In "Reading Like A Writer," Francine Prose devotes an entire chapter to extolling the virtues of Anton Chekov's 
"profound and beautiful . . . involving" stories that made bearable her wretched bus commute between work and home. Clearly the woman savored the time she spent nibbling greasy sugar cookies and sipping soda whilst reading Chekov's work, but I agree with the "disgruntled student" who also got sick of Fran's mooning over this Russian—there are plenty of other authors who can inspire budding writers just as well as Chekov. I realize that I've made it clear that Prose's prose doesn't click with me, so if Chekhov is one of her favorite writers, then it is doubtful he will do much for me. However, seeing as though I have, I don't think, ever read any Chekhov, I will not prejudge his writing as a way to project my rejection of Fran on to Chekhov. Yet even his compatriot, Vladmir Nabokov (Lolita), is alleged to have called Chekov's writing a "medley of dreadful prosaisms, ready-made epithets, [and] repetitions" (James Woods essay, What Chekhov Meant By Life).
This discrepancy in "taste" (ironically, I also care neither for sugar cookies nor sodas) between Fran and me brings up another important issue that is quite apparent in relief against our increasingly multicultural society. I refer to the idea that the master canon of Western literature seems to be the standard by which all writers must ascribe. The "profundity" of Chekhov's writing as described by Fran seems to emanate from his astute social observations about the intricate ways people connect with one another; however, the methods and modes through which humans interrelate can vary enormously between cultures. Social interactions differ to such a noticeable extent that it is not at all an exaggeration to say that the "norm" in one culture may be completely inconceivable in another. Thus, I submit, the level of importance of one author in a particular culture can also be rendered completely negligible in another. Fran's take on authorial imitation is not revolutionary or original; it is a technique that can be a valuable as a writing tool, but only as long as the aspiring scribe is imitating a writer whose work he or she admires.
I could go on nitpicking at Fran, but in the interests of appearing fair and open-minded, I will give props to her chapter entitled "Details." In that chapter she recounts a story that a one-legged lady tells about how she lost her leg. For the first time in Reading Like A Writer, Prose offers up something that holds my interest. I think the reason is because Frannie seems to finally use her own authentic observations and interactions with others as an example of good storytelling and characterization. The story of the lady and the leg is humorous and horrifying at once, and the details in this one paragraph tale leave a far greater impression on me than the rest of her entire book.
So, Fran adores Chekhov's "The Lady and the Dog." Fine. She can choose to use him as a model for her own work. I'll partake of the "The Lady and the Leg."
"profound and beautiful . . . involving" stories that made bearable her wretched bus commute between work and home. Clearly the woman savored the time she spent nibbling greasy sugar cookies and sipping soda whilst reading Chekov's work, but I agree with the "disgruntled student" who also got sick of Fran's mooning over this Russian—there are plenty of other authors who can inspire budding writers just as well as Chekov. I realize that I've made it clear that Prose's prose doesn't click with me, so if Chekhov is one of her favorite writers, then it is doubtful he will do much for me. However, seeing as though I have, I don't think, ever read any Chekhov, I will not prejudge his writing as a way to project my rejection of Fran on to Chekhov. Yet even his compatriot, Vladmir Nabokov (Lolita), is alleged to have called Chekov's writing a "medley of dreadful prosaisms, ready-made epithets, [and] repetitions" (James Woods essay, What Chekhov Meant By Life). This discrepancy in "taste" (ironically, I also care neither for sugar cookies nor sodas) between Fran and me brings up another important issue that is quite apparent in relief against our increasingly multicultural society. I refer to the idea that the master canon of Western literature seems to be the standard by which all writers must ascribe. The "profundity" of Chekhov's writing as described by Fran seems to emanate from his astute social observations about the intricate ways people connect with one another; however, the methods and modes through which humans interrelate can vary enormously between cultures. Social interactions differ to such a noticeable extent that it is not at all an exaggeration to say that the "norm" in one culture may be completely inconceivable in another. Thus, I submit, the level of importance of one author in a particular culture can also be rendered completely negligible in another. Fran's take on authorial imitation is not revolutionary or original; it is a technique that can be a valuable as a writing tool, but only as long as the aspiring scribe is imitating a writer whose work he or she admires.
I could go on nitpicking at Fran, but in the interests of appearing fair and open-minded, I will give props to her chapter entitled "Details." In that chapter she recounts a story that a one-legged lady tells about how she lost her leg. For the first time in Reading Like A Writer, Prose offers up something that holds my interest. I think the reason is because Frannie seems to finally use her own authentic observations and interactions with others as an example of good storytelling and characterization. The story of the lady and the leg is humorous and horrifying at once, and the details in this one paragraph tale leave a far greater impression on me than the rest of her entire book.
So, Fran adores Chekhov's "The Lady and the Dog." Fine. She can choose to use him as a model for her own work. I'll partake of the "The Lady and the Leg."
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