#7 Issue: An Actor and Castor Oil

Hello and welcome to the seventh issue of A Story for the Week!

The story of the week is “An Actor’s End,” a story by a Russian playwright and short-story writer, Anton Chekhov.

Anton Pavlovich Chekhov in Russian literature, and in literature in general, is what Vincent van Gogh is to art and what Ludwig van Beethoven is in music. Chekhov is a classic, and his works will always remain relevant. With him, it’s not about the musicality of words or long, elaborate sentences. Instead, Chekhov is a master storyteller and his pacing, setting, and characters are always on point. His works are easy to understand, even two centuries later. On top of that, Checkov is the father of Chekhov's gun principle, which essentially states that writers should remove all elements of the story which are irrelevant.

“Remove everything that has no relevance to the story. If you say in the first chapter that there is a rifle hanging on the wall, in the second or third chapter it absolutely must go off. If it's not going to be fired, it shouldn't be hanging there.”

“An Actor’s End” is not one of Chekhov’s most popular works. In fact, if you Google it right now, you’ll struggle to find any details about the story. It’s a very short story, and you can read it in a matter of 20 minutes or so. Essentially, it’s a story about a strong actor who didn’t have a particular gift for acting (but did it anyway). At the very beginning of the story, Shtchiptsov gets into a heated discussion with the theater manager. In the middle of the discussion, he begins to feel unwell, so unwell that he rushes out of the theater without taking off his face paint.

Shtchiptsov stays in his room the following day, and his theater colleagues come in to check up on him because he missed the rehearsal. Even though different people from the theater come to visit Shtchiptsov, the conversation is the same each time—they say they heard Shtchiptsov is feeling unwell, Shtchiptsov remains silent or says he wants to go back home to die, the visitor says there’s no way such a big fella as him should ever feel ill and give him some castor-oil.

I have to admit, at first, I didn’t understand the ending of the story and I had to check what exactly castor oil is and how it works. I don’t want you to make the mistake, so I’ll just tell you one thing—castor oil is made of castor beans which contain ricin and, in case you didn’t know, it’s poisonous.

What bothered me while reading the story is how the characters approach the actor, saying that a man like him can’t be sick and that he should just be well. Two centuries have passed since this story and people haven’t changed. Instead of giving you the attention and the care you need, the world has a habit of stuffing itself with herbs and pills to feel better without even thinking twice. On top of that, people often doubt your illness without actually having a proper conversation with a sick person about it.

Shtchiptsov could have suffered from a heart attack, but it could have also been an anxiety attack. It is, to an extent, understandable people readily shrugged such things off back then, but it’s sad this is still the case today.

All in all, “An Actor’s End” is a very short story that was carefully put together, and it has a clear message behind it. The story also feels absurd, as if the actor is wasting his breath trying to talk to these people who clearly think they understand him and his troubles better. Unfortunately, not much has changed since Chekhov wrote this story.

As usual, let’s wrap this up with a couple of quotes from the story itself:

"You don't feel anything, it all comes from being too healthy. Your surplus energy upsets you. You ought to get jolly tight – drink, you know, till your whole inside is topsy-turvy. Getting drunk is wonderfully restoring. . . .”

“‘I must go home!’ the jeune premier heard.

‘Where is home?’

‘To Vyazma . . . to my home. . . .’

‘It is a thousand miles to Vyazma . . . my boy,’ sighed Brama-Glinsky, drumming on the window pane. ‘And what do you want to go to Vyazma for?’

‘I want to die there.’”

Once again, thank you for subscribing to my newsletter and helping me achieve my dream of becoming a stay-at-home writer. Your support means the world to me and, honestly, it gives me a reason to continue doing this.

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