Title: The Privy Councillor
Date Read: 27th April 2010
Briefly: It’s all hands on deck as Klavdia Arhipovna’s brother Ivan sends her a letter telling her that he is spending the summer with her, and the rest of her family. Being the only of the siblings to have made a name for himself – he’s a privy councillor with the rank of a general no less – Klavdia wants to make a good impression. And the only way to do that is to smarten everyone and everything up. As the cleaning up operation happens, so the anticipation of the uncle’s arrival begins to build.
Afterthoughts: Although this story rambles on, it’s actually one of the more remarkable tales from Chekhov, with two distinct themes running through it. Told from the perspective of the young nephew (Klavdia’s son), the first theme centres around the nephew trying to make sense of an adult world which he doesn’t quite yet fully understand. I remember reading a similar story a couple of weeks ago – Grisha in which a similar ‘making sense of the world through the eyes of a youngster’ theme was explored. However, in that story the main character was a toddler, and in this one it’s a lad moving closer to adulthood. The second theme is perhaps a little more subtle, and it’s an exploration of the distractions that love (or perhaps more accurately lust) can bring. That’s all I’m saying through fear of spoiling things. I recommend this tale though, even if it takes a while to get into, and back out of again 
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Notable Quote: After we had heard a detailed history of the Gundasovs, there followed a fuss and bustle in the place such as I had been accustomed to see only before Christmas and Easter. The sky above and the water in the river were all that escaped; everything else was subjected to a merciless cleansing, scrubbing, painting. If the sky had been lower and smaller and the river had not flowed so swiftly, they would have scoured them, too, with bath-brick and rubbed them, too, with tow. Our walls were as white as snow, but they were whitewashed; the floors were bright and shining, but they were washed every day. The cat Bobtail (as a small child I had cut off a good quarter of his tail with the knife used for chopping the sugar, and that was why he was called Bobtail) was carried off to the kitchen and put in charge of Anisya; Fedka was told that if any of the dogs came near the front-door “God would punish him.” But no one was so badly treated as the poor sofas, easy-chairs, and rugs! They had never, before been so violently beaten as on this occasion in preparation for our visitor. My pigeons took fright at the loud thud of the sticks, and were continually flying up into the sky
Rating: 
*Story read as part of my Checkin’ Off The Chekhov Shorts reading challenge.
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