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    Uncle Vanya
    Uncle Vanya
    Uncle Vanya
    Ebook103 pages1 hour

    Uncle Vanya

    By Anton Pavlovich Chekhov

    4/5

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    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateJan 1, 1964
    Uncle Vanya
    Author

    Anton Pavlovich Chekhov

    Anton Pavlovich Chekhov (1860-1904) was a Russian playwright and short-story writer who is considered to be one of the greatest writers of all time. His career as a playwright produced four classics, and his best short stories are held in high esteem by writers and critics. Along with Henrik Ibsen and August Strindberg, Chekhov is often referred to as one of the three seminal figures in the birth of early modernism in the theatre.

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    Reviews for Uncle Vanya

    4/5

    185 ratings8 reviews

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    • 4/5
      A classic work of angst and despair, set in pre-revolutionary Russia. This is a play in four acts, and one of Chekov's most famous. It is a tale of mediocrity, and the pains of mediocrity in people who know they were not born to be mediocre. An extended family is thrown together for a summer, and seething resentments gradually bubble to the surface and threaten to destroy the title character, a man brought down by his own character flaws, but unable to recognize that, and attributing it to the whims of others. This play would probably not make it through a modern theatre workshop; it is filled with long expository speeches, and you go for quite a while without knowing what the stakes are, and never quite figure out who the antagonist and protagonist is, because the characters seem to change roles throughout the course of the play. Still, it can speak to a modern audience, if they will allow themselves to slow down to a pace unknown in our modern world, and move with the characters through their lazy days.
    • 1/5
      I read this for a LAMDA exam, and to be honest the reason I did not enjoy it was probably due to the amount of times I had to go through one scene, but it's put me off of reading any more Chekov =/
    • 4/5
      I related to this at at least nine broadly related points (the wasted life, the tragic ridiculousness of the old man who can't catch up with the fact that old he is, the feeling of universal decline emerging from one's own decline, how watching other people laugh and cry makes you laugh and cry for maybe motor neuron reasons, how very very hard it is to walk away from someone you KNOW is gonna kiss you for the second time ever, how sad it is to be smart and unaccomplished and peevish, how it's all a fuckin dumb waste man, etc., etc.), and yet it still didn't really compare to Three Sisters on any level really for me, showing the superiority of art over life I guess.
    • 4/5
      Uncle Vanya by Anton Chekhov; Kindle; play; (3 1/2*)I think that perhaps Chekhov may be an acquired taste and I am not truly there yet. And though I enjoyed this play I got lost within the characters at times.In a world full of whining and complaining about insignificant things it's fun to admire Chekhov and his ability to make this seem imperative to human life. While in the setting of Russian gentry everything is falling apart and the lives of the characters are no more gratifying than anyone the lives of anyone else.
    • 4/5
      Even the Russians have problems...I enjoyed this play immensely, although some of the relations were hard to keep track of. The characters were strongly written, and everything flowed really well.
    • 5/5
      First saw this at the Guthrie Theater, Minneapolis, nearly five decades ago (1969)--before I had read it in translation or (parts) in Russian. (The title, Дядя Ваня can be understood after two weeks of Russian.) The Guthrie had the tone just right--a comedy with a sad ending? Rather like so many Shakespeare tragedies with (somewhat) happy endings-- RIII,even MacBeth. Back then it was rare to see Checkov anything but dreary, quasi-tragic, similar to Ibsen. Тогда это было редко видеть Checkov ничего, кроме тоскливой, квази-трагический, похожий на Ибсена. Dr. Astrov's resounding support for the forest resounded with me, whose family has lived in New England since 1661, and who grew up summers in Maine on 40 acres of field and forest, the nearest inhabited farm a mile away. Astrov might appall modern pretend conservationists paid to manage forests but who sell off the oak to create better hunting. (Even Brazilians who strip rainforest don't pretend they're land protectionists.) Amazing how telling, how contemporary, land issues here and in the Cherry Orchard are. Of course, land was always a plague in Russia: anybody might own huge property, and not be rich. Wealth required owning the peasants to work tracts, мужики. Gogol's Chichikov discovers a tax loophole which can make him appear rich (thus marriageable), by buying dead people still on the lists. Amusing throughout. Hilarious when one sentimental landowner ironically named Bitch-son, собакевич, refuses to sell his former carriage-repairmen (?).I suppose trees are the modern tax-roll "souls": valuable when dead, as pretend conservationists know.
    • 4/5
      A classic work of angst and despair, set in pre-revolutionary Russia. This is a play in four acts, and one of Chekov's most famous. It is a tale of mediocrity, and the pains of mediocrity in people who know they were not born to be mediocre. An extended family is thrown together for a summer, and seething resentments gradually bubble to the surface and threaten to destroy the title character, a man brought down by his own character flaws, but unable to recognize that, and attributing it to the whims of others. This play would probably not make it through a modern theatre workshop; it is filled with long expository speeches, and you go for quite a while without knowing what the stakes are, and never quite figure out who the antagonist and protagonist is, because the characters seem to change roles throughout the course of the play. Still, it can speak to a modern audience, if they will allow themselves to slow down to a pace unknown in our modern world, and move with the characters through their lazy days.
    • 4/5
      I found this drama to be quite dark. The setting, rural Russia in the late 1800s, was interesting. I believe Chekhov was trying to make a statement not just about the rural wealthy, but about humanity in general. He describes a degeneration of the relationship between man and nature, an indolent, ignorant oblivion, which destructs without replacing. A very dark drama.

    Book preview

    Uncle Vanya - Anton Pavlovich Chekhov

    The Project Gutenberg EBook of Uncle Vanya, by Anton Checkov

    This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

    almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or

    re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

    with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

    Title: Uncle Vanya

    Author: Anton Checkov

    Release Date: November 23, 2008 [EBook #1756]

    Last Updated: November 26, 2012

    Language: English

    *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UNCLE VANYA ***

    Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer, and David Widger

    UNCLE VANYA

    SCENES FROM COUNTRY LIFE

    IN FOUR ACTS

    By Anton Checkov

    Contents

    CHARACTERS

    ALEXANDER SEREBRAKOFF, a retired professor

    HELENA, his wife, twenty-seven years old

    SONIA, his daughter by a former marriage

    MME. VOITSKAYA, widow of a privy councilor, and mother of Serebrakoff's first wife

    IVAN (VANYA) VOITSKI, her son

    MICHAEL ASTROFF, a doctor

    ILIA (WAFFLES) TELEGIN, an impoverished landowner

    MARINA, an old nurse

    A WORKMAN

    The scene is laid on SEREBRAKOFF'S country place

    UNCLE VANYA

    ACT I

    A country house on a terrace. In front of it a garden. In an avenue of trees, under an old poplar, stands a table set for tea, with a samovar, etc. Some benches and chairs stand near the table. On one of them is lying a guitar. A hammock is swung near the table. It is three o'clock in the afternoon of a cloudy day.

    MARINA, a quiet, grey-haired, little old woman, is sitting at the table knitting a stocking.

    ASTROFF is walking up and down near her.

    MARINA. [Pouring some tea into a glass] Take a little tea, my son.

    ASTROFF. [Takes the glass from her unwillingly] Somehow, I don't seem to want any.

    MARINA. Then will you have a little vodka instead?

    ASTROFF. No, I don't drink vodka every day, and besides, it is too hot now. [A pause] Tell me, nurse, how long have we known each other?

    MARINA. [Thoughtfully] Let me see, how long is it? Lord—help me to remember. You first came here, into our parts—let me think—when was it? Sonia's mother was still alive—it was two winters before she died; that was eleven years ago—[thoughtfully] perhaps more.

    ASTROFF. Have I changed much since then?

    MARINA. Oh, yes. You were handsome and young then, and now you are an old man and not handsome any more. You drink, too.

    ASTROFF. Yes, ten years have made me another man. And why? Because I am overworked. Nurse, I am on my feet from dawn till dusk. I know no rest; at night I tremble under my blankets for fear of being dragged out to visit some one who is sick; I have toiled without repose or a day's freedom since I have known you; could I help growing old? And then, existence is tedious, anyway; it is a senseless, dirty business, this life, and goes heavily. Every one about here is silly, and after living with them for two or three years one grows silly oneself. It is inevitable. [Twisting his moustache] See what a long moustache I have grown. A foolish, long moustache. Yes, I am as silly as the rest, nurse, but not as stupid; no, I have not grown stupid. Thank God, my brain is not addled yet, though my feelings have grown numb. I ask nothing, I need nothing, I love no one, unless it is yourself alone. [He kisses her head] I had a nurse just like you when I was a child.

    MARINA. Don't you want a bite of something to eat?

    ASTROFF. No. During the third week of Lent I went to the epidemic at Malitskoi. It was eruptive typhoid. The peasants were all lying side by side in their huts, and the calves and pigs were running about the floor among the sick. Such dirt there was, and smoke! Unspeakable! I slaved among those people all day, not a crumb passed my lips, but when I got home there was still no rest for me; a switchman was carried in from the railroad; I laid him on the operating table and he went and died in my arms under chloroform, and then my feelings that should have been deadened awoke again, my conscience tortured me as if I had killed the man. I sat down and closed my eyes—like this—and thought: will our descendants two hundred years from now, for whom we are breaking the road, remember to give us a kind word? No, nurse, they will forget.

    MARINA. Man is forgetful, but God remembers.

    ASTROFF. Thank you for that. You have spoken the truth.

    Enter VOITSKI from the house. He has been asleep after dinner and looks rather dishevelled. He sits down on the bench and straightens his collar.

    VOITSKI. H'm. Yes. [A pause] Yes.

    ASTROFF. Have you been asleep?

    VOITSKI. Yes, very much so. [He yawns] Ever since the Professor and his wife have come, our daily life seems to have jumped the track. I sleep at the wrong time, drink wine, and eat all sorts of messes for luncheon and dinner. It isn't wholesome. Sonia and I used to work together and never had an idle moment, but now Sonia works alone and I only eat and drink and sleep. Something is wrong.

    MARINA. [Shaking her head] Such a confusion in the house! The Professor gets up at twelve, the samovar is kept boiling all the morning, and everything has to wait for him. Before they came we used to have dinner at one o'clock, like everybody else, but now we have it at seven. The Professor sits up all night writing and reading, and suddenly, at two o'clock, there goes the bell! Heavens, what is that? The Professor wants some tea! Wake the servants, light the samovar! Lord, what

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