Las tres hermanas, es una obra de teatro, la cual yo encontré muy aburrida y sin sentido, únicamente avanza y avanza la historia y no se ve ningún cambio, por lo que el desarrollo es lento. Realmente no me agradó ya que hay muchos personajes quienes me parecieron innecesarios y no encontré el tema principal de la historia.

Concluyendo un poco de lo anterior, podríamos considerar que esta obra es de género Pieza ya que las acciones de la misma son de tono serio ya que los temas a tratar son: la muerte, incendios, política, amor, los cuales son vistos y tratados desde un punto de vista muy formal por los personajes.

Las hermanas toman conciencia de sus cualidades y defectos al hablar de sus empleos, sus vidas amorosas etc., (aunque en su mayoría sean defectos) pero como es característico del género pieza, éstas no resuelven su situación, y quedan deseando irse a Moscú sin resultado alguno.

Yo en lo personal no encontré el tema principal de la obra, lo único que me pareció interesante es ver y conocer un poco de las tradiciones y costumbres de Rusia a principios de siglo.

Even though this play seems boring and does not seem to have much of a plot, as one reviewer commented, Chekhov intended it this way. There is much more to the play that the lack of plot. Personally, at first, I thought that the play was pointless and boring; however, a more detailed analysis in my English class changed my mind. Chekhov has more to transmit that just the actions.

The relationship between Chekov and his wife is indeed very interesting. Unfortunately the play does very little with this rich and beautiful material. Rocamora wrote a shallow and dull play, which does very little but give basic information about the main events in the lovers' lives. Those who know nothing about the subject will not be tempted to look for better sources. For those who know the play will give, I think, no pleasure: it is not interesting, it offers no insights, and in my mind its both artistic and informative failure. For real enjoyment you are advised to read the original letters, or Donald Rayfield's superb biography of Chekov.

"I Take Your Hand In Mine..." is an outstanding theatrical play inspired by the love letters of Anton Chekhov and Olga Knipper. Playwright Carol Rocamora draws upon her expertise and familiarity with the life and work of Anton Chekhov (she is an accomplished translator of his writings) to present an exceptionally well crafted and faithful-to-her-subject drama that is especially recommended to school and community theater groups, as well as all Chekhov enthusiasts.

I do not rate Janet Malcolm's books, I read them and pass them along to friend's and relatives. The best rating of Janet Malcolm that I have read was by a man who wrote (this was a few years ago) of his experience when he heard that a new book on Sylvia Plath was coming out. He started to moan -- "Not another one!" And then he saw that the new book was by Janet Malcolm and he quickly became very interested -- that, you see, makes all the difference. The worst rating of Janet Malcolm I have ever read was by the woman who reviews in the daily Times, Machiko Kakitani (sp?), who said foolish things about "The Purloined Clinic, Selected Writings"(1992). Her review questioned the reasons for reprinting these pieces, most of which had first appeared in The New Yorker. This was a sad bit of business, for Kakitani has been writing reviews for quite a few years and probably her work will never be collected and published in book form;she has to live with this fact, but it does seem unfortunate that she could not see that unlike her work, Malcolm's work is retained and read again. On another level, it is unbecoming of the editors at the Times to allow things of that kind to be written in their pages. They should, in my view, have a roster of "National Treasures," in their offices and the names on this list should be entitled to certain considerations -- not entitled, by any means to good reviews but entitled to care and respect. Then, just as our language is given this kind of respect in the paper (We hope), writer's who have proven that they use the language at a certain level of excellence would be subject to equal consideration. This is a rather complicated way of saying that with writers of Janet Malcolm's class you shouldn't be questioning the legitimacy of the decision to publish her book. Is that 1000 words?

"Reading Chekhov" is a beautifully written book, with sparkling insights on Chekhov's work in every chapter. It is less an academic or scholarly investigation than a meditation and exploration, which might have been titled, "Travels Through Russia While Thinking About Chekhov". Chekhov is certainly a writer who has been thought about quite a bit, and I was skeptical at first about how much Janet Malcolm would be able to contribute to a field which is glutted with critical studies and appreciations, but her book is unique (though at its best it shares qualities with V.S. Pritchett's fine study from 1988).

Malcolm offers just enough biographical information for the reader who knows little about Chekhov to be able to appreciate this book, and she is also able to give an interesting enough perspective for her book to be worthwhile for someone who knows as much about Chekhov as she does. Aside from the short story "The Lady with the Dog", which serves as a touchstone for the book's narrative, Malcolm doesn't explore any of Chekhov's work in depth. The beauty of what she has created here, though, is that she is able to give a sense of Chekhov as a whole: his life, his writings, and the varied responses to his works and life. For instance, one of the most fascinating passages of the book compares how various biographers have portrayed Chekhov's last moments and death, and then what these portrayals might say about how Chekhov's entire life is portrayed, and how his works are interpreted.

Unlike many studies of writers and their work, this one is subtle and repays rereading. Malcolm wastes no words, which is, on the whole, admirable (particularly when writing about such an efficient writer as Chekhov), but at times is tantalizing -- some of her ideas could be spun into entire books of their own. Nonetheless, this is a fine book, a pleasure to read,resonant and even Chekhovian.

Do be aware that this does NOT contain the short story which it discusses! It lists in the "Literature & Fiction" section online, when really it's more of a reference book. This is rather deceiving.

Aside from that, this was certainly a full treatment of the story with lots of detail and discussion points. Like any sort of guide, it won't replace reading the actual work. Considering it is for a short story, you might as well read it anyway, as the guide certainly seems to be longer! But it is a good way to prepare for a discussion class or a test, or to use as a starting point for a paper.

The Lady with the Little Dog is about a chance love affair that takes possession of two people and changes them against their will, and which closes with them far apart and rarely able to meet.One intimate meeting, changed their entire outlook towards life.In The Lady with the Lap Dog, Gurov and Anna are both married.Both have gone on a stolen holiday to Yalta, a resort notorious for its casual love affairs. One interesting thing is that Chehkov never described the seduction unlike the later novelists. The memories from their affair haunts them and they want to be together forever. Every time they meet, they have to over come the fact that they both are married.The real subject of the story is this serious conflict in the minds of the lovers. Every two or three months after this they will meet and wrestle with their dilemma. Chekhov doesnt want to end the novel in a typical manner. He wants the rest to be interpreted by the reader's imagination. Thats the best part of the novel in point of view. Many of us have gone through this situation ourselves. We may have betrayed our loved ones once in a while.A night with a stranger might haunt us throughout the rest of our life. Every one has certain priorities in their life. The novel explains few critical decisions a person takes while tacking one of the most sensitive issues of their lives.

Three stars for Anton Checkhov? What could I be thinking. First of all, having read my fair share of Russian literature in translation, I've discovered what a difference a good translator can make. The question of "true to the material" is one I can not answer since I do not speak Russian. However, as far as good writing in English goes... this I can judge. Exceptional stories like "Daydreams", "The Kiss", and "Gusev" stand out with stellar content: "Daydreams" finds a man whose hopes for the future are constantly bashed by the two police he is with. "The Kiss" deals with a soldier who creates an entire fantasy affair with a woman based on a single accidental kiss. And "Gusev" follows the title character's slow descent from sickness into death on board a battleship. "The Kiss", the finest of the bunch, was translated by Constance Garnett, while Yarmolinsky translated almost all the others. Stories like "The Peasants" are bogged down in Yarmolinsky's stilted style. It is difficult to follow or care about characters doing every day things when the reading of these things is so difficult.

This edition also has certain letters collected toward the end. Any relationship between the letters and the rest of the volume is lost to me. There is no mention of any stories we've just read, or any theme amongst the letters themselves. Perhaps more letters to a specific person, or revolving around the writing of a story would have been more appropriate. As is, the tiny letters section is very cutable, offering such a small glimpse as to prove useless. Granted, Yarmolinsky had an almost impossible task. There can be no "portable" Checkhov. The man wrote hundreds upon hundreds of stories, and even more letters. His collected work could, and does, fill volumes. Selecting six hundred pages, translating them, and hoping that they can somehow represent a man is fallacy. Yet, until a better collection comes along, we are forced to read what we can.

Anton Chekhov's 7 Short Farces, is a book of seven Russian plays. The first play (The Bear) is his most famous of the plays in this book. It is an entertaining story of a man collecting debts to pay his mortgage. He travels all around, but nobody can or is willing to pay their debts. So at the last house owned by a recently widowed lady refuses to pay they argue and it breaks into chaos. The rest of the plays follow this pattern. They start of with a normal somewhat comical situation that ends up in utter chaos than just ends. Most of the plays have something to do with irony. I think that Chekhov wrote these as a symbol of the Russian government at this time. Its supposed to show how chaotic and ironic Russia's politics are. After the third play this book becomes somewhat tidies. I think it would be more interesting if these were acted like they were intended to be. Individually the plays are interesting, but when read one after another they are boring. Overall I would not suggest these plays to be read but I would suggest them to be acted for a better understanding of Russian literature.

Essentially...Well...Uhhh...This book is what we in academic circles like to....uhhh....call -- crap. You see, what he is trying to do here is....uhhh....well....essentially trying to stroke his own prodigious, shall we say, ego. In Mr. Stowell's, well, shall we say, essentially happily fascistic world, James and Chekhov, are, well, essentially, uhhh....well, not worth more than the value of a good screening of Blue Chips (a fine film he seems to uhhh, well....well he seems to essentially say is, uhh, well....essentially better than, well....Schindler's List -- a highly stylized film, that uhh, well, he seems to essentially say never appraches the cultural essence (before existence), of uhhh....well....say John Ford.)

Nevertheless! It is Mr. Stowell's esteemed reputation as one of the country's foremost film educators (of those film educators that never actually created, conceived, worked, or did anything with any film other than a cheapie biker film some 30 years ago)that suffers from his wholly uncharacteristic ego, bluster, and ignorance of the subject he intends to educate others of (wholly uncharacteristic!) that bog this poor piece of work down to the ground. Such misfortune!

hmmmm..... what to say about the Man in the case....... well, I had to read it in my English class, and although the story is short, nothing else has had the disturbing impact on my little, meager soul like this story. THe plot goes that there's this whiteboy Russian (very white), and he;s a loner. He loves being enclosed in cases, though I just wished he would be in a coffin sooner in the story. Well, his life is a living hell hole until he meets a munchkin of a woman, and they get it on, Russian style. Finally, as the ultimate, riveting climax of the story, the loner falls down some stairs, is embarassed, and dies shortly afterwards! What the freak? I could have made a better story if I was dyslexic and take english as a fifteenth language! After reading this maddening Russian tale, one has to wonder whether the author himself is a headcase, and whether his mind is trapped in constant random and meaningless thoughts. All I can think about now is that I hope the author's crotch is encased in a case, and that I can kick it again, and again, and again....... I swear, this story gave me nightmares...... Enjoy this piece of masterpiece, the best Mother Russia has to offer!