Friday, May 13, 2011

E300 Home Page

Welcome to English 300, Introduction to Literary Genre
Spring 2011 at California State University, Fullerton


This blog will offer posts on many of the authors on our syllabus as optional reading. While the posts are not exactly the same as what I may choose to say during class sessions (i.e. these are not usually exact copies of my lecture notes), they should prove helpful in your engagement with the authors and in arriving at paper topics and studying for the exam.

A dedicated menu at my WIKI SITE contains the necessary information for students enrolled in this course; when the semester has ended, this blog will remain online, and a copy of the syllabus will remain in the Archive menu.

Required Texts

Booth, Alison and Kelly J. Mays. The Norton Introduction to Literature. Shorter Tenth Edition. New York: Norton, 2010. Paperback. ISBN-13: 978-0393935141.

MLA Handbook for Writers of Research Papers. 7th Edition. New York: Modern Language Association of America (MLA), 2009. ISBN-13: 978-1603290241.

Week 16, Drama -- Arthur Miller's The Death of a Salesman

05/11. Wed. Arthur Miller. Death of a Salesman (1646-1711).

Notes on Arthur Miller's The Death of a Salesman
 

ACT ONE

You can gain a lot of understanding just from Arthur Miller's stage directions. The opening melody is pastoral, while the scene that opens up before us is in Brooklyn. I believe it was Henry David Thoreau who said that most people lead lives of quiet desperation, and the way this set is designed seems bent upon opening up Willy Loman's middle-class household to scrutiny: the dream will not be mocked, but it will be exposed, put on display. "An air of the dream clings to the place, a dream rising out of reality." And then there's the kitchen, which is a real kitchen in the middle of the stage. Everything is stripped down to its bare essentials, there is nowhere for fraud to hide. The American dream, I think it's fair to say, is contradictory as it is rendered in this play: is both a pastoral ideal and a tale of advances wrought by never-ending ambition. This insight begins to open up when we hear the characterization of Linda Loman, who idolizes her husband and "admires him, as though his mercurial nature, his temper, his massive dreams and little cruelties, served her only as sharp reminders of the turbulent longings within him, longings which she shares but lacks the temperament to utter and follow to their end." I don't mean to take away from her dignity because she is a very dignified character in her way, but that sounds an awful lot like Stockholm syndrome, where the victim comes to identify with the aggressor. Perhaps that is putting things a little too harshly, but there is at least a hint of it.

1646-47. The first thing we see after the house itself, is Willy Loman. And the description of him as profoundly realistic: he is dead tired. Exhaustion is simply a fact of life for this hard-working man. And he is rather old, an old 60. Willie unburdens himself to Linda about nearly getting into an automobile accident, so entranced was he, he says, by the beautiful scenery. This is a man riven by contradictions – he sees himself as an urban salesman, but he loves the countryside.

1648-49. Willie spends much time complaining how "lost" his son Biff has become – isn't that he doesn't work hard, it's that he's just going nowhere. Willie is quite contradictory in the way he speaks about Biff. He also complains about the growth of the population – which is an odd argument to make for a city-based salesman. But there you have it. Having just seen the Dustin Hoffman version of this play, I must say a great deal probably depends on how the actor chooses to play Willy Loman: his treatment of Linda is at times very unkind and peremptory, but Hoffman starts right out with a version of Willy who is almost senile in his cruelty and explosiveness. You could play him more quietly than that. It's an actor's choice.

1650-51. Willie keeps referring to an idealized past, one in which his wonderful sons were always polishing the new car, and so forth. Back in 1928, they had a fine Chevy, and ominously, Willy tells Linda, "I could have sworn I was driving that Chevy today." His mind really does tend to wander time frames, and he has become confused about who and where he is. The stage directions by Miller are interesting – they are very explicit in describing the inner lives of the characters themselves. Happy is on the surface contented and exudes animal sexuality, but at the same time he is confused. His seeming content comes only from the fact that "he has never allowed himself to turn his face toward defeat." The older son Biff is perhaps closer to the old man, since while he has lost his self-assurance, "his dreams are stronger and less acceptable" than are those of his brother. The older brother then asks an ominous question, "Why does Dad mock me all the time?" He senses that his father has never approved of him, never really been proud of him. And both brothers are of course worried about their father's confusion.

1652-53. The older brother explains that he has been working for a while on a farm, and he really enjoys doing that. He has tried to become what his father was, but he is not cut out for it. So he summons up a simulacrum of his father's ambition, and comes back home. Feeling that he has wasted his life up to this point. That he has never grown up. The younger brother is really in a quandary as well: on the surface, he is more successful, but he is also lonely and is beginning to realize that even if he steps up the ladder, he probably won't get to enjoy what he finds there. Successful, ambitious people had really better love their jobs because they spend most of their time working. And Happy does not enjoy the business work he is doing. In truth, both of these young men have something of their father's love of the countryside and would just as well spend their time there. But that option is not really available to them, given who their father is. Happy is quite the man for the ladies, but that doesn't make him any happier. It's really just what I've heard called "genital gymnastics." In a word, competition.

1654-55. Willie enters, and it is clear that he is talking to his sons in a different time, a time when they were much younger and perhaps more amenable to his direction and advice. He thinks Biff is still in school. And I think the stage directions have the two sons appear in that younger form, almost as ghosts sprung from Willy's imagination. What we are seeing is what Willy is fantasizing at this moment, not the grown up men now in the house.

1656-57. As the imaginary conversation continues, Charley puts in his first imaginary appearance. The man is not liked, says Willy. Neither is imaginary Bernard well-liked – he isn't well liked because he confronts Willy with a primal moment: one that would have forced him to face the fact that his eldest son cannot measure up to his expectations. He's just about to flunk math. The only thing that matters, says Willy, is to be liked – that's the secret handshake of business life. Not grade you got in school.

1658-59. And the conversation from the past continues with Linda being informed just how much money Willy has earned in Providence Rhode Island, in Boston and other places. But by the bottom of 1658, we are back to the present: bills need to be paid, and Willy isn't doing so well anymore. The kitchen is the locus of reality, of the sad present, the place where will he now realizes his "boys" seem to be always laughing at him, and he doesn't know why. Increasingly, as a salesman he is failing and cannot even keep his temper. He is becoming fat and sensitive about that.

1660-61. As Willy compliments his wife for once, THE WOMAN is now seen. This is another flashback to Willy's adulterous liaison. When he says, "I'll make it all up to you, Linda," he seems to be talking about his affair, that there's no way for Linda to know what's going on in his head. Another flashback to when happy and this Biff were younger and in school, and a mention of brother Ben. Ben is a ghostly presence, he is the smiling Heart of Darkness in the play, the ruthless capitalist ideal hidden beneath the tidy suit. And already Willy is in competition with this shadowy presence. He really should've gone to Alaska like Ben and earned his fortune there. He should've been a successful, self-made man by imitating Ben. There's also a mention that the elder son has a problem with stealing things – he has had that problem since childhood.

1662-63. Charley offers Willy a job, but it's obvious that's humiliating to this man who sees himself as a successful salesman. Willy's relationship to Charley depends on his being able to insult the man, to see him as less of a man than he is. At this point, the self-assured uncle Ben enters at the front of the stage, and the directions tell us that uncle Ben is utterly self-assured – he knows who he is and he knows he is a success. Willie points out that Uncle Ben recently passed away and the implication is that the man had not even been in communication with him for a long time. Nevertheless, Willy idolizes his brother. For him, this ghost represents the fearless pursuit of the American dream – he's a rugged individualist who won't take no for an answer from destiny.

1664-65. Well it turns out that Ben went to Africa. One wonders if anything Willy says about Ben is true – the fellow is the stuff of pure myth. Made all of his money in diamonds, etc. Willie doesn't seem to remember much about his own father, either. "All I remember is a man with a big beard," he admits to the imaginary Ben.

1666-67. The conversation with Ben is very revealing here – Willy admits that he misses his absent father, and wishes that Ben would stay even a few days. So much of his psyche is patterned after being the strong father he can only imagine, the one who left him or died when he was very young. Willie says that he feels "kind of temporary about myself," a very interesting phrase. Brother Ben tells him that he "walked into the jungle" at the tender age of 17, and the rest, we are to understand, is capitalist history. And with that we are confusedly back to the present, with Linda and Biff worryingly discussing Willy's conduct.

1668-69. Linda explains that Willy is always at his worst and most confused when his sons return home. Fights always break out amongst them. On 1669 especially, we come across one of those moments where the language becomes formal, heightened in its intensity. This moment occurs in the midst of a heated argument between Linda and the young men: "I don't say he's a great man. Willy Loman never made a lot of money. His name was never in the paper. He's not the finest character that ever lived. But he's a human being, and a terrible thing is happening to him. So attention must be paid. He's not to be allowed to fall into his grave like an old dog. Attention, attention must be finally paid to such a person." Willy isn't crazy, she's trying to say – he's just tired and in need of loving affection. No one knows him anymore, and the contacts that are the lifeblood of a salesman had deserted him. Linda knows exactly what's going on – she knows he's not making any money and that he has to borrow money from Charley. She bitterly reproaches her sons for their derogatory characterization of him.

1670-71. The eldest son isn't buying any of it, and he still calls his father "a fake." As for the car accidents Willy keeps getting into, he might as well forget his dream of leaving the insurance money to his family – the insurance company is on to the fact that his accidents don't seem like accidents at all. There was a witness at one of them who said she thought Willy deliberately tried to drive off a bridge. This is where they really confront the fact that Willy is "dying," as Linda puts it. He has reached the end of his rope. In addition to the car accidents, Linda knows that Willy has put a length of rubber pipe behind the fuse pipe where the gas is. So he is planning to asphyxiate himself. He is pretty much reached the stage that William Styron describes in his book Darkness Visible, the point at which a person cannot enter a room without looking at all the objects as means of self-destruction. The eldest son is moved by this at last.

1672-73. Willie reenters and enters into a bitter competition with his sons over who is the better businessman. They begin to discuss going into business in the sporting goods line, something that at least the athlete Biff should understand. And Willy is happy to hear them talking that way, happy that maybe now they will achieve the dream he has always had for them. Turns out that Biff is going to see Bill Oliver about a prospect. Willy's dream is of course cut from the cloth of American capitalist ideology – his personal dream, his individual dream, seems to be very closely modeled on the most unrealistic dream set forth by that ideology. Total success, knock them dead, come out on top of the competitive pile and you'll be happy.

1674-75. Willie goes to bed happy, firmly believing that now his son Biff is going to make good. He is at last going to live up to Willy's expectations that he will become something extraordinary, just like the old man. And he plans to ask Howard, his boss, to let him work in New York rather than traveling all the time now. This first act ends with the eldest son removing the rubber tubing from the heater, something he does with horror.

ACT TWO

I don't have time to do extensive notes at the moment for this act, but needless to say it is one long series of humiliations for Willy. First there is the humiliating conversation between him and his boss Howard from 1678-83, a conversation in the course of which he is fired and which is followed by an imaginary dialogue with Ben. Ben offers him a job in Alaska looking after timberland.

And then on 1686-88, Bernard – the grown-up Bernard – confronts him with a riddle: what happened all those years ago? Why didn't his eldest son make up that F grade in math by going to summer school? The answer is an ugly one of course – it is because Biff was crushed when he learned of his father's adulterous behavior with The Woman. It happened after he went.

Hard upon that comes the conversation with Charley on 1688 and following, and again Charley offers Willy a job he won't take. He will not work for Charley, no matter what.

Following that incident, there is the restaurant confrontation between Willie and his eldest son about that meeting with Bill Oliver today. Biff is forced to correct the record for Willy – he was never a true salesman but rather a sales clerk for this man. And he stole the fellow's pen on top of that out of anxiety and resentment. And again The Woman puts in an imaginary appearance, setting the stage for Biff's long-ago discovery of the two of them together. This discovery begins on 1699 and runs through 1701. And then we return to the present unhappy scene in the restaurant; Willy's sons have deserted him, and now he realizes it. The waiter won't even take his tip money out of respect, but it's humiliating all the same.

By 1702, Linda is out of all patience with her children, and orders them out of the house. But parental authority isn't what it used to be in this home, and in fact it never was what it used to be. The argument continues between the mother and her children. The eldest son wants to confront Willy even as he admits his own failings.

Meanwhile by 1704, things have gone very far indeed – Willy is having an imaginary conversation with Ben about that $20,000 which would come in so handy for the family. In other words, he's psyching himself up to commit suicide. That $20,000 is as solid as a diamond, thinks Willy, and frankly, Ben is disposed to agree, ruthless bastard that he is. Remarkable proposition! is Ben's final word on the matter.

1705, Biff is trying to get through to Willy, trying to explain that he's just not cut out for the plans his father had made for him. But that only succeeds in making Willy angry and confused. He charges his eldest son with abandonment and accuses him of acting only out of spite. The young man confronts him with the rubber hose, with the truth about his lamentable present. Biff's self-analysis is noteworthy – his father had led him to believe he should not take orders from anyone, that he should be impatient to get to the top of the heap. Perhaps then, stealing pens and other things was a way of taking control, of seizing what others would not immediately grant. The final terrible admission is simply "I'm a dime a dozen, and so are you!" And furthermore, "I am not a leader of men, Willy, and neither are you." And so on in that vein, which brings down something very like a father's curse on his head, but then a moment of great tenderness between them: "That boy – that boy is going to be magnificent!" But Willy is probably by now thinking of the son he knew in the past.

On 1708, following up on this tender moment, Ben makes another appearance, telling Willy, "The jungle is dark but full of diamonds, Willy." The jungle is the night into which Willy disappears, and his final car accident.

The Requiem affords two things: further humiliation because we find that Willy's funeral has been sparsely attended, but perhaps more important is the occurrence of one last attempt to understand him on the part of Charley and Linda. In suitably formal language, Charley justifies the choice of profession Willy made: "You don't understand: Willy was a salesman. And for a salesman, there is no rock-bottom to the life." As for Linda, she tries to talk to the departed man, explaining to them that she has finally paid off their house, but now that they are free and clear, the house is empty. Perhaps that means that the insurance money came through after all, but what does it matter by now? The word "free" is savagely ironic as well.

Week 15, Drama -- Lorraine Hansberry's A Raisin in the Sun

05/04. Wed. Lorraine Hansberry. A Raisin in the Sun (1583-1645).

Brief Notes on A Raisin in the Sun

The realism in this play is put in the service of elucidating the specifics of being African-American in Southside Chicago in the time period Hansberry is dealing with. It’s based on her own family’s experiences, as you may know – Hansberry v. Lee was a case that went to the Supreme Court and had to do with Mr. Hansberry’s desire to contest a restrictive racial covenant keeping him from buying property in a Chicago neighborhood. He won the suit.

What happens to a dream deferred? The dream, for this family, is in various states of deferral – Walter Lee is impatient and bold, Beneatha has dreams of becoming a doctor, Lena (Mama) at first can’t quite relate to the younger generation, and Ruth, Walter’s wife, is disappointed because she thinks nothing will ever change from her current domestic life and its chores.

What are the characters’ respective dreams? To what extent are any of them fulfilled? I’d say that the one fulfilled is the purchase of a home – that’s something Lena and the departed Mr. Younger always wanted to do, but never could. Now she has accomplished it. But the home by itself isn’t the fulfillment – the home must be lived in, and that’s the direction in which the family’s headed at the play’s end.

The frustrated dignity of old ways and ideas meets up with the boldness and anxiety of new ways and ideas, which plays out in the generational cross-talk of Mama and her kids. What are the ideas? Well, religion, the status of modern women, and race relations as well as a definition of what it means to be “black.” The context goes beyond America – it spreads out to Kenya, where Kenyatta and others were struggling for independence from Great Britain, which eventually happened late in 1963. Nigeria would become independent in 1960. The point is that there is a broad struggle for self-determination going on in the world against colonial powers like GB, and the younger characters are very well aware of that fight, see themselves in light of it. It increases their frustration with the domestic situation in America, and fuels their dreams of branching out, receiving full recognition. Notice Beneatha on assimilationism – to what extent should people of African descent in America want to “fit in,” and to what extent should they see themselves in something more like separatist or independent terms? That argument is already going on in the late 1950s and indeed you can trace it back to Marcus Garvey and beyond, in the 1920s. Liberia had been established way back in 1822, by former slaves. But I think you can see the mixed attitudes about that whole issue in this play. In general, the play keeps bringing up how the past and its ideas is at play in the present, but the transmission of those ideas is anything but perfect or clear, sometimes.

In their way, they are living out the strategies set forth by DuBois – Beneatha’s desire to join the “talented tenth” is pretty clear, while Walter thinks himself a practical businessman, which he really isn’t since he gets swindled from the outset.

The infusion of cash opens up new possibilities for everyone – money is vital in that sense; it provides distance from the crowd.

Week 14, Drama -- Chekhov's The Cherry Orchard

04/27. Wed. Anton Chekhov. The Cherry Orchard (1547-83).

Consider the play’s setting, turn of the century Tsarist Russia in the Reign of Nicholas II, son of the conservative Alexander III, who died in 1881. The Romanov line begins with Peter I “the Great” (1682-1725) who wanted to westernize Russia to some extent; Catherine II “the Great” (1762-96) is another illustrious member of the line.

Alexander I 1801-1825 (Napoleonic era)

Nicholas I 1825-1855 (status quo, empire grows; Crimean War against Ottomans leads to Western opposition)

Alexander II 1855-1881 (liberated serfs 1861, a reformer who was nonetheless killed by the Narodnaya Volya)

Alexander III 1881-1894 (conservative, didn’t follow his liberal father’s policies)

Nicholas II 1894-1917 (also conservative, defended monarchy from revolutionary pressures)

The eastern sensibility and feudal past long had a strong hold on Russia in spite of Peter the Great’s campaign to bring the country into the orbit of western Europe, and there seems to have been a distrustful relationship between the monarchy and the feudal lords. During the 1860s-70s, pressure came from the nihilists who opposed both the aristocrats and the bourgeoisie. From the 1880s onward, new pressure came from a nascent proletariat and intellectuals like Trotsky and Lenin who supported it, resulting first in the 1905 uprising and then in the 1917 October Revolution that ushered in the Soviet Union, which lasted until 1990.

Act I

The sway of the feudal past is a good entry point for Chekhov’s bitter comedy: it seems that the play’s protagonist, Lubov Andreyevna Ranevskaya, owner of an aristocratic estate with a beautiful old cherry orchard, is strongly oriented towards this past; she sees in it and in the place that embodies it a refuge from modern life, with its financial imperatives and its failure to appreciate the need for beauty, deep affection, and continuity of identity. These things are important to some of Chekhov’s characters – his plays tend to be about attitudes towards life, not about events, at least not directly. There’s one main event in The Cherry Orchard, and that’s the proposed and then actual chopping down of the orchard itself once Lopahin buys it at an auction. The other events have to do with historical developments beyond the play, not with anything the characters themselves are doing: I mean that Lubov’s plight is really that of the landowning class to which she belongs at the turn of the century; as an aristocracy tends to do, they are becoming more and more hedged in and superannuated. They may have a fine family history, but that doesn’t pay the bills. That’s worth something since, as Oscar Wilde says, “the only way to stay alive in the memory of the commercial classes is by not paying one’s bills.” Even so, not having money has a way of catching up with a person, as it does here in the case of Madame Ranevskaya.

We are also introduced to Yermolay Alexeyevich Lopahin, a prosperous merchant who comes from peasant stock –it’s undeniably his perspective that wins out in the end since he becomes the proprietor of the estate; in spite of his personal attachments to Madame Ranevskaya, who treated him and his family well, he stands firmly for modernity and utility. One doesn’t know quite what to make of him at times, as when on 1536 he calls himself a “pig in a pastry shop.” He can hardly believe how far he’s come in a short time, but such pronouncements may also mask bitterness and resentment at those whose heritage trumps his lowly upbringing.

The servants in this play also deserve attention because the clerk Yepihodov has proposed to Dunyasha the maid, even though she’s mainly interested in Yasha the valet. Together with the proposed Varya and Yermolay match, I suppose, this is where the traditional comic concern with successful marriages comes into play since the domestic arrangements of Madame Ranevskaya have been anything but comic – we find out about the death of her husband, the perfidy of her lover, and the drowning of her young son several years before the time of the play. That drowning is what makes the initial setting – the “nursery” room of the estate – so poignant. It isn’t a happy oblivion to which Madame Ranevskaya is returning after five years in Paris, but a place with both sweet and sorrowful associations. Anya is a conduit to this fact since it’s she who tells us on 1540 about Lubov’s loss of her husband and her son, Grisha.

Well, Lopahin is the man who knows what’s to be done: sto delat’, as the Russians say. Carve up the property around the orchard and the riverbank and lease the parcels to summer vacationers. Meaning, of course, that the magnificent old cherry trees would have to be cut down (1541). Old Firs (1542) remembers that they used to make good money by harvesting and drying the cherries, but that’s a lost art now. “They’ve forgotten,” he says – “Nobody remembers it.”

Towards the end of the first act, Pyotr Trofimov’s dialog with Madame Ranevskaya brings home to us the insight that her orientation towards the past is a complex, troubled one: on the one hand, the estate is a place she loves – on 1544 she speaks fondly of her “innocent childhood,” when she “used to sleep in this nursery.” At the same time, she indicates a need to forget the past: “If I could free my chest and my shoulders from this rock that weighs on me, if I could only forget the past!” Leaving it behind would, no doubt, allow her to accept the useful advice that Lopahin has given her about how to get clear of her debts and generate sufficient income. Trofimov was Grisha’s tutor, so his presence now reminds Madame Ranevskaya of the sad affair of six years ago, when Grisha drowned in the river.

Through it all, Lubov’s brother Leonid Andreyevich Gayev isn’t much help – he fancies himself quite the liberal opponent of the oppressive eighties under Alexander III, maybe even a minor version of the Turgenev-style superfluous man (1547). Leonid is capable of conceiving a number of plans to get his sister and the family out of their money troubles, but isn’t practical enough to execute any of them well. He’s a man without a point or purpose in life, and he tends to go on foolishly about things, until other characters tell him to pipe down.

Act II

In keeping with the play’s emphasis on character’s ties to and attitudes towards their own past and the present as predicament, we hear governess Charlotta musing about her personal history: “where I come from and who am I, I don’t know” (1548). Yepihodov, on the same page, comes across as a hopeless romantic, maybe a bit of a nihilist, with a comic bent. One doesn’t take him too seriously as he’s a creature of books, or so he tells us, anyway. On 1549, Dunyasha tells us that becoming part of the servant family on this estate has made her refined and fearful of change, of forces beyond her control: “I’m afraid of everything.” She also fears rejection by Yasha, that westernizing rascal of a servant to Madame Ranevskaya. She’s right about that – Yasha the allegedly overeducated man is hardly a sentimentalist, and I think Charlotta, something of the Shakespearean fool in her clarity and wisdom, sees through his act. As she says of Yepihodov, “These clever men are all so stupid….”

On 1549, Lopahin continues his promotion of the “cut and lease” scheme, while Madame Ranevskaya admits to her own frivolity when it comes to money – she is simply incapable of managing it in the thoroughly modern way. Her way is one of generous excess with unintended consequences: “the old people get nothing but dried peas to eat, which I squander money thoughtlessly.” On 1550, she provides the details of her unhappy past, what with her husband who “drank himself to death on champagne” and her son who drowned, and her lover who abused and abandoned her to the point of driving her to a suicide attempt. And “then suddenly I felt drawn back to Russia, back, to my own country, to my little girl” (1551), she reveals – this pull of the mother country is quite strong, and it has nothing to do with modernity, westernization, utility, or anything like that.

On 1552, old Firs the servant and former serf reminds us of the futility of trying to make sense of modern times – for him, liberty seems to be more confusing than exhilarating. What he misses is the human connection he felt, the feudal bond between servant and master, one which has been replaced by newfangled notions about mobility and liberty: “there’s no making out anything.” In that larger historical context, of course, this seems like a delusion, as all defenses of feudalism’s purported humaneness tend to be. Marx’s commentary in The Communist Manifesto that capitalism laid bare and owned outright the brutal exploitation of relations in pre-technical times seems on point: feudalism had only dishonestly masked the barbarity of master-slave relations, it had not constituted a bulwark against such inhumanity.

Trofimov’s modern thinking runs in that direction, too – his conversations with Gayev, Lopahin, whom he despises, and Anya are illuminating. What to do? Work, says Trofimov. Don’t look to the past with sentimentality, with nostalgia for some lost ideal, and don’t sit around like the Russian intelligentsia vainly building sand-castles in the air. The new, enlightened Russia must be built, not philosophized into existence. The irony here is that Trofimov is quite the man for waxing philosophical – advocating the centrality of work is, in fact, a central European philosophical move, as evidenced in the work of Hegel and then Marx. But at 1555, his recasting of the cherry orchard as a symbol of the oppressive past is powerful: he says such orchards symbolize Russia’s backwardness in the face of European progress. Labor in building the new Russia would be the way to expiate the landowner’s crimes of the past and pave the way for a less provincial future. Anya admits the effectiveness of this rhetoric on her, but of course she’s seventeen years old; Trofimov’s talk would have no such effect on Madame Ranevskaya, whose affection for the orchard is not so easily moved.

Towards the end of the second act, we first hear the “sound of a snapping string, mournfully dying away.” This sound and the appearance of the drunken beggar to whom Madame gives extravagantly are symbolically charged, a means of cutting through the mutual recriminations and contradictions and incompatibilities of the several characters. What Chekhov is describing, I think, is a Russia filled with competing poses and sentiments, none of which add up to a coherent picture or way of facing the present.

Act III

Varya’s quandary and distress. Lopahin’s advice would mean selling the estate she manages. At 1559, we find Madame Ranevskaya’s clearest definition of what the orchard means to her, and right after that comes a reproach against Trofimov for his dismissal of “love,” his failure of sentiment. At 1563, Lopahin announces he’s bought the cherry orchard – his brutality is hard to overlook at this point since he finds it impossible to refrain from gloating over this evidence for his newfound status.

Act IV

At 1566, Trofimov declares his independence from Lopahin – his idealistic views make him an alternative to the Lopahin/Ranevskaya opposition between practicality and sentiment. At 1567, Yasha wants to go to Paris again – anywhere but Mother Russia. At 1568, Pischchik the fellow landowner has leased some of his land to a mining concern: he has no genuine ties to his land or to the Russian past, so it’s easy for him to make the profitable choice. At 1569, the Lopahin/Varya match comes to nothing, and at 1570 theirs is a poignant leave-taking scene. At the play’s end, the old servant Firs lies down and becomes very still, and indeed he may have passed away. There’s no “renewal” for him, then.

What keeps the play from being a tragedy? Well, in a sense it’s simply that only old Firs the servant dies, but beyond that, the destruction of the cherry orchard also implies the possibility of letting go, of liberating oneself or being liberated from the places, things, and people that have kept one from living fully and in the present. Madame Ranevskaya really has no choice in the matter since, of course, she is in the common aristocratic predicament of being land rich and cash poor. Heritage doesn’t pay the bills, and she has no idea how to turn a profit on the estate or its produce, so Yermolay Lopahin the merchant’s advice is the only one that would have led to a way out. And he is the one who finally buys the estate and plans to chop down the orchard to make way for summer cottages and the income they will bring. Sometimes the terms “comedy” and “tragedy” are rather too narrow to do justice to a play. Henry James, in “The Art of Fiction,” writes in favor of keeping fiction (novels and short stories are his focus) wide open in terms of the rules it must obey, the better to embrace and reflect on all areas of life. Rules, after all, have a way of narrowing down the subjects that can be discussed, and forbidding artists from experimenting to capture something new. The same plea might be made for drama, I suppose – after all, Shakespeare, probably the greatest dramatist ever, never showed the least interest in conforming his efforts to some tradition-baked set of conventions: he didn’t follow standard definitions of tragedy or comedy, if he even fully knew them.

So in the present Chekhov play, we are left with the sound of the axe stroke and the symbolic snapping of a string. What to make of them, comic or tragic or something else in between? There’s no projected future to affirm or embrace, and in that sense the ending differs from Shakespearean romantic comedy. But it’s also the case that if anybody dies (I mean Firs), it isn’t from swordplay in accomplishing some revenge plot, or anything like that, but simply natural causes. Well, maybe that’s realism, too: as Henry David Thoreau said, "Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them."