Feeling with Your Hands
Letter to Maxim Gorky, Yalta, December 3,1898 You ask what I think of your stories. What do I think? That you have talent is beyond doubt, as is the fact that this is a genuine, major talent. It shows up with tremendous force, for example, in your story "In the Steppe," and it actually made me jealous that you had written it instead of me. You are an artist and an intelligent man. You have an extraordinary feel for reality. You are plastic, i.e., when you are describing something you are actually seeing it and feeling it with your hands. This is true art.
Descriptions of Nature: Details
Letter to Alexander Chekhov, Moscow, May 19, 1886 I think that descriptions of nature should be short and to the point. Commonplaces such as, "The setting sun bathing in the waves of the darkening sea poured out a flood of crimson gold," etc., and, "The swallows skimming the surface of the water chirped joyously"—such commonplaces should be eliminated. In describing nature, focus on minute details and group them in such a way that when the reader will have finished reading, he will be able to close his eyes and see a complete picture. You can produce the impression of a moonlit night, for example, by writing that the broken bottle glass twinkled like stars on the milldam, and that the black shadow of a dog or a wolf rolled by, and so on. Nature appears to be animated if you are not afraid to use comparisons between natural phenomena and human actions.
Descriptions of Nature: Simplicity
Letter to Maxim Gorky, Yalta, January 3,1899 Your nature descriptions are artistic; you are a true landscape painter. However, your frequent comparisons to humans (anthropomorphism)—the sea breathes, the sky looks on, the steppe basks in the sun, nature whispers, speaks, weeps, and so on—these kinds of personifications make your descriptions somewhat monotonous, a touch saccharine, vague; in descriptions of nature, vibrancy and expressivity are best produced by simple techniques, for example: using simple phrases such as "the sun set," "it got dark," "it started to rain," and so on. This kind of simplicity distinguishes your work to a much greater degree than it does other writers.
Descriptions of Nature: Less Is More
Letter to AleXander Zhirkevich, Melikhovo, April 2, 1895 The story should begin with the sentence, "Somov, it seems, was upset." Everything that comes before—that stuff about the cloud prostrating itself, about the sparrows, the field stretching out into the distance—all these elements are just so much tribute paid to routine. You do have a feeling for nature, but you do not describe it the way you feel it. Descriptions of nature should first of all be visual, so that when the reader closes his eyes, he can immediately imagine the landscape that was just described; an inventory of such elements as dusk, a leaden shade of gray, puddle, damp, silvery poplars, cloud-specked horizon, sparrows, distant woods—does not a picture make because no matter how hard I try, I just can't imagine the pieces into a coherent whole. I think that in stories such as yours, descriptions of nature are appropriate and do not ruin the effect only when they help communicate a mood, the way music does in a melodeclamation. In passages such as the ones where reveille is sounding and soldiers are singing "Our Father," where the commander is returning to the battalion at night, and when in the morning the soldier is being taken to be punished—in these passages, your landscape works perfectly and you are a master. The flashes of heat lightning are effective; but you need have mentioned them only once, as if accidentally, without calling attention to them: otherwise, you weaken the impression and break the reader's mood.
Descriptions of Emotional States
Letter to Alexander Chekhov, Moscow, May 19, 1886 The psychological sphere also demands details. Spare us commonplaces, for God's sake. Best of all, avoid describing the emotional states of your protagonists; one should try to make these apparent from their actions.
Details
Letter to Elena Shavrova, Serpukhov, November 22, 1894 If it's weaknesses you want, then allow me to point out one that you repeat in all your stories: the foreground of your descriptions is taken up with a mass of details. You are an excellent observer. You hate to part with details, but what can one do? One must sacrifice them for the sake of the whole. The reason for this is physicaclass="underline" one must write and remember that details, even very interesting details, exhaust the reader's attention.
No Tie and an Unbuttoned Waistcoat
Letter to Alexander Lazarev-Gruzinsky, Moscow, October20,1888
Your nature descriptions are not at all bad: it is a good thing that you are afraid of the superficial and the conventional. However, you are not giving free rein to your temperament. As a result, your devices lack originality. You should describe women in such a way that the reader will have the impression you have taken off your tie and unbuttoned your waistcoat; the same goes for your nature descriptions. Give yourself a little freedom.
characters
Number of Characters
Letter to Alexander Chekhov, Moscow, May 19,1886 There is no need to chase after a crowd of characters. Only two should be at the center of gravity: he and she.
Focus on Two Principals
Letter to Dmitry Grigorovich, Moscow, October 9, 1888 All the ideas, all the women, men, and nature scenes that I have collected for a novel will remain safe and sound. I promise you, I will not squander them on trivia. The novel covers several families and a district—with all its forests, rivers, ferries, and railroad. In the district, the focus will be on the two principals, one male and one female, and all the other pawns will be grouped around them.
Superfluous Characters
Letter to Elena Shavrova, Melikhovo, February 28, 1895 The story is a little thin: it's got the musty smell of a sermon, the details run out in all directions like spilled oil, the characters are indistinguishable one from the other. Some characters—the heroine's brother, for example, or her mother—are superfluous. Some episodes are superfluous: for example, the events and the conversations before the wedding, and, for that matter, everything that has to do with the wedding.
Living Characters
Letter to Alexander Chekhov, Babkino, August 2, 1887 Like all your female characters, Olya does not work. You positively do not know women. My dear soul, you cannot stick to just one type of female character for all eternity. Aside from your high school days, when and where did you come across women like Olya? Would it not be far more intelligent and creative to pair up that magnificent Tartar or Papa with a likable, flesh-and-blood woman rather than that mannequin? That Olya of yours is an insult to the sort of grand portraiture of your "Lighthouse." Not to mention the fact that she is a vague and muddy puppet in contrast to your other characters and in their company makes the same impression as a pair of wet, muddy boots next to a row of polished shoes. For God's sake, not one of your stories has a single female character that is a human being; all your women are some sorts of twitching custards chattering in the language of spoiled vaudeville ingйnues. . Revise and do not publish in the New Times until you make sure you have produced living characters and you are not falsifying reality.