Short Story
The main character of my short story is Doug McGuire. As a rouge-like mercenary-for-hire, McGuire’s vocation has caused him to be untrusting of others, and highly suspicious as to the motives of anyone who interacts with him. However, his daily life (the status quo) is rocked off its feet when he encounters a young boy seeking his help. While attempting to help the boy escape his pursuers, McGuire meets Tara Sands, a fiery, capable woman who happens to share his interest—protecting the unnamed boy. As the story progresses and their attempts to escape reach greater and greater extremes, McGuire comes to learn the importance of trust.
The Long Way Home, by Nicholas Schein
“C’mon, Doug!” My partner shouted at me. “We gotta lose these guys!”
“Alright!” I responded. “But I don’t want to get the cops on us too!” I veered onto Rodeo Drive at Mach speed, my partner rattling in his seat. The big, black chevy SUV was not easy to hide in traffic, but people sure got out of its way. “Where do I drive?”
“I’m not the driver! Figure it out yourself!”
If you were near Brighton Way and Rodeo at around nine last Saturday night, you would have flinched at the sound of squealing, overheating brakes and burnt rubber. The contract had been simple. Steal Joe Morgan’s new import of exotic vehicles, and bring them over to a warehouse in LA that was owned by his direct competitor, the Nuestra Familia. However, neither the Nuestra Familia or I had realized in the 50,000 dollar deal that the Mafia might, just possibly, notice. As we hadn’t planned for this, Pete and I had run along our planned route far faster than expected. “Doug, hand me your p-two-two-six!”
“I’m not giving Sarah over to you!” Sarah was my personal best friend, a Sig Sauer I had purchased for a tidy sum three years ago. Her name came from Sarah Jane (I had been a fan of Bravestarr, which aired in the 80s, when I was a child). “Petey, call the Familia, tell them we’re arriving early, and that we’re bringing company!”
He leaned back in from the window. “Alright, I just ran out of ammo anyways!”
By the time we reached the warehouse, a blockade set up by the Familia lit up our pursuers. I sped through the blockade, screeching to a stop just in front of the loading bay. “Cervantes, I’ve got vehicles! None of them have been shot!”
“PING!”
“One of them has been shot! … It’ll buff out!”
“WHAT!?”
“Three hundred thousand for damage and ammo.”
“But they’re your enemies! Not ours!”
Cervantes smiled—something one hoped never to see. “And who brought them here? You, McGuire! You destroyed a Lamborghini, costed my men plenty of ammunition, and now the cops know that warehouse is mine! You’re lucky that you’re not dead!”
Pete and I left with nearly nothing—just enough in our pockets to restock on ammo, pay for the commission price (we got our contracts through these greedy hogs we called “middlemen”), and get dinner. After a quick meal, we went our separate ways. You work with people, but you aren’t really friends with anybody in this type of business. As I was heading home, the lights on my 310,000 dollar Overfinch Velocity, a modified Range Rover SVAutobiography Long Wheelbase model (having no permanent residence and relying on driving a lot, I had convinced a rich baron to pay me with his vehicle), lit up the silhouette of a small boy. I slammed both feet onto the aluminum brake pad, activating the carbon-ceramic brakes, barely managing to come to a halt before hitting him. Still shaking with vertigo from whiplash, I stumbled out of the vehicle to face the boy. Confused as I was, I could hear him clearly: “Help me, please!”
“What? How can I help? Why are you in the middle of the road? Is someone chasing you?” The boy nodded. “Petey said you can help me.” Damn it, Pete.
“Alright, hop in.” I opened the passenger door and helped the boy into his seat. Illuminated by the lights inside the car, I took a closer look at the newest in a series of complex problems that made up my life. He was certainly young; the boy was small, but not unfed. He had no obvious clues as to his ethnicity; upon my questioning, he declined me an answer.
We slept in the car that night—the cement-reinforced doors on my car, though heavy, give a sense of security like no other (a variety of under-the-radar modification had been made to fit my vocation). The next day, the boy attempted to tell me who was after him—all I could gather was that they were right on our tails, and because I had helped him, I was on their list as well. Either way, I knew we had to move, as I had no means to fight multiple professionals at once, particularly while driving. I decided to head northeast, towards Boulder, Colorado. While heading out of LA on highway 10, I noticed a small sedan behind us. The driver was wearing sunglasses, and was female. As we headed onto highway 15, I concluded that she was following us—every time I faked to head for an exit, she followed. Eventually, I pulled over at a gas station on highway 40. I pretended to go into the store, but snuck around the back to the left rear corner of her car. Walking to the left, I peered through the windows. The car was relatively clean—a late model ford sedan, with no weaponry or modifications. The vehicle looked very much like the average driver’s car—but I couldn’t believe all was as it seemed. Cautiously, I pulled out my Sig and made preparations to learn more. Before I could do anything, though, she turned to look me right in the eye, and then proceeded to duck. I followed suit. The sound of a window rolling down emitted from above my head, and I heard the woman say “Stop! I’m here to help the boy!”
Backing up quickly, I stood, with my gun pointed at the figure. She had put her hands up, touching the ceiling. “Yeah, right. Out of the car.” She carefully opened the right door, hands still in the air, and walked around the front to face me. “Can I put down my hands? It might make you look bad.”
“Sure,” I replied, as soon as I make sure you won’t kill me if I let you.” Walking in a circle around her, I noticed an odd shape stuffed in her waistband above her back pockets, and immediately took the gun from her. “You know, this could’ve killed me,” I said as I walked back around to face her. “These things hurt. However, you did have the safety on, so kudos to you.” She gave me a wry smile.
“That’s in case someone tries to attack me, or if they put a gun in my face for no reason.”
“Says the person who’s been following us since LA. Prove you’re safe to be around.”
“I can’t, really,” she responded. “Just know this: I have a reason to protect that boy—a better one than almost hitting him in the middle of the night.” I twitched. “Yeah, I saw that too. Nice of you to let him into your car, though.”
I needed information. “So who are you? Why were you following him?”
She sighed. “My name is Tara Sands. My only affiliation to this kid is that I want to help him, for some reason.” Just like me.
“Well, that sure isn’t much to go on. But I know what you mean by trying to help the kid.” While my conscious considered it highly unreasonable, I felt compelled to allow this woman to help. Sigh. “Okay. We’re driving to Boulder. Think you can follow us there?”
“Sure,” she said. “Just as soon as I—” A spray of bullets shattered the car window three inches to the left of our faces. “DUCK!” I yelled, as I dropped to the ground.
“Damn!” She said. “I thought they were farther behind! How did I not notice?!?”
The boy!
I grabbed Tara’s arm and raced over to my Range Rover. Throwing open the door to use as a shield, Tara and I vaulted into the vehicle and peeled out of the parking lot.
“How many?” I asked as I swerved left and right. Highway 40 had little traffic, and the best I could do was weave to avoid getting shot. The three of us bounced around in the seats as I hit a pothole. “Here’s your gun back! Go for the tires!”
“I know,” Tara growled through clenched teeth as she loaded her pistol. “I’ve been doing this longer than you, boy.” Ooh, she’s fiery.
“Oho! Boy, you call me? Well, who was the one that managed to get the other at gunpoint, huh?”
Tara frowned. “That’s because I was being nice.” She had good form—accurately firing from an unstable position, all while flying down the highway at 140 miles an hour.
By the time we got to Albuquerque, we had lost our pursuers. Not knowing how far they were behind us, we drove on through the night, stopping only to get gas and switch places—driving in the dark requires focus, and worrying about our followers didn’t help. The next major event was getting to Boulder. Getting there was not enough—being close to where we had last lost our bounty hunters, we decided we needed to get further. We randomly picked a state—Montana—and purchased tickets (in cash so we couldn’t be traced) for the soonest flight. Arriving in Big Timber, we hitchhiked to our destination, having left the Range Rover at the airport for a friend, and receiving fifty grand wired to a private account in return. Having silently agreed to stay together to protect the child we had brought with us, we put down a joint forty thousand for an acre of land. We hoped it was an inconspicuous place to live, and were reassured when we got there. As time passed, Tara and I got closer, mostly due to the whole escapade of running from our previous lives and raising a child. I finally got what I had always wanted—a peaceful life, out in the middle of nowhere, undisturbed by anyone. Leaving my old life had been good, but taking the step to trust Tara was better. We renamed the boy Vincent McGuire, and I’m proud to say that my son went on to be a wonderful man.
Sincerely,
Doug McGuire
49 Windsong Way, Big Timber, MT 59011
Behind the Scenes of the Short Story Audio Recording:
Honors Short Story Author or Playwright Study
For the Honors Short Story Author or Playwright Study, I chose to study Anton Chekhov, a Russian playwright form the mid to late 1800s.
Anton Pavlovich Chekhov was born on January twenty-ninth 1860 in Taganrog, Russia, which is directly south of Moscow. Chekov’s father was a harsh, serf-born father, who often treated his child with draconian methods. As his family of eight had little money, Chekov helped work from an early age, and after enrolling in a medical school in Moscow took on jobs such as writing and tutoring. As a matter of fact, Chekov stayed in medicine his entire life, although he is best known for his writing. The plays and various short stories which he wrote often showed the hypocritical way men acted, which resulted from his harsh upbringing. This profession likely stemmed from his mother Yevgenia, who was fond of storytelling. While Chekhov began his writing career with “lowbrow” comic sketches, by the mid 1880’s his serious works became known and were shown in magazines such as the New York Times. At the same time, Chekhov began writing short plays known as farces; quickly, he began to create his plays known for being a mix of comedy and tragedy. Some of his serious plays and stories were “A Dreary Story”, about a dying medicine professor, and “The Steppe”, an autobiography as told from a child’s point of view. Around 1888, Chekhov wrote a play named “Ivanov”, which covered the suicide of a man around Chekhov’s age. These three works have come to be called “clinical studies”, because they are about mentally and physically ill people–with knowledge stemming from Chekhov’s medical career. “Ivanov” and “The Wool Demon” are considered both tragedies and comedies, as they cover stories of the educated elite dealing with debt, disease, and disappointment. Other important short stories include The Seagull, Uncle Vanya, The Three Sisters and The Cherry Orchard. To create his famous research thesis The Island of Sakhalin, Chekhov journeyed to the penal settlement, which was over 6000 kilometers east of Moscow. This all stemmed from Chekhov’s will to escape urban life, where he was reproached by critics for not taking a social or political stance in his writing. In 1901, he married Olga Knipper, and died in 1904 from tuberculosis. He was only forty-four at the time.
After reading a variety of his short stories, including Ivanov and Uncle Vanya, I chose to write a short play of my own that matched Chekov’s style. The play, and an analysis of my writing as compared to Chekhov’s, is included below for your reading pleasure.
NIKOLAI
A PLAY IN TWO ACTS
(1860-1861)
Characters
NIKOLAI DVINSKY, a once-wealthy landowner struggling with debt
NADENKA DVINSKY, his sister
PYOTR SMIRNOV, a famous writer from a rich family
KATYA LOPATIN, Smirnov’s fiancee
JOSEF PICHLER, a medical professional
The action takes place at Nikolai’s estate. There is an interval of six months between Acts One and Two.
ACT ONE
The solarium of NIKOLAI’s estate. The room is dark, as it is overcast and little to no light is able to enter through the heavy glass windows. A coat rack laden with multiple coats hangs on a dark green wall to the left. On the right, a dimly lit arch leads to another room. Hanging on the wall are faded pictures of bygone relatives.
NADENKA and KATYA converse on the left, as NIKOLAI and PYOTR shake hands.
NIKOLAI [steps forwards and hugs PYOTR]. It is good to see you again, friend. It has been many months, no?
PYOTR [returning the hug]. Let me think, Nikolai. When was the last time? Smolensk, in eighty-two? Why, that must be ten, fifteen years ago! [Thinking.] We were still working together at the time.
NIKOLAI. No—Yes. You had gone on a trip to Volgograd for a writing venture, and Katya had stayed here in Roslavl with us for three months. But that was another time. Please, come in. [Walks with PYOTR into the antechamber, right.] Still, Bryansk is over a hundred kilometers away. Did it really take only three days to come here?
PYOTR. No, it took five. We had one horse pulling the carriage, the wheels getting stuck in those godforsaken ruts! We would have to get out and take our stuff off the roof so that the coachman could push it to more stable ground. But, what matters is that we have arrived at a dear friend’s house, and he welcomes us ever so warmly.
NIKOLAI [laughing]. Here, Pyotr, have some vodka. You must be tired, and I shall have my servants move your things to the guest room.
PYOTR. I shall. Thank you. [To servant.] Take this up, and this, please.
[Enter KATYA and NADENKA.]
NADENKA. —and those crumpets! I had never seen such a disaster before.
KATYA [giggling]. Yes, they were very dry. When she wasn’t looking, Pyotr spit them up on one of her potted plants! [Putting her arm playfully on NADENKA’s forearm.] Oh, that makes me laugh. [Seeing PYOTR.] What is it like to be famous, master writer?
PYOTR [frowning]. Badly, at the moment. For the past two years, I have not been able to create any work except for the most feeble of short stories. The critics are starting to say I am a one trick pony. You know, I despise them for that! [sighing.] Alas, it may be true. I came here, to the countryside, in hopes of finding something better to write about. And Nikolai, how have you fared with your land?
NIKOLAI [downhearted.] Just as well as your book-writing, I’m afraid. There was little water this year, and the crops grew badly. The forest caught fire in the summer, and we have no wood for heating this wretched house. And as for the land I bought—I was duped by that horrid bastard, Rubenov. His land grows no fruit for me, and I had to sell it to another poor lad for pennies! I am afraid I have little saved up for this winter.
NADENKA. And I have not been to the hairdressers in ages!
[A silence ensues.]
NADENKA. Well, I think I hear someone knocking at the door! [Exit NADENKA left.]
KATYA. I shall accompany her. [Exit KATYA left.]
NIKOLAI [rubbing hands together]. I am telling you, it seems to be getting colder every year.
PYOTR. I agree. Now what is it you so urgently need to talk to me about, such that you asked Katya and I to come here?
NIKOLAI [takes in a deep breath]. I need money. [breathes out.] Sixteen thousand roubles, Pyotr. Sixteen thousand to pay off the debts I owe for that land, and for the investors. I know I am asking much from you, dear friend, but can you loan me sixteen thousand? You know that I am good on my word. I will pay you back as soon as I can, I promise—I’ll pay you within five years, all of it back and then some.
PYOTR. [sighing.] Nikolai, you are my dearest friend, and you know that your pain is mine as well. However, I do not have sixteen thousand roubles myself, and I would have to ask my family for the money. You know I can’t do that—when I told them that I was to be a writer, my parents refused to give me anything. I have barely enough to even feed Katya and I, nonetheless any to give to you. I would, really, but I have nothing.
NIKOLAI. Please, Pyotr. Your parents liked me, they always did. Can you not ask them for me? Tell them I am good for my word. I need those sixteen thousand roubles, Pyotr, or I know I will sink! I will have to sell the house, and Nadenka and I will have to live on the streets! She will get sick again, and I will have no way to help her! Thats’ right—I won’t even be able to afford a doctor and medicine for my dear sister!
PYOTR [frustrated]. I don’t have the money, Nikolai. What am I to say?
NIKOLAI [frenzied]. Pyotr, you traitor! Care you not for your friends? I supported you when you first became a writer—fed you, clothed you, housed you. And this is how you repay me? [grabs at PYOTR]. [PYOTR steps back.]
PYOTR [angered]. And I thank you for that! I know I never repaid you, but I can’t now! You think if you get crazed enough I will reveal some hidden stash and give it all to you? I told you once, and I, Pyotr, do not lie! I am through with you, until you calm down and apologize to me for treating me in such a way! [Exit PYOTR.]
NIKOLAI. Oh, God! Lord in heaven, forgive me! What have I done? My precious childhood friend, distraught due to my problems! Who am I to make him bear my troubles? I am a truly rotten human. I ignore him, leave him be, and the moment I need help I call him over expecting him to save me! A rotten swine, trash! I used to be rich, powerful, friendly, even. But has the prime of my life passed me before I even turn thirty? For now I am a contemptible being, degraded to the point of utter insanity. I was once glorious, full of intelligent thoughts, full of admirable dreams and aspirations. I cannot continue like this much longer. Oh, let me be saved! Let the reckoning commence!
[NIKOLAI sits and cries. Fifteen minutes pass.]
NIKOLAI. I should find Pyotr and apologize. Perhaps he is with the ladies in the waiting room. I shall go and beg his forgiveness.
[NIKOLAI walks up to doorway, pauses.]
KATYA [puts her head in her hands]. Oh, woe is me.
NADENKA. What is wrong, Katya? You seemed fine earlier.
KATYA [through her hands.] Oh, woe is me. Pyotr and I are fiancees, yes, for a long time. But I think I am not happy. A fortnight ago, when I came over to stay with you and Nikolai, I met your doctor, Josef.
NADENKA [surprised]. Josef? Josef Pichler? You only saw him that once!
KATYA [reminiscing]. Ah, but he was wonderful. You were sick in bed, you wouldn’t have known. The talks we had! Politics, medicine, life, love. Hours and hours we talked, just the two of us. A friendship quickly built grew beyond certain boundaries. You remember how I didn’t want to go back to Bryansk. Just the previous night, Josef had held me. Oh, it was ecstacy! I wanted to run away with him right then and there. But, I was still young and with Pyotr at the time, and Josef had his reservations (though they were quickly falling). After I left, all I could think of was Josef, Josef, Josef. Josef when I looked at the medicine Pyotr took. Josef when I passed the doctor’s office. Oh, he was everywhere, at least in my mind. I knew it was foolish; I knew it could never work. But still, I fantasized about seeing him again. I had finally gotten him out of my mind when you invited us over! I shouldn’t tell you this, I really shouldn’t. [gets up and begins to walk away.]
NADENKA [grabbing KATYA’s arm]. Wait! Katya, dear, I would never tell a soul! Let me share with you whom I love, and be equal with you. A secret for a secret!
KATYA [sitting back down, looking at NADENKA with interest]. So, the angle has a love interest! And who is the lucky man? [Jokingly.] Not Josef or Pyotr, I hope.
NADENKA [quietly]. No, neither of them. It’s…well… I love Nikolai! [gasps.] You must not tell anyone—I would simply break down and die!
KATYA. I would never tell a soul. But to love your brother! You live with him everyday, yet cannot tell him. How tortured you must be! [wrapping her arms around NADENKA.] You poor thing!
NIKOLAI [from behind the doorway]. Oh, oh! Whatever shall I do? The woman I love dislikes her fiance, but loves another man! And my sister loves me! Whatever shall I do!
CURTAIN
There is an interval of six months between Acts One and Two.
ACT TWO
The dining room of NIKOLAI’s estate. The room is comfortable, warmly lit by candles and a fireplace in the hearth. The high ceiling keeps the room from feeling stuffy, and the French doors are open to a garden. NIKOLAI sits at the head of the dining table. KATYA sits on the left and NADENKA sits on the right. On the table lies a turkey, whole, a plate of greens, fruit salad, anchovies and crackers, various dips, and salt and pepper shakers. In front of each character is a steak, cooked medium-rare for the ladies, and well-done for the males.
NIKOLAI. Nadenka, thank you for joining us for dinner. It is nice to have you over, considering how you have been in Moscow for five months now.
KATYA. Yes, and now I get to be in this house with the man I love. Josef and I never got together, but I broke up with Pyotr nonetheless, and Nikolai took care of me. How wonderful! [KATYA kisses NIKOLAI.]
NADENKA. Well, I did have a break from my job in the city, and you were nice enough to invite me over for the summer.
NIKOLAI. Let us eat!
[The three eat and finish their meal.]
NIKOLAI. Excuse me. I am going to the study, to finish off some work I have—the land business has been doing better and better since last winter, and I need to contact the bank. [Exit NIKOLAI.]
KATYA. Nadenka, my dear, it really is nice to see you again. Tell me about your job in the city—is it interesting?
NADENKA. [pleasantly]. Not particularly. It goes slowly, and the city is always bustling so as to get you confused. I fear that I may have to move out of the city again, and find a nicer place to be. It is terribly stressful.
KATYA [making a face]. Sorry, dear. I must head to the bathroom—I am afraid that my steak was too rare for me. [Exit KATYA, in a hurry].
[Pause.]
NADENKA. Well. Well then. [crying.] Why did I come here? Did I think that seeing my brother again would cure me of my selfishness? I thought I would be with my brother, the man I loved. [laughing.] A foolish girl I was, picturing a happy ending. And Katya—innocent Katya. How could I ever get mad at her? She is so nice, and when my brother proposed, she didn’t think about how much it hurt me to hear that she and Nikolai were together. But how can I tell her of my woes? What right have I to deprive her of her happiness? Oh, I must leave. I must leave, lest I never move again. [Exit NADENKA.]
[Enter NIKOLAI].
NIKOLAI. Nadenka? Why are you crying so? Wait—come back! Sister, come back! There is a storm outside! [NIKOLAI chases after NADENKA.]
[Enter KATYA].
KATYA. Nikolai? Katya? Where are you two? Where have you gone? [Exit KATYA.]
Curtain
Explanation
Nikolai pulls strongly from Anton Chekhov’s plays Ivanov and Uncle Vanya. However, the play is condensed into two acts, and with half as many characters. Unlike many playwrights of his time, Chekhov’s plays catered toward the poorer, attempting to highlight the follies of the rich. In order to evoke a feeling similar to that of Chekhov’s plays, I followed his “comedic tragedy” style, well known for its love triangles and depressed aristocracy. Using Russian culture from the 1800’s as a base, and his undeniable style, many of Chekhov’s plays shared the same base structure.
Chekhov often uses his first act as exposition, and the following to truly develop the story. My play, Nikolai, envelops the exposition as well as the majority of the story. In signature Chekhov style, each act takes place in one or two rooms at most, with at least one character in the room at all times. I chose an estate in the Russian countryside loosely based off of Ivanov and The Three Sisters. As well, a lengthy description of the room is given before the first dialogue. I used a solarium, commonly called a sunroom. Built with large windows to let light in, having overcast weather at the beginning of the play foreshadows the problems that follow. Having a description of the room helps the reader visualize the lifestyle and personality of the characters. As well, having characters move in and out of the set in each act gives a sense of fluidity to the play—the characters do not simply stand in a room, but act as real people would, participating in more than one activity and going about their lives. There is almost no narration, as the play is almost completely dialogue. Narration is cut down to explanations of emotions and simple actions, instead of showing a view into the character’s minds.
As Chekhov is known for making fun of the rich, I made sure to have the majority of my characters come from a wealthy background. I also made sure to have a multitude of problems occur in the play. Nikolai needs money from Pyotr, who does not get along well enough with his family to help his friend. Another famous move of Chekhov’s was his love triangles, which I tried my best to copy in Nikolai. Pyotr loves his fiancee, Katya, but she loves another man. Nikolai loves Katya, and his sister Nadenka loves him. Someone is doomed to have unrequited love. Following Chekhov’s style, the characters are blunt about their thoughts, and often reveal to each other if not the audience their feelings. Tension builds with Nikolai and Pyotr getting into an argument over money. For reference, Nikolai asks for sixteen thousand roubles, which when converted from 1860 values to 2019 values, comes out to around one hundred and twenty thousand United States Dollars. Similar to Vanya from Uncle Vanya and Ivanov from Ivanov, Nikolai reflects on his actions and feels very upset at his mishandling of the situation. The tension reaches a climax with the characters displaying their affections to each other and the audience, with the play ending on a realization. The amount of action and emotion at the end of an Act carries, if not forces, the reader into the next act. Such endings are notable in Chekhov’s third act of Uncle Vanya and the end of the first act in Chekhov’s The Three Sisters. At the end of the first act of The Three Sisters, two characters in other relationships show their love for each other filling the reader with a tension that forces them to flip the page and read the next act.
In many of Chekhov’s plays, there is an intermission of a certain period of time between some of the acts. This refreshes the situation, and can show how characters have dealt with problems from the previous act. In many cases, the problems continue over. However, I wanted to highlight the problems a specific character is having. To do this, I had Nikolai and Katya get together, solving Nikolai and Katya love problems, and I had Nikolai solve his money problems. With Josef Pichler and Pyotr Smirnov both excused from the second act, the reader can focus on the troubles Katya is having. As her brother is now engaged, she has lost the love of her life. As well, her job is a large source of stress, and unable to deal with the problems she runs away in a flurry. To continue the sense of realism, Nikolai chases after her, as any brother would their sister. Katya ends the play wondering where the two have gone.
Other important notes include certain grammatical and story choices. I often use em dashes, which draw attention to whatever information they enclose. I am trying to show to the reader that the information offset by the em dashes is important. For contrast, I also have a character use parentheticals in their dialogue. Using parentheticals makes the information seem more like an afterthought, downplaying the words contained within them and showing how the information is helpful but unnecessary. The usage of such grammar is more common in older books, and I used this to try and connect to Anton Chekhov, who one would not consider a “modern” writer. An important story choice was the structure of the dialogue. Chekhov often has his characters speak in large paragraphs at a time, helping to explain certain emotions, actions, or wishes. As such long blocks draw attention, I used them when a character was dealing with a problem, such as when Nikolai reprimands himself for his actions towards his friend, Pyotr, in the first act. When one character is not dealing with a problem, Chekhov often has a repeated switch of dialogue between a small number of characters. With so few characters already, most dialogue switches could only occur between two characters. The other characters were either not in the act or not in the room. The last important story choice was the female names. I chose my names specifically—“Nadenka” means “hope” and “Katya” means “pure” or “innocent”. Nadenka is “hopeful” that her brother will love her and that the two of them will get together, but such unrealistic “hopes” never become reality. Katya is “pure”, so when she steals Nikolai from Nadenka, it is without intended harm, and Katya does not realize the consequences her actions have on Nadenka’s mental health.
Works Cited
“Ivanov.” Five Major Plays by Anton Chekhov, by Anton Pavlovich Chekhov and Ronald Hingley, Bantam Books, 1982, pp. 1–69.
“Uncle Vanya.” Five Major Plays by Anton Chekhov, by Anton Pavlovich Chekhov and Ronald Hingley, Bantam Books, 1982, pp. 131–188.
“The Three Sisters.” Five Major Plays by Anton Chekhov, by Anton Pavlovich Chekhov and Ronald Hingley, Bantam Books, 1982, pp. 189–265.