„Uncle Vanya“ – what is a life, really?

Did I doubt that I would start on REALLY reading „Uncle Vanya“? In fact, I did … And maybe it is not so good because I’ll go to the theatre with my own reading already firmly in place, but it couldn’t be avoided. Less so as I noticed that I knew the play already. I wasn’t sure because the plays are so much alike that I get them mixed up - until the beginning of act four when I definitely recognized the bit where Astrov asks Vanya to return the morphine. I wasn’t sure because I only distinctly remember having seen “The Cherry Orchard” at Stadttheater Augsburg (the big stage), an amazing production of “Three Sisters” at Schiller-Theater Berlin, and “The Seagull” in Nuremberg – which was rather good, but where I think I decided that Chekhov isn’t “for me”. All of them about twenty-five to thirty years ago. “Uncle Vanya”, I remember now as much, I must have seen in my thence favourite theatre in Augsburg called “Komödie” (=the small stage). And it must have been thoroughly boring because I don’t really remember anything about it. And this is definitely something Chekhov CAN be: thoroughly boring.

Well, that I am sure it will not be because of the formidable choice of actors for the most interesting characters. As to Toby Jones it couldn’t be more obvious, and, reading it, I certainly couldn’t think of a better choice for playing Vanya. (Strange, though, because I have never seen him play anything remotely like this!) And Astrov is certainly an interesting character to play, and in some respects Richard Armitage appears an obvious choice as well – I am certainly looking forward to his “kind voice”! - but there is so much rather contradictory and genuinely interesting human stuff that I’d only be surprised if he won’t surprise me with his version of it. I mean, of course, in the still rather unlikely case that I’ll actually see it … But even if I don’t, I am thrilled for him that he gets to play this, and only hope that he won’t actually have to wear a long moustache. Though, if I WILL be there in six weeks time and see him on that stage, moustache or no moustache, I’ll be happy!

My rejection of Chekhov at the time, and my reluctance when I started to read the play and didn’t get further than the first few lines, wasn’t surprising. First of all: “Chekhov” is for adults. More precisely: It is for people who have already made and accepted this cage for themselves that will be their life until they die – not for those who think that they can still escape it. (As I noticed reading it: “We” can escape Chekhov for a long time, but some day he’ll get us all! Maybe the time was ripe?) I think I FOUND Chekhov fascinating at the time – as my favourable memory of the “Three Sisters” proves – but I didn’t yet understand why.

His plays certainly are aesthetically thrilling, so much I had soon established – and probably already had at the time. And I think this is because of their unique structure. In “Uncle Vanya” there are as many as FIVE full-blown and genuinely distressing human cages on this stage, five of these strange lives we don’t really want to get into – except when they are displayed on a stage. Whole lives, somehow, not just bits of them. And even though these plays might appear so short and light in a way, as to what happens, or as to the amount of relevant matter discussed - compared with, say, Shakespeare or Ibsen, or even my most recent theatre experience Noel Coward, rather like snowflakes on the wind! – they somehow contain EVERYTHING that is in these cages. As I feel it, an almost unbearable weight of human stuff. Especially the lives of such “nonentities” as Vanya take on a weight that can easily get me down. And at the same time there is this “flightiness” of the matter that, I think, always fascinated me. It is so much closer to life in a way than most of the heavy, tragic stuff, as everything that’s done can be undone and everything that is said unsaid as if it had never happened. What is a life, really? So very hard to capture, but, somehow, Chekhov always touches down on it.

So, there is the pleasure of looking back and seeing the way that I have come – which might be a doubtful pleasure in this case. The pleasure of looking forward – to something that I might never see. But if I don’t, I still have had this aesthetical experience just reading it, to a degree I never expected. And, maybe most important for the blog: I had a breakthrough on “realism”. But one thing at a time:

There will certainly be more, but I need to elaborate on the content I have already read. That is, on the content of the “cages”. Though, starting with REALISM might make it even clearer what I am getting at. Reading Thomas Harris immediately followed by Chekhov was an interesting involuntary reading experiment because somehow the different layers of realism in fictional text got separated. Thomas Harris is amazing as to the “first level”: the preciseness of creating a reality that doesn’t exist. This always has to happen before the other levels can be read. We have to be taken into the specific world the author is creating – the more separated from any reality we know, the better. (Finally my rather pointless effusions about “fictional worlds” begin to make sense!) Chekhov somehow achieved this with me during the very first lines – and I don’t know which aesthetical and other experiences and expectations went into this. I am starting to remember how much I was involved with realism at the time, reading all these fat novels by Dostoevsky. In fact, “The Idiot” was my absolute favourite book for quite some time! And I know I loved them because they were so emotionally exact and profound, and most of these emotions and considerations so totally unknown. Yesterday, after having finished “Uncle Vanya”, it was still too early to sleep, and I got back to Thomas Harris and read the first pages of “Hannibal”. And that was even more interesting because, coming back from my deep dive into Chekhov, I realized that Thomas Harris’ artificial reality basically stops there. The “second level” of realism, where there is one of these – usually vexing - relationships with a reality I know, is not there.

By the way, it CAN be! There certainly IS a connection with a layer of real life in Thomas Harris. I just don’t know it, and I have – and want to have! – nothing to do with it. More specifically, there are two ways of striking a connection with a reality outside the fictional world. The first one is there in both cases because there is always a real-world context. If this connection is very weak – which it can be, for example in fantasy literature - this is definitely not “realism”. In Thomas Harris this world is even really “thick”, stuffed with administrative and gory detail about police work and spectacularly inhuman crimes. I noticed how I get lost in it – pleasantly, regarding the disquieting stuff I had just been through in Chekhov! – but it didn’t incite any PERSONAL response, at least not in the first place. In Chekhov this outside reality is also always there – though usually not on the stage. That Chekhov is not just read as timeless drama but as “realism” is due to the fact that the human stuff inside the play has a NECESSARY connection to a world outside. Which is always referred to in the plays as a very specific historical background of people living in rural Russia at a time where everything that ever happens is going on outside these places in Moscow and Saint Petersburg. And this historical background has a DIRECT impact on the structure of these lives displayed on the stage. There is a rather beautiful and ingenious bit about Dr. Astrov showing Helen the maps he has made about the area and which document the change it has undergone in the last decades. There is change, of course, as there always is - a lot of change even, for this kind of rural area - but, in this case, this makes it worse as the change is solely about depopulation and decline. (And, of course, Helen isn’t the least bit interested!)

Then there is the “third level” of realism where “we” strike a connection with something we know intimately – about our own lives, or the lives of others, human relationships, the dangers and transformations we are getting into, real-life situations, the change that is threatening us … And this is where Chekhov is so unique as to the AMOUNT of truth he manages to get in, and how he bears down on “us”. As I wrote, there are at least five full-blown lives and predicaments, and in all of them but one I even find rather heavy stuff that relates to myself. The only person that doesn’t bear any stuff I know personally is Helen. Nonetheless, her life (and misery) is equally heavy and valid, and I realize that – not least because of the impact she has on everybody else - the success of the production depends a lot on how she will turn out. I don’t occupy myself much with these totally self-centered characters like Professor Serebryakov, but I can certainly understand his predicament, even feel his misery. Sonya, for her part, is too admirable to be genuinely interesting. She is the one I hope I would emulate in a crisis, though! And Uncle Vanya is, of course, the “worst case” – saved till last.

The most immediate and profound access I had to Dr. Astrov because he has something that I have almost to the same degree – though I am seldom THAT merciless on myself: an uncommon ability of self-inspection. He is supposed to be attractive, wears himself out doing important work, has a kind voice, and is passionate about trees – all of this qualities that make me and others like him. And there is not much danger that this will happen to me with other characters in Chekhov! So I realized that I had come to the conclusion that he is partially a self-portrait of the author. (I might have scored there because, as I read afterwards, by the time he must have been writing “Uncle Vanya”, Chekhov was about the same age as Astrov and was running his own small estate in the country, unmarried, practicing as a doctor and occupying himself with alleviating misery by initiating the building of schools in his area. The photos suggest that he was tall and reasonably attractive - and that the moustache was definitely growing!) This is usually not a helpful observation, in my opinion, but I found it helpful and important in this case because I got a feeling that it is relevant WHERE EXACTLY I STAND watching and reading this play. Chekhov WANTS us to like Astrov - as he himself wants to be liked! And I immediately liked him – because of this totally uncommon combination of a person of whom everybody thinks that the sun shines out of his arse and this level of merciless introspection – as he displays right in the beginning, relating how life has turned him into “a freak”. (There might be irony, though …??? A few times I got this feeling that there might be a lot of irony that I miss and that might come out on the stage. I am looking forward to that …) But, of course, Chekhov doesn’t let us get away with this. And I would be truly disappointed if he did!

So, I was wary of Astrov from the beginning, and rather relished the moment where the person everybody finds so admirable almost without warning turns into a monster. In the first place because this was so surprising, and I couldn’t quite explain it, and went on a search … and was delighted about what I turned up! There is something he says about himself that is really crucial – for myself and for understanding Chekhov, I think. For understanding why the lives of these people always appear so “insufficient” that they could never be mended – not by ANY turn of fate imaginable.  

The really important observation Astrov makes about himself is that – even though he does all this important work, and his life is dedicated to constructive things like planting trees, and Chekhov makes a point of showing that he can feel genuine compassion … even though all of this is there, his life is LOVELESS. And it really bothers him that he cannot feel love – as it should! He just doesn’t really know WHY.

At this point I remembered that, though there usually is no religious content displayed openly anywhere in Chekhov, this is a text from a time where everybody passed at least as much time in a church stall as on the loo, and where people were raised with the bible. And it even reminded me why – though I am not into any religion myself – I regret that this important content from the bible doesn’t get “uploaded” anymore. I am sure that at the bottom of Chekhov there is a deep understanding of certain truths from the bible which suggest that our lives are so insufficient that nothing (but God?) can heal them. I remember that, at one point, Jesus says – mutatis mutandis - that we can be as good as it gets, even do charitable work, heal other people, plant trees, be decent, even feel - and act out of – compassion, but if we have NO LOVE all this is NOTHING WORTH.

I even remember me rejecting this, when I first heard or read it, as more than a bit harsh - and I certainly wouldn’t be so merciless in real life! - but to my astonishment I noticed that I have found this to be true. Maybe this is even the wisest bit about Chekhov that there has to be BOTH: We have to be able to disregard this kind of existential truths and get on with our lives, but when we run into  crisis they may suddenly come out and become important. And I think this is what is supposed to HAPPEN in this play: people running into a crisis – all of them, in a way – and then it becomes a “live” demonstration of this truth from the bible. We don’t know love until it is “there”, but life can turn out truly horrible when it is not. Passion without love or kindness is not always monstrous, but it can be when it violates other people’s feelings and self-conception. Without love, we can turn into monsters without feeling anything about it. Without even noticing it perhaps. Genuinely reading this is probably the reason why, I think, I don’t hold somebody like Vanya in contempt any more, as I would have done when I was young. A loveless life is horrible – not even because we are so needy, but because we are basically unable to feel anything ABOUT OURSELVES, except under the influence of drugs. Vanya, for his part, is capable of love – which turns out even more nightmarish because his love didn’t find a worthy object. And this can become REALLY dangerous and genuinely life-threatening because, when we notice, we cannot just stop feeling. (Therefore he is so much worse when he drinks!) But his life that appears wasted is still less wasted than Astrov’s – who KNOWS that his productive but loveless life is nothing worth. There is even a moment where Vanya – who might be deemed pathetic and a freak by others! – shows everybody else that they are freaks because their lives are empty. And my feeling at this moment is that he is right!

Although nobody is ever “right” in Chekhov! Which is good and even profoundly “realistic” because, in real life, it doesn’t really matter. In fact, I had the heretic idea that, in a different world - which doesn’t operate under the law that nothing ever happens, no matter what – the two most attractive people would just get together and “out of there” - even without love - and leave the others to their respective miseries … And I am rather astonished where my reading has got me so fast – which is, in fact, where I started it, as I realize now. Which was basically:

It certainly IS fascinating, but I NEED to get out!

Which doesn’t mean that I won’t want to come on board again. I mean – when there is something in there that makes me want to get out SO FAST, it must be quite SOMETHING!

Christmas reading …

… was great. Unexpectedly so. No snow, of course. Just walked through the rain this morning through empty streets to my empty office – skirting weird amounts of spirit bottles round the glass bins and being kind of relieved when I finally hit on a bus at Josephsplatz - realizing how far, far away I had been …

And I just realized why I started like this – but that’s the next paragraph. First I have to save an observation I made reading “Coriolanus” – which might be the last Shakespeare I will be reading for some time. I had planned on reading it since August because I had then seen the film with Ralph Fiennes -  directed by Ralph Fiennes - and noticed that I found it extremely interesting. But I had to read the play first and didn’t get round to it for some time. I won’t write anything about “Coriolanus”, though, but I just accidentally spilled a theory about comic relief scenes in “Shakespeare” being in fact there to hint on something extremely dark, or vexing, or some kind of uncomfortable truth. But in a way that everybody is free to read the hint or not. And every time I do that – spitting out audacious theories like this – I am uncomfortable with it and am actually setting out to verify them by trying to falsify them. And I was successful in this case, reading the squabble of Aufidius’ “servingmen” AS IF it actually WAS a comic relief scene – which it is, of course! But then I came on this discussion of the benefits of war that may be a “great ravisher” – but peace, on the other hand, is “a great maker of cuckolds” and “MAKES MEN HATE ONE ANOTHER because they then LESS NEED ONE ANOTHER”. And THIS totally played into the feeling I had about this play. It really scrapes the bottom of why “Coriolanus” felt so particularly unpleasant, having almost nothing to offer apart from the kind of naked truths nobody is ever prepared to say right out: We will never be rid of bloody conflict, not because it makes any sense but because we really NEED it. Maybe not me, but somebody always really needs it.

That was that … And now to why I started with my true to live description of my walking to work this morning. I finally read “Red Dragon” and “The Silence of the Lambs” after having now seen both the films with Antony Hopkins as Hannibal, having finally managed to get “Red Dragon” with Ralph Fiennes. And because I find this and the series with Mads Mikkelsen such contradictory adaptations of the same book I got round to reading the books after all and certainly didn’t regret it. On the contrary: Unlike the films, I totally enjoyed them. “Silence of the Lambs” is a great book – and probably unbearably thrilling if one doesn’t know the story already. But “Red Dragon” really is a delight! (It’s the first one. I bought them all, including “Hannibal” and “Hannibal Rising”, because I wasn’t sure which one was first and which ones got into the series. Probably bits of all of them.) This book actually made me aware for the first time what I value most about reading and written fiction. And why I was so obsessed with “realism” once upon a time that I thought: If I’d ever write a doctoral thesis it will be about this. Of course it is about the WRITING – but what EXACTLY? Reading “Red Dragon” I consciously observed for the first time that it is about HOW CLOSE you can get writing to the reality YOU ARE CREATING. Not any kind of reality that actually exists –  which is how we “naturally” define realism - but the fictional reality a writer is able to create and which we re-create reading. So, it may be the worst kind of bullshit imaginable – if it is written in a manner that it is so close to our skin – or kind of goes under the skin – that we are compelled to believe it. Of course I must have experienced this any number of times, and have gotten better at READING like this – but I never OBSERVED it like I did in this case. And this was, of course, behind my fascination with the series. But even though the series really is ABOUT this – as I observed, it is not about the horror but about how to get under our skins with all this “bullshit” and offending human stuff “aesthetically”, without putting people off – it mostly cannot reach the book, especially in a character like Will Graham where everything that is so special about him is actually IN his thoughts. At one point during the third season Lecter actually opens Will Graham’s skull with a surgical saw – naturally to no avail! It isn’t even a powerful metaphor in this case, just heavy-handed. Where Richard Armitage’s Red Dragon is concerned there was a lot more of this incredible detail that could be made visible, and I admired even more the way he committed to this and the amount of detail he managed to get in. It was totally worth it – but a lot of what makes this character so special and kind of unique is in the backstory. I loved Thomas Harris’ obsession with the CHANGING – because I think this really is the way we LIVE – and are not already dead while we are living – even insignificant and nondescript people like myself. (Of course, most of the change is involuntary and unpleasant, and threatening. And this is ALSO in the book.) As to that, Richard Armitage’s Red Dragon is amazing, and Ralph Fiennes’ totally nondescript. They were zero interested in his “becoming” – as in his background, so, in the film, the Dragon never “took off”. In the series he did, and I think Richard Armitage even tried to get as much acquainted with the backstory as he could and to put as much of it in in the only way available to an actor: by putting as much of it into his head when he played the character. It certainly paid off, but we are not able to see it, most of the time. So, even the amazing Red Dragon had to remain a fragment compared to the incredibly graphic reality of the book.

And the best thing about this kind of CLOSE READING – reading as if I could touch the fictional reality with my nose, or my skin, or whatever – is even that I LEARN to read in this way and partially am able to “augment” my own reality in this way, and reading other text in this way. (This is probably why I don’t understand why anybody needs 3D and virtual reality, and why it feels invariably coarse and awkward to me. I always knew that I could do so much better in my head.) I totally noticed this when I started to read “Uncle Vanya” yesterday. It certainly happened BEFORE – when I probably saw a play by Chekhov for the last time between twenty-five and thirty years ago and was SLIGHTLY uncomfortable having all these people spilling their guts on a stage. And this time I felt DISTINCTLY uncomfortable from the moment I started reading. It was late, but even if it hadn’t been I wouldn’t have gotten much further than the first few lines. And it FELT GREAT! I am full of apprehension now – though I still cannot imagine the REALITY of sitting in the theatre and seeing this. Often the reality isn’t half as good as this intense anticipation of what it might be … But, IF I make it, I already know that I am in for a surprise.