The Art of Being Difficult by William Chekhov

There is no doubt that The Art of Being Difficult will prove grating for some. There’s a deliberate decision by the author to render the book difficult, if not impenetrable. Indeed, there’s a strong argument for the title being self-referential, telling (warning?) the casual reader more about the style than the plot. The author deploys a number of affectations – multiple warnings at the start, some tongue-wedged-firmly-in-cheek, precede a brief synopsis of the entire plot (under the heading ‘TLDR’), before we then delve into a mystifying, chopped up narrative full of whimsically numbered micro-chapters and a reliance on pronouns instead of names to identify characters. And there’s some stuff about dogs. If Chekhov was aiming to alienate his audience, his aim was true.

And yet, there is some kind of alchemy at work here. These are all tricks embarked on by the author at his or her peril; ambitious and experimental, highly prone to failure, but in the hands of someone who knows what they’re doing, this can result in art.

Chekhov knows what he’s doing.

The naming, or not, of characters plays into the idea that Kotan, while desperate to avoid his father’s mistakes, is in fact doomed to perpetuate them. At times, we’re not sure who we’re following, because in this cycle where alienation begets alienation, the who of any particular incident is less important than the how or the why.

While there is a deliberate obfuscation of narrative, it’s offset by a wonderful clarity of the prose. Take this gem – “One could never really reverse a marriage. A divorce could never undo the past. And a divorce… was there really such a thing? They were connected forever, whether or not any love remained.” There’s a neatness to this observation that cuts straight to the heart of the end of a marriage. Chekhov knows what he’s doing with words and understands people.

It’s an impressionistic piece. Trying to drill down straight away into the detail, as a reader, will only frustrate and annoy. Instead, you must let it wash over you, relax your eye, let the image coalesce in front of you at its own pace rather than following each individual stroke, and a point will come where the author’s intention and your reaction will converge. And it will be worth it.

The Art of Being Difficult could also apply to Chekhov’s publicity strategy, in that I can find literally nothing about him online, other than it might be nom-de-plume for a Ned Kellenberger.

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