Anne Tyler meets Michael Crichton in Ann Patchett’s 2011 novel, State of Wonder. Dr. Marina Singh, a 42-year-old pharmaceutical research scientist, is sent by her boss and sometimes lover deep into the Amazon to discover the circumstances of a colleague’s death and, much more importantly, measure the progress of the brilliant but difficult Dr. Annick Swenson’s work on a fertility drug with block-buster sales potential.

Patchett’s prose style is fluid, she draws her characters and settings in detail, and she keeps the wheels of the story turning nicely – but those wheels spin mostly in place. There is no mystery in the novel aside from its pleasing plot twists; and after all her adventures, Marina Singh is the same person she was at the beginning of State of Wonder. Which leaves the reader the same person, too.

I’ve seen a fair amount of commentary on how eBooks are a threat to the culture of reading (Jonathan Franzen’s reliably cranky remarks at the Hay festival, for example), and I’ve been puzzled by all of it.

eBooks may be a threat to traditional business models for publishing and selling books, but I don’t see how eBooks change the essence of reading, and eBooks actually seem to encourage people to read more.

I also think eBooks offer a net benefit to writers and readers, by providing more opportunities for writers, more choices for readers, and the potential for raising royalty payments for writers while lowering the price of books for readers.

All this is not to say eBooks don’t have their problems. But they are interesting new problems, which I think is another point in the eBook’s favor.

Now I have to explain my reasons for all these opinions. Here goes.

The Text is Essential, the Format is Irrelevant

I re-read Henry IV Part 2 recently, going back and forth between an old paperback and my iPad depending on which was more handy, and my experience of the text on each was the same.

I didn’t become a better reader when I was holding the book, or a worse reader when I was holding the iPad. I also didn’t find myself more distractible on the tablet. I looked up maps and historical background on the internet with the iPad, but I consulted the textual notes and essays frequently when I was reading the book.

Further, recent Pew research (“The Rise of E-Reading” published April 2012) find that people who own Kindles and tablets read MORE books than people who don’t own a reading device (24 books a year for e-readers versus 15 books for print readers), and that 88% of e-readers also read print books.

Looking at this data, and considering my own experience, it’s hard to think eBooks have done anything except strengthen book culture.

Now eBooks do change the aesthetics of reading. For people who love books as objects, the beauty of the cover design, the feel of the paper, the weight, a Kindle may not please. If you get satisfaction from looking at your personal library of print books – and I do – your tablet reader will make a poor substitute.

Additionally, the eBook does offer another existential threat to the local independent bookstore, which I care about, as well as the remaining chain retailer, which I don’t. If you want your local store to stick around, go spend your money in it. At the same time, bookstores will also need to work harder to keep their customers coming back.

The Traditional Publishing Model Was Good for Authors and Readers, Too

There were significant advantages to the traditional publishing model. For writers, it mitigated most of the financial risk of publishing. For readers, it offered some assurance of quality.

Both of these advantages grew out of the fact that paper books – especially before computers and the internet – were expensive to typeset, print, ship, distribute, sell, and advertise.

Most writers didn’t have the ready cash to publish their own books, and of those that did, most didn’t have the contacts with buyers and reviewers, much less the money for advertising, that was needed to sell them.

So writers typically surrendered 85 to 90% of the gross revenue from their books to agents, publishers, distributors, and retailers. In return, they risked little of their own money, got access to channels of distribution and promotion, paid someone else to manage the business behind their book, and shared in the profits.

Now companies that published, distributed, and sold books had significant incentives to choose books that would sell and avoid books that wouldn’t, because otherwise they would go out of business.

So all of these businesses became gatekeepers, making judgments on the quality of the books they selected, and only dealing with those they thought would make a profit or which they thought were particularly worthy of finding an audience.

This process gave reviewers and their editors assurance that a new book was worth the time to review; and good reviews gave readers assurance that a new book was worth buying and reading.

This worked for a long time. Everyone knew the deal. Everyone got their cut. Everyone was happy. And then Amazon crashed the party.

Amazon Sells Books: Low Prices Were a Problem; eBooks Are a Mortal Threat

Amazon started as a novelty source of incremental income for publishers. As it grew, it became a direct threat to distributors and bookstores, by making it easier, cheaper, and faster to buy books and music. (Consider the demise of Borders, for example.)

Amazon also squeezed the hell out of publishers margins as it grew, demanding bigger discounts – which are the difference between the list price of a book and the discounted price at which Amazon buys the book – and then selling the books they bought significantly under that list price, which reduced sales in more profitable channels like retail stores.

(How did Amazon do it? Volume, volume, volume! You can make a truck load of money by selling a lot of things for just a little bit more than they cost you.)

Still, no matter how much Amazon squeezed the publishers, it needed them. Someone had to acquire, typeset, design, and print the books. Someone had to advertise the books and make sure they were reviewed. And that someone was publishers because Amazon wasn’t in those businesses.

Until the Kindle.

eReaders like the Kindle, Nook, and tablet computer have all but eliminate the financial risks of publishing books. Writers can publish, distribute, and sell eBooks at virtually no cost directly to their readers, bypassing the traditional model entirely.

Now, the moment when the Stephen Kings and Jonathan Franzens of the world full disengage themselves from the traditional model has not yet come, and there is no absolute guarantee it will.

Only 19% of US adults own an eReader or tablet computer currently, according to Pew. That number needs to be substantially higher before the choice becomes obvious. But the percentage does not have to be anywhere close to 100% before it does.

With eBook royalty rates set at 70% compared to the ten to fifteen percent for print books, the moment when writers will make more money selling fewer eBooks for less money rather than selling more paper books for more money (sorry, you’ll have to read that part twice) will arrive before the eReader is as ubiquitous as television. At which point the eBook model will become self-sustaining.

The eBook Revolution Released a Crap Flood of Biblical Proportions

So, what happens when anyone with two thumbs and a computer can publish an eBook?

Everyone with two thumbs, a computer, and a really great idea for a vampire romance, Zombie apocalypse story, or free-love nudist adaptation of A Midsummer Night’s Dream (that would be me—check out Queen of the Nude) publishes an eBook.

This presents writers and readers with mirror-image problems.

For writers, it is how they make their good book (did I mention Queen of the Nude is a really good book?) stand out from the crap flood. For readers, it is how they pick out the good books from the crap flood.

These problems might make writers and readers think that traditional publishing, with its professional gatekeepers, isn’t such a bad thing after all.

But it is an open question whether the old gatekeepers were actually any better at spotting a book people would like than your average zoo monkey after three martinis. The anecdotal evidence for this success suggests they aren’t, considering how common “X book was rejected 19 times” stories are.

The gatekeepers also overlooked many writers that deserved to be read, and at least on occasion, used their power to promote their friends, relatives, children, lovers, business associates, colleagues, and people to whom they owe money.

With eBooks, every writer has a chance. And with the internet, every eBook has the chance to catch fire and go big. To make that happen, writers are going to have to hustle hard to build an audience and become their own gatekeepers by using blogs, social media, and other channels to provide (hopefully compelling) samples of their work.

Readers have to hustle, too, particularly by writing good reader reviews for each other. The internet often is criticized for releasing a tidal wave of stupidity and it has. But it has also released a tidal wave of intelligence, giving me exposure to smart people who have smart things to say about books I like, which I would have never read any other way.

Readers also have the advantage of eBooks having turned the world into one giant library. Most of the classics are available for free, in  versions desperately needing a proofreader I admit. And new books can be sold for as cheaply as $0.99, vastly reducing the risk to readers of trying a new writer or unknown title.

So there’s my take on the eBook revolution.  It hasn’t created a perfect world. We could argue whether it has created a better one. But eBooks have created a new world. I’m excited by it.

Warren Jeffs, the head of the Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, was convicted of sexual assault in August 2011. During the trial, he made a motion for Judge Barbara Walther to recuse herself because God said she should.

To support this motion, God showed up in the courtroom to testify. Here is the transcript:

TIPSTAFF: State your name.

GOD: God.

TIPSTAFF: Occupation?

GOD: Deity.

TIPSTAFF: Legal residence?

GOD: Everywhere.

JEFFS hisses: That’s Buddhism!

GOD: I beg your pardon. Heaven.

TIPSTAFF: Ah, put your hand on Yourself, I guess. Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help You … You?

GOD: I do.

JUROR screams out: Why did you give my Aunt Bertha cancer?

GOD: I never.

JEFFS: Woohoo! Mistrial!

JUDGE WALTHER: Sorry, Mr. Jeffs, no dice. Shall we continue. Mr. God, did you really tell Mr. Jeffs that I should recuse myself?

GOD: No. Why that bozo thinks I’m his lap dog is beyond me.

The one true moral responsibility of literature is to strengthen our imaginative sympathy for other people. Nabokov’s exploration of the deep humanity within the seemingly comic figure of Professor Timofrey Pnin is the most perfect example in English. The story is episodic, but the writing is flawless.

Nabokov’s books are full of arrogant misanthropes. So look here for Victor’s glass bowl and “the shining road” on which Pnin escapes into Pale Fire, where Nabokov makes him the head of a thriving Russian department.

Memorable characters in the persons of Jack Aubrey and Stephen Maturin; mastery of a sprawling 2,000 page narrative that is, by turns, sea-faring adventure, espionage thriller, tale of political intrigue, and novel of social manners; stuffed with historical, nautical, and scientific detail; and considering at least two great themes – how power corrupts and the problematic relations between men and women – Patrick O’Brian’s twenty-one novel series gives Trollope and Balzac a run for their money. A superb example of the pure pleasure reading can offer.

I may just be a middle-aged Jane Austen fanboy – but Austen keeps earning my admiration novel after novel, and she’s done it again with Emma.

Since chances are good you already know the book, I’m going to skip the review and serve up random observations. I reveal much of the plot and all of the surprises in Emma, however. So, spoiler alert. Here goes:

Emma is a Comedy

The proper response to this observation is – I realize – “Duh”. But it’s also a remarkable fact because Austen’s other books are romantic dramas (except for Northanger Abbey, which is a parody of Gothic novels).

One of the qualities I admire in Austen is that she rarely writes the same book twice, even though her novels share so many themes and situations.

For example, Elizabeth Bennet and Fanny Price are about as different as two characters can be, and their novels are very different in tone, pacing, and plot. But Pride and Prejudice and Mansfield Park are both major achievements.

In Emma, Austen gives us a third variation which I think is easily the equal of these novels – and it’s a comedy. How many writers succeed in more than one style?

Emma is a Comedy … with a Conscience

Really, this is just ridiculously difficult to pull off and Austen makes it look easy.

The problem with comedy is that it is almost always based on pain. But you can’t laugh at a character and empathize with her at the same time.

To deal with this problem, writers usually locate their stories in a “comic” world that is largely free of consequences and death OR they reduce, deny, ignore or attack the humanity of their characters.

Austen does neither. Emma Woodhouse is a comic figure, and some of her foolish mistakes are funny, but it is Emma’s good intentions and the deep shame, regret, embarrassment, and pain she feels at her mistakes that make her more than a figure of fun.

And Emma is not alone, of course. Miss Bates is even more of a comic figure. In fact, there may be no greater clown anywhere in Austen’s work, and yet Miss Bates is treated with respect. When Emma insults Miss Bates during the excursion to Box Hill, Mr. Knightley rides to Miss Bates’ defense (“It was badly done indeed!”) and Emma weeps almost all the way home.

This is not comedy that produces belly laughs. It is delicate comedy, designed to make you smile, and possessing a grace and lightness that in its total effect is indistinguishable from wisdom.

Indeed, could we say the definition of wisdom is moral seriousness combined with laughter?

Emma’s only equal in this category I know is Shakespeare’s As You Like It. That’s pretty good company.

Everyone is Mistaken about Love

What a brilliant, delightful, simple conceit around which to construct a novel. Everyone is wrong about everyone else’s feelings, basically all the time. And yet it turns out happy.

Here’s a list of mistakes about love in Emma:

• Emma thinks Mr. Elton loves Harriet Smith

• Mr. Elton thinks Emma loves him

• Emma thinks Mr. Dixon loves Jane Fairfax

• Mrs. Weston thinks Mr. Knightley loves Jane Fairfax

• Emma thinks Frank Churchill loves her

• Mr. Weston, Mrs. Weston, and Mr. Knightley think Emma loves Frank Churchill

• Emma thinks Mr. Knightley loves Harriet Smith

This list doesn’t include Emma’s serial mistakes with Harriet Smith, which are persuading Harriet to fall out of love with Robert Martin; persuading Harriet to fall in love with Mr. Elton; and persuading Harriet to fall in love with Mr. Knightley while thinking she was persuading Harriet to fall in love with Frank Churchill.

It also doesn’t include the biggest mistake of all: no one realizes that Frank Churchill and Jane Fairfax are in love.

Emma is the Snob on Top

As I said, I admire Austen for rarely writing the same book twice. Emma is unique in Austen’s work as a comedy. It’s also unique because its major characters sit on top of the novel’s social order.

In Sense and SensibilityPride and Prejudice, Mansfield Park, and Persuasion, the main characters are all marginalized or dispossessed in their societies or families, and generally opposed by those who rank higher or think more highly of themselves.

In the novel, Emma Woodhouse and Mr. Knightley are the rulers of their set. Emma is aware of her social position, guards it carefully, and is jealous when it is infringed. (For example, part of the offense Emma takes at Mr. Elton’s marriage proposal is his presumption that he was Emma’s social equal … an heiress of 30,000 pounds!)

Mr. Knightley is less particular than Emma about the niceties of his status, but he wields his power with the same sense of entitlement. Mr. Knightley has perfect confidence in his judgment of every situation, and rarely yields to the opinions of other people. He does not give offense wantonly, but he doesn’t worry about offending Mrs. Elton when she presumes to guide his choices or the Westons when he speaks poorly of Frank Churchill.

This is significant because Emma and Knightley would be the villains in other Austen novels. By all rights, Harriet Smith and Robert Martin should resent Emma’s interference in their lives, the way Elizabeth Bennet resents Lady Catherine’s in hers.

But Harriet is very sweet, and not all that bright, and she seems to feel Emma’s hugely mistaken good intentions more than she notices Emma’s mistakes. As for Robert Martin, we don’t know. In the end, he got the woman he loved, and as practical man of good sense, apparently content with his station, perhaps he decided the rest didn’t matter.

From drama to comedy, and from villain to hero, these are two reasons to admire Emma. And now I think I’m done with Jane Austen for a time. On to the next author!

The purpose of this post isn’t – of course – to convince you these books are bad. Most of them actually aren’t. They just aren’t a good fit for my taste and convictions. Only one book is frankly bad (that would be the Hemingway — sorry Ernest). And the Roth novel is an absolute must-read. Here goes.

Spenser: The Faerie Queene. An allegorical, epic poem written to compliment Queen Elizabeth the First of England and flatter the aristocracy for their fine taste in the appreciation of “Capital A” art. Spenser’s great technical skill as a poet cannot save a work in which scarcely a single line of genuine inspiration or human feeling can be found.

Hemingway: The Green Hills of Africa. In this non-fiction account of a month on safari, Hemingway turns himself into a bad imitation of one of his own characters, and his prose follows suit. Painfully mannered and false from beginning to end.

Shakespeare: The Merry Wives of Windsor. The Bard dropped quite a few stinkers on the Elizabethan stage, and it can be hard to pick out the worst. I polled my group of advisors and Wives got the most votes. Coriolanus also made a strong showing, as did Titus Andronicus. (Pericles wasn’t on the ballot because the authorship is disputed.) None of these plays is really so bad that it deserves to be on a most-awful list. It’s their having fallen so far short of their father’s genius children that makes them infamous.

Joyce: Finnegan’s Wake. I may burn in hell for this one, and Finnegan’s Wake may actually be one of the best books every written, but it is just too much damn work. Finnegan’s Wake is like one of those monasteries at the top of a mountain, where after decades of constant study, hard work, self-denial, meditation, and no sex at all, you achieve total consciousness. Total consciousness sounds great, but I have kids to take to the park, and my wife is expecting me to cook dinner tonight, and I just don’t have the time. And, let’s be honest, I’m not smart enough to read this book, either.

Dante: Paradiso. Okay, I’m definitely going to burn in hell for this one, but that’s the problem. Hell is more fun. Inferno was a rockin’ good time. Purgatorio was pretty good, better in the beginning, then it got slow. But there’s simply no fun in heaven. What there is, instead, is Thomas Aquinas nattering on about Francis of Assisi and Peter Damian (I don’t even know who that is) chatting up Dante about predestination. And if you don’t read Italian, and I don’t, then you have to deal with the English translations, which do to Dante’s poetry what a cheap plastic transistor radio – that kind you could buy in 1973, with the little black wrist strap – does to Beethoven’s 9th symphony.

Stendhal: The Charterhouse of Parma. A thoroughly mediocre novel that engages the reader’s imagination on exactly one point: Why is this book considered a classic?

Lewis: Babbitt. A satire is supposed to make the targets of its ridicule look ridiculous, but Lewis’ satire is furious and implacable and, finally, a cheat. Lewis portrays George Babbitt as so vulgar and foolish that it’s impossible not to feel superior to him, which is the cheapest flattery a writer can offer a reader.

Roth: The Breast. Roth’s parody of Kafka’s Metamorphosis tells the story of a man who wakes up one day to discover that he’s turned into a giant breast. I’m not making this up! Perhaps no major writer has set out to intentionally write a bad book and succeeded so spectacularly. Transcendentally, fabulously awful!

Since I’m a slow reader and perpetually behind the times, I’ve just now caught up with Jennifer Egan’s A Visit from the Goon Squad which won the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction last year.

In the novel, Egan demonstrates her mastery of the essentials of fiction: character, story, structure, language, theme. And that’s precisely what’s wrong with Goon Squad.

I know this is a strange criticism and it sounds like a cheap shot. After all, most writers (including, let’s be honest, me) would kill to display the talent and skill Egan displays in the book.

The problem is that Egan has written herself into that Bermuda Triangle of Art where books of high craft that lack something – some quiddity or quirk, some inspiration or lucky accident or divine alchemy of personality and zeitgeist, some gimmick or obsession or passion – disappear.

For example, The Great Gatsby is a high-craft novel that clearly has an IT that gets the book through the Triangle. But what the heck is the IT?

Now, you might say that Goon Squad has the IT and I’ve missed it. To which I would reply, “Yes, possibly” because the novel has a number of qualities that are not a good match with my tastes and which make me wonder if the problem is me not Egan. Here are several:

Multiple First Person Narrators

There is nothing wrong with the multiple first person, but it tends to emphasize the isolation of the individual, while I think our lives gain meaning by our relationships with other people. Also, the human condition is defined by the single first person. There is only one “I” in each of our lives.

A Focus on Business and Public Relations

Again, nothing wrong with this choice, and fiction needs more business people as its characters – as opposed to, say, professors in small college towns struggling with adultery, malignant envy of more successful colleagues, and campus politics.

But business people spend a lot of time thinking about how to make money, and how you make money is not the most dramatic or emotionally gripping subject for me.

The “Prestigious Problem” Problem

Because, you know, no one living in New York City can just be ordinarily screwed up. No, they have to be extra-ordinarily screwed up.

Why have your PR business fail when you can have your PR business fail spectacularly by causing the single biggest disaster in the history of New York high society, and then have said business revived by rehabilitating a genocidal African dictator through clever manipulation of the press? (I’m not making this up.) Why suffer middle-age mediocrity and despair in private when you can at least earn infamy by sexually assaulting a famous actress in Central Park during the middle of the day? (Again, I’m not making this up.)

I admit, I’m a reverse snob. And also, there are many more characters that Egan handles with all the grace, delicacy, and compassion you could ask. So maybe I’m off base.

The “Satiric Characters in the Novel of Psychological Realism” Problem

Satire deals in caricature and exaggeration, and characters in satire are more mediums for commentary than the means to explore the deep mysteries of human nature.

The two characters mentioned above clearly have an element of satire in them, and you could argue that their satiric nature is their primary function in Good Squad.

But what are we to make of these characters when they exist in the same fictional world as characters such as Lou Kline, an amoral record producer who is given complex treatment and the dignity of a death scene that emphasizes his human frailty not his outsized faults?

I feel it suggests some characters are more human than others. And that’s a problem – not merely a quibble over aesthetics or philosophy – because the idea that some people are more human than others is the justification for pernicious bigotry and outrageous violence our race all too happily grabs.

I know this is a lot to lay on Egan, but it is ultimately an argument that art matters. Which means Goon Squad’s faults and virtues matter, too.

It’s a mystery to me why there are not more movie versions of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. It’s perfectly suited for the big screen. It has superb characters. A dramatic plot. Extraordinary dialogue you can lift right from the page. And a happy ending.

Nevertheless, there have been only two film adaptations of Pride and Prejudice during the same time period in which Hamlet has made it to the big screen five times. It makes you wonder if it is a conspiracy, or obtuseness, that causes producers to bet their money on the sulky Danish prince instead of the sparkling Elizabeth Bennet.

At least when Jane Austen’s great novel has made it to the screen, big or small, the results have been worth watching. Here are my picks for the best Pride and Prejudice movies, in order of personal preference:

Best Pride and Prejudice movie - Keira Knightley1. Pride and Prejudice (2005) starring Keira Knightley and Matthew Macfayden. The celebrated 1995 A&E mini series features better performances from its two lead actors, but I think this movie directed by Joe Wright is the more satisfying adaptation overall.

One of its strengths is the fresh perspective Keira Knightley brings to the role of Elizabeth Bennet. Her Lizzy is a teenager, not a woman. She is less polished and more vulnerable than other Elizabeth Bennets, while retaining the intelligence and self-possession that make Austen’s most famous character so appealing.

Another strength of the 2005 film is its refusal to deal in caricature. Austen often diminishes the humanity of her secondary characters in the pursuit of comic effects, a tendency the screen can amplify. Not so here. Donald Sutherland locates a dark vein inside Mr. Bennet’s aloof benevolence, while Brenda Blethyn brings a gratifying sympathy and balance to her Mrs. Bennet.

Wright neatly compresses the plot and many of the liberties he takes with the book work quite well. There are some clunkers, however. The second proposal scene is almost entirely replaced with new dialogue, and manages to feel both overheated and undercooked. Austen purists may also find the cooing, post-coital coda a bit hard to take.

As for the acting, Knightley and Macfayden performances are quite good – and more impressively – survive two moments of extreme danger. During both the Netherfield ball and the rejected marriage proposal scenes, Knightley and Macfayden come close to overplaying their parts and throwing the movie off a cliff. That they stumble along the edge, but don’t fall, somehow makes the film more affecting to me.

2. Pride and Prejudice (1995) starring Jennifer Ehle and Colin Firth. This television series justly deserves its reputation as the definitive adaptation of Pride and Prejudice based on the strength of its two lead actors. In particular, it is a pleasure to watch Ehle inhabit every corner of Elizabeth Bennet’s character over the six hours of the mini series.

But this length also has disadvantages. The pacing feels dutiful and the camera tends to pick a spot and sit there. This may be true to the book, but books and movies are different mediums, and must play to their different strengths. Movies need motion to be effective.

A more serious issue is the “Mrs. Bennet problem”. She is such a shrill fool in this adaptation that she can make the scenes in which she appears nearly impossible to watch. And she’s not the only one-note character in the series. Mr. Bennet, Caroline Bingley, Mr. Collins, and Lady Catherine all add up to less than the sums of their very few parts. That fully realized human characters are presented side by side with (sometimes grotesque) cartoons is jarringly dissonant at best. At worst, it comes close to a moral failing.

3. Pride and Prejudice (1940) starring Greer Garson and Laurence Olivier. This is a highly entertaining romantic comedy of the period, but it ain’t Austen’s novel.

The film-makers have used almost nothing from the first half of the book, and pretty thoroughly eviscerated the second half. Laurence Olivier’s Mr. Darcy is charming and solicitous, with few marks of the pride which is such a driving force in Austen’s work. Mr. Collins is a librarian. Lady Catherine conspires with Darcy to promote his engagement. In the end, all five Bennet girls have husbands, although Mrs. Bennet seems to have kept Kitty and Mary’s men stuffed in a closet until the last twenty seconds of the film, then yanked them out to make sure everything’s tied up neatly.

And yet the spirit of the two main characters is somehow intact. Greer Garson gives a wonderful performance as Elizabeth Bennet and Olivier is appealing in his role. And much of the re-writing is very good (Aldous Huxley worked on the screenplay). It’s just not as good as the material it replaces.

I’ve been reading Chekhov plays recently (The Seagull, Uncle Vanya, The Cherry Orchard), and I’ve been struck by how much they resemble Beckett’s Waiting for Godot – although perhaps it is the other way around, since Chekhov died two years before Beckett was born.

I wouldn’t have thought there would be any similarities between Chekhov’s bourgeoisie and Beckett’s vaudevillians, and yet the plays resemble each other in many ways:

• The dramas are set in empty places – small country estates or provincial towns in Chekhov, a featureless existential limbo in Beckett.

• The characters are frantic and paralyzed. They are largely incapable of making a decision or taking constructive action.

• The characters lack self-knowledge or insight to their lives and situations. As a result, they talk in stale words and trite phrases about trivial subjects.

• Little to nothing happens in the plays. This is perhaps because the characters do not possess meaning, purpose, occupation, or passion.

• The plays are all ostensibly comedies, but the humor is hard to see and it takes especially gifted actors to make the performances funny.

The ultimate effect of all these qualities – in my mind – is to suggest that human beings do not exist: that we have no essence, no objective self, no enduring spark, that we have no souls, and that death will scatter us like the wind scatters dust.

Nabokov in Speak Memory tells the story of visiting one of his governesses in her old age. When Nabokov learns a few years later she has died, he writes:

She had spent all her life in feeling miserable; this misery was her native element; its fluctuations, its varying depths, alone gave her the impression of moving and living. What bothers me is that a sense of misery, and nothing else, is not enough to make a permanent soul. My enormous and morose Mademoiselle is all right on earth but impossible in eternity.

What I see Nabokov saying is that we cannot make a durable self without love for someone or something, for a place or a memory, or for consciousness itself. That we must love and choose love to bind ourselves to creation.

I’m not certain characters like Treplev or Uncle Vanya or Vladimir or Estragon have done that. So maybe they are just dust. I’d like to think I’m not.