but some are darker - than others.

Painting: Above the Eternal Peace [1894], by Issac Il'ich Levitan

Problems with Labels [Pre-Post-Early-Late]

Recently I've been trying to come to grips with what I consider to be a major historiographical problem which applies very directly to the time period which I have made the focus of this study. The problem lies in what we choose to call this period of Russian history. The answer that most immediately comes to the minds of many would be “Pre-Revolutionary Russia,” and admittedly this is the term that I have utilized most frequently up until now. However, the use of this term implies creates several problems with the way in which we view Russia's history, and thus how we then attempt to place the work of Chekhov into that context.

When we define the period of time before the revolutions only in terms of the revolutions themselves, it implies a degree of inevitability of the popular and Bolshevik revolutions. While Marxist theory, which views revolution as truly inevitable, would support this and certainly Soviet historians would have appreciated the placement of emphasis with this term, the realities do not support this choice. First of all, the term that is sometimes used rather flippantly, “the inevitability of history,” can only be used in a way that does not appear foolish, in the past tense. This is because at the time of any historical event, a countless number of things could take place, the result of that moment is not defined. But beyond purely philosophical issues of this approach, the use of pre-revolutionary and the predetermined nature that it implies also happens to contradict the facts of Russia at this time. The Revolutions that took place in the early 20^th Century were by no means the type of communist revolutions that Marx was such an adamant supporter of. In fact, not only was the lack of a switch to a more free, market-based, economy before the rise of communism, which is indicative of Marxist theory, but the idea the transition of power took the form of a coup and subsequent civil war also disqualifies it as an inevitable Marxist revolution. Furthermore, the Soviet's utilization of this term, painting a picture of a world leading up to their regime, is equally suspect. This is given that there was decidedly not a popular uprising of the Bolshevik's who then wrested power from the Tsar, but rather the protests and general revolutionary sentiment caused the Tsardom to collapse and only almost a year later did the Bolshevik's interrupt the creation of a new government through a constituent assembly and seize power. Sheila Fitzpatrick's characterization of the transition of power out of the hands of the Tsar is revealing: “In the days following Nicholas' abdication, the politicians of Petrograd were in a state of high excitement and frenetic energy. Their original intention had been to get rid of Nicholas rather than the monarchy.”

It seems clear that this term is insufficient to characterize the time and is probably more damaging than it is beneficial for our purposes. The question then becomes, what do replace it with? Some historians, while not really addressing this question, but recognizing a problem with the previous term, have adopted the title of “Late-Tsarist” Russia to describe the reign of Nicholas II and the transition to the revolution. While there is no arguing the fact that Nicholas II was indeed the last Tsar of Russia this does not solve the problem so much as it does invert it. So what are we left with? Simply refer to the time period by its numerical designations? Simply refer to the period as “Late 19th” and “Early 20th” centuries. Such an answer does not so much solve the problem as it does avoid it. So, in search of possible answers I turned to the world of art in Russia.

While I had, and have no hopes in necessarily finding the answer in this way, it seemed to me that perhaps, especially considering the artistic nature of the medium we are attempting to place into context, we might be well served to look at some of the artistic movements in Russia at this time as a jumping off point. 

 

Through a bit of investigation, one of the first artist movements of Russia at the end of the reign of Nicholas II was that of “The Jack [or knave] of Diamonds.” Mounded in Moscow in 1910 and functioning as a collective up until December of 1917 (a date with should not strike us as coincidental). The group began, influenced by the French Cubists, as a means for artists who had been labeled as “too leftist” to be showcased in mainstream galleries, to find places to have their work displayed. The group was fairly prolific for the few years they were in prominence and were connected with the beginnings of the early Avant-garde in Russia. The group did seem to foster a sort of revolutionary spirit and their name helped to showcase this to their contemporaries: "The title Knave of Diamonds [was regarded] as a symbol of young enthusiasm and passion, 'for the knave implies youth and the suit of diamonds represents seething blood.'” The combination of the nature of their work, their seeming desire for change and, as I mentioned, the fact that the group faltered (out of lack of need on some level, but also with many of the members moving on to the World of Art group) led them to be a leftist democratizer of the arts in Russia.

While this art movement holds some appeal as a replacement to the moniker of pre-revolutionary, I think there is something to be gained in being able to observe the change of movements. For example in the traditional sense of terms, we go from pre-revolutionary/late-tsarist Russia, into revolution and then Early Soviet Russia. However, though the Knave of Diamonds movement seemingly supported revolutionary sentiment at the time they also fade into the larger landscape of artistic movements when the revolution takes place in 1917.

Thus I think the more interesting choice lies with a pair of movements which, though stylistically in many ways inform one another, philosophically contradict one another. They are the Suprematism and the Constructivism movements.

The Suprematism or Супрематизм movement began in roughly 1915 in Moscow and was founded by Kazimir Malevich. The Movement, as defined in Malevich's 1927 work The Non-Objective World as art that is based upon “the supremacy of pure artistic feeling” and not simply on depiction of objects. Visually, artwork born out of this tradition tends to be very geometric, focusing on basic, familiar forms. [I've included a small sampling of some of Malevich's work below.]

 Interestingly, this movement places an emphasis on feeling, to borrow a term from a distinctly different tradition, an almost cathartic expression. This seems in keeping to me with the feelings conjured up when reading depictions, such as Fitzpatrick's, of the years leading up to the revolutions. Furthermore, the Suprematists saw themselves as social protestors as well. After Socialist Realism became the artistic medium allowed by the state and groups such as the Suprematists where suppressed, they still protested – albeit in a more subtle manner. I've included Malevich's 1933 self portrait, in which he is depicted rather traditionally, however if you look in the lower right hand corner he signs the piece, not with his his name, but with a small black square inside a white one.

The similar artistic movement that I would argue could be used to represent the change that took place in the wake of the revolution is that of the Constructivists. Beginning in 1919, the timing fits appropriately and though they adopt many of the stylings of the Suprematists, their artistic philosophy differs drastically. It is most easily explained in the distinctions between the two. As Malevich's book was titled “The Non-Objective World,” Constructivism on the other hand has a great deal of emphasis upon the object and most importantly the practical application of the object. Explained by some as the creation of a group of artist[s]-as-engineer. This proves interesting because of the familiar sentiment towards what will eventually be realized under Stalin and Socialist Realism, when artists were to be an “artist in uniform” and use their talents to serve the interests of the state and of Communism. Constructivism evolved even further as Communism was built up after the revolution, choosing to lend its talents and stylings to those things that it deemed productive and beneficial. I've included a poster of that era here: [to the support of the Red army during the civil war]

We see this distinction drawn out further through Malevich's defiance of this ideal:

“Art no longer cares to serve the state and religion, it no longer wishes to illustrate the history of manners, it wants to have nothing further to do with the object, as such, and believes that it can exist, in and for itself, without 'things'”

I think the distinction here, between these two artistic movements is incredible and could prove revelatory to this study. I have hunted down a copy of Malevich's text to see what else I might glean from it. However, it would seem to me that the earlier movement of Suprematism embodies true revolutionary sentiment, with an empahsis upon supreme feeling rather than practical application. Constructivism on the other hand utilizes the tools of revolutionary sentiment in order to further the goals of the State, or faith, or whatever structure they choose to support, with the emphasis upon progress. This is clarified by the fact that the Constructavists arose out of the revolution and the Suprematists, unlike the artist of the Knave of Diamonds, did not disappear in the world after the revolution, but rather fought against what they must have viewed as a bastardization of their movement.

As I said, I plan to explore this further through reading of Malevich's text, but the co-opting of these terms for our purpose seems to be an improvement over the more historically troublesome time-period designations used more commonly.

Striving for a question/Mining Sources for more Sources

The main goals over the course of this last week were as follows:
- To hunt down additional sources, primarily by hunting through footnotes of the sources which I already have on The Black Monk or incompleteness in Chekhov.
- To go back to Boothe and try to develop questions that can be used as an anchor point, as a good bit of this research can lead one fairly far off into the wilderness.

First of all, I did have some success in hunting down some more sources upon The Black Monk. The fact of the matter remains that little has been written regarding the story specifically in English. However, I learned, thanks to Claire Whitehead's piece on it, that a great deal has been written in Russian on the subject of this play. Oftentimes sharing sentiments with the bewilderment expressed, as quoted in the previous entry, by Mikhailovskii. However, while I now know that this literature is available (If I search for Чёрный монах a great number of results appear as opposed to the quite few number in English) that does not make it accessible to me as a non-fluent Russian speaker. I am then forced to rely on summaries of typical arguments surrounding the story, provided by authors who can read the original Russian, such as Whitehead. "Debate surrounding Chekhov's sympathies [for either Korvin or the Pesotskii family] and the interpretation of the figure of the monk [have] dominated soviet critical reaction to the story for many years. Outside this debate contributions were made by ... N. Fortunatov, who carefully details the work's 'musicality,' M. Semanova, who investigates its poetics, and I. Sukhikh, who focuses upon the characters' pursuit of the illusory."(602).

While in my own research I have found little in regards to The Black Monk written in English, mining Whitehead's article provides me with some possible English sources, or at least descriptions of Western thought regarding this Chekhovian anomaly. "Critics have interpreted it in terms of its spatial construction(O'Toole), its testimony to Chekhov's interest in gardens (Conrad, Rayfield), its use of symbolism (Debreczeny), its ironic treatment of late nineteenth-century preoccupations (Cornwell), its exploitations of the sonata form (Bartlett), its revelation of Gothic imagery (Komaromi) and its engagement with the legacy of Darwin (Finke)." (603). Sources are of course provided for all of the above mentioned, though it will be interesting to see with what ease I am able to acquire them. However, once again (both a positive and a negative) I find that none of these types of analysis of The Black Monk gets to the heart of what I am interested in. I think Conrad and Rayfield may prove interesting, as well as possible Finke and Cornwell, but I don't trust that I will find a great deal in this that will prove it self useful.

-So,

Utilizing Boothe's narrowing of topics, in order to get to the true research question/problem. Basically take the broader topic that you've been looking into and attempt to focus it into a sentence. I have a few of these, which will combine into a question.

Incompleteness in Chekhov ----> The incomplete nature of Chekhov's short stories, as a literary reflection of society in pre-revolutionary Russia.

Relative completeness of Chekhov's The Black Monk ----> What does the stark, complete nature of The Black Monk tell us about society at this time?

(Just recording a thought here. A tangent in a way)

Completeness = futility of intelligentsia? They meet their end, much like Korvin's obsession with academic knowledge. This isn't a complete thought either though. It is not the completeness of this story that would point to that, but rather the complete nature of The Black Monk could point to concern over finality. Korvin, unable to continue in the manner which he had been previously adopts a new type of life. However, he is unable to sustain it, and he dies shamefully.

Further tangentially related thought. Just today I re-read (again) The Black Monk. One of the things that impresses me so greatly with this story is that each time I read it, I notice a different facet  to it. While this is true for many types of literature and often before conducting true analytical work one aught to read the source text, at least, twice, The Black Monk still stands out to me in this way. I keep coming back to it, and it keeps giving me something new. I legitimately somewhat fear that I may start dreaming of the Black Monk (though that process could prove insightful as well.) In any event, this last time I was caught up with the notion of music and its relationship towards the character of the Black Monk, several times serving as a very specific introduction to him . The first time in which Korvin hears this music, he believes it to be the work of Tanya and the visitors to the estate, though it would seem to be unclear whether or not they were even truly playing music at that time, or whether it is just something that Korvin heard within his head. This also points towards the genesis of the Black Monk myth, the origin of which Korvin is left unable to explain. I'll have to make a not to look into Braga's Serenade The passage reads:

"One afternoon he was sitting reading on the balcony after tea. Meanwhile Tanya, a soprano, with one of the young ladies, a contralto, and the young violinist were practicing Braga's famous Serenade in the drawing room,. Korvin hung on the words - it was in Russian- but just couldn't understand them. At last, putting his book aside and concentrating, he did understand. In a garden at night a morbidly imaginative girl hears mysterious sounds so weird and wondrous that she is compelled to acknowledge them as divine harmony which soars back aloft to the heavens, being incomprehensible to us mortals" (32).
The imagery here is quite similar to imagery of the Black Monk, who after visiting our world rises up through our atmosphere and into the universe, to return in 1000 years. I think this may be a key, I want to revisit the idea of music and its ties into this piece.
(end of that)

To form these thoughts into the realm of a research question, or perhaps questions, we again turn to Boothe. One of the early suggestions is to look into the historical context of your topic. Well, that seems fairly straightforward, as one of the most prominent facets of this project is the effect or reflection of Chekhov's work on the history of revolutionary Russia. However, one of the other suggestions is worth noting. Boothe discusses utilizing other sources to form questions. Taking a similar question to the one already posed by another author and either affirming their answer, using their answer to affirm yours, or refuting their answer. This does not seem to be a possibility for me with this project, which is part of what makes it so exciting, and also so terrifying at times. As discussed previously, there is almost nothing written on the incomplete nature of Chekhov's short stories, little written about The Black Monk and nothing written about its almost startlingly straightforward beginning, middle and end structure.

But though that does leave us with a research question that needs to be filled through direct literary and historical sources, rather than other analyses of the source text, that does not mean that we do not have a research question (or questions)

What can of pre-revolutionary Russian society can we see reflected in The Black Monk, specifically its complete and stark nature, compared to the more slice of life Chekhovian short story?


[I will expand upon this]

Researching The Black Monk and Incompleteness

I have spent the last week attempting to dive into The Black Monk and also see what has been writing about my, at least current, theme of the incomplete nature of the short stories of Anton Chekhov. I must admit, from the outset, I had better luck in one regard than in the other, though both proved to have their problems.


Finding writing about "incompleteness" or the "unfinished nature" of Chekhov's work has thus far proven to be next to impossible. While I'm not giving up by any stretch of the imagination, it has proven difficult to find anyone who as focused upon this, though I'm sure there must be some who have. This also, does reiterate for me however, that this topic may prove worth exploring if for no other reason than the decided lack of academic writing on the subject. So, in hopes of discovering something that connected with my interest in the topic I began to hunt for more general criticism of Chekhov, especially The Black Monk, because as I mentioned last week, it stands out as an anomaly with its very clear, Beginning, Middle, End, structure.

Here I found, yet another, road block, or at least, a bumpy road. Very little has been written about The Black Monk, at least in English, and it is in fact, one of the less discussed Chekhovian works. However, there has been some written about it, and I hope to discover more. Particularly interesting is one source within a source. In "The Black Monk: an Example of the Fantastic?" Claire Whitehead quotes Chekhov's contemporary, Mikhailovskii's confusion over the work as something that stands out from what one might consider typical Chekhovian style:

"But what does the story itself mean? What is its sense? Is it an illustration of the saying: 'anything for a quiet life', and which advocates that we should not prevent people from going out of their minds, as doctor Ragin says in Ward No.6? Let those suffering from megalomania continue to consider themselves great, -- in this there is happiness because they are content in themselves and do not know the grief and sorrow of life ... Or is it an indication of the fatal shallowness, dullness and poverty of reality which we should simply accept and adapt to, because any attempt to rise above it is threatened by madness? Is the 'black monk' a benevolent genius who calms exhausted people by means of dreams and ideas about the role of 'God's chosen ones'. the benefactors of mankind, or, rather, is he an evil genius who, with treacherous flattery, drags people into a world of illness, unhappiness and woe for those closest to them and, finally, into death? I do not know."

Obviously even Chekhov's contemporaries were confused at the notion of this story, the wife of one of his contemporaries even wrote to him after reading the manuscript, in order to inquire after his health. Chekhov considered that the piece was fairly straightforward, or at the least that is what he told those who asked about it, but I think at least part of the stunning nature of the piece lies in its true and final ending, (Spoiler alert) the death of Korvin. I truly believe if this story ends in a more prototypical Chekhovian manner, ie: partway through the story that we read, leaving it open ended, we do not feel the stunning nature of the piece.

Thus, I think the Black Monk is a major piece to the puzzle I am investigating here.


Notes on Danil Kharms:
There is a poem that I wish to include here as it connects to part of what I want to discuss in regards to Danil Kharms, however, I will need to gain access to a scanner, as there are crucial symbols embedded in the text of the poem. This section will wait a bit then

Generating Research Questions

[Forgot to post this one last week, I seem to keep pushing "save" in this blog format, thinking that posts it and will still allow me to edit it later, when in reality it saves it as a draft, so here is the expanded/revised version of that post]

One of the early challenges of rather open ended project such as this is developing a clear and specific research question. Too broad, there is too much information available and perhaps more importantly you are covering territory that has been discussed frequently, in some cases ad-nausea. If you really feel you have something to add to that established dialogue, that is one thing, but when you're exploring a topic that you're interested, but not yet focused, you risk just adding your name to the stack of same opinions.

Sort of to that affect, when exploring pre- revolutionary Russian literature, specifically (in all likelihood but without guarantee) the work of Anton Chekhov it is worth being cautious and not simply jumping upon the first question that comes to mind in regards to the work. To provide an example, the recurring theme of stasis is quite common throughout Chekhov's plays and short stories, a reminder which was given to me when I recently re-watched Vanya on 42nd St. While addressing the issue of stasis and utilizing it as lens through which to view Chekhov's work, as well as the world in which he wrote is a worthwhile endeavor and one I'm sure countless new pages of material could be dedicated to, I find myself trying to strike out upon different ideas. While it is tempting to say that there is nothing new to be said, the reality of the situation is quite the opposite. The difficulty will come about in find the right framework question and focusing it and I will use this space here to try out a few, though I feel there is still more to be done in this regard and that something still needs to click.

In that vein I have found myself less interested in stasis and more interested, having now read a number of Chekhov's short stories, in the incomplete nature of much of his work. His stories only rarely have a beginning, middle and end, and I believe there is something to this. His stories often end very abruptly, and the one exception I can think of to this rule (that I have read thus-far) being The Black Monk. For this, and my interest in the strange, terrifying nature of the story, The Black Monk has, for at least the time being become the focal point of my research. I go forward researching The Black Monk, as well as the incomplete nature of Chekhov's writing.



A quick thought on Translations:
While I've been warned now to steer clear of this topic to a degree, as it is a veritable black hole the likes of which I might never escape if I get too caught up over issues of translation. However, I do feel that it warrants being addressed, at least in passing. Russian is not my first language. As a matter of fact, Russian is not my 2nd language, and I'm still very much a early stage learner. The issue then comes into focus when one considers just how prolific Chekhov's work is. Though from what I can tell, he did not imagine that he would have much in the way of staying power, history has proved otherwise and then number of translations of his various works finds itself numbered in the realm of almost endless. I have already found differences in translations of the short stories that I have read thus far, some of which could prove problematic. And while I do not wish to fall into this trap, it is not an issue which I feel I can fully ignore. At this point, perhaps the issue is best resolved by utilizing some of the resources put before me, my Russian professor Maria Georgevna, and my Soviet era history professor, Dr. Stavrou - and seeing what their opinion might be in regards to the closest to ideal translator for a complete works.

[Update]
I went to Maria and discussed with her my project and the issues of translation and in some regards she just affirmed my concerns over issues of translation. She discussed Pushkin as an example of how poetry and poetic language can be lost through translation even by some of the best translators. However, disregarding that (as since I am not fluent in Russian I have no other option), she confirmed for me that the Oxford translations would be a good place to start at least, given that they are revised on occasion, and that through my reading of criticism (which will necessarily quote from texts), if I find a translation that more suits what I am thinking about a text, I can dig it up.

до свидания,
- Эрик (Erik)