A Swim in a Pond in the Rain: In Which Four Russians Give a Master Class on Writing, Reading, and Life

Saunders intersperses the Chekhov story with his commentary every few pages; he asks what we have learned, what we expect to happen, and what questions we have in our minds. He does this to show readers what a demanding and careful form the story is—to keep the reader’s attention, it must keep subtly altering and deepening our expectations at the level of language, setting, and character.

Saunders demonstrates our growing understanding of Marya, the story’s main character. In the first few pages of the story, we understand her as a bored and lonely woman, unhappy “because of the monotony in her life” (20). Once she meets Hanov, the potential for romance and companionship is introduced into her life. However, this expectation is undercut when Hanov and Marya part ways. At the same time, we now see Marya as a woman of some sophistication and intelligence: She has no illusions about Hanov’s flaws, and knows that her feelings about him are mere daydreams, even while she is having them.

Saunders shows us how characterization is an inextricable part of narrative: “As a particular person gets made, the potential for meaningful action increases” (22). Marya’s stop in the teahouse complicates our perception of her still further: It allows us to see her from the outside, as others see her. In her indifference to her squalid surroundings, and even to the peasant’s cursing and apologies, we see that her social position is even more tenuous than she realizes: “She fell, is still falling, may fall further still. She’s nearly a peasant herself” (53).

Our final understanding of Marya is both full and open-ended. She has a moment of nostalgic happiness, but we cannot tell whether it will influence her life for the better or worse: She may gain strength from it, or it may only illuminate her loneliness. This open-endedness feels more realistic than a more satisfying and conventional ending would. By continually surprising the reader, in ways both overt and subliminal, and by avoiding easy outcomes, the story achieves “ritual banality avoidance” (44). Saunders asks the reader to consider how the story would be different if it instead ended before Marya has seen the passing train—before the transcendent moment that sets up the next stage of her consciousness that we will not get to see.

Saunders is also interested in the empathy-building nature of realist fiction: He makes the case that our encounter with Marya may cause us to be more sensitive to the pain of others: “And next time you hear someone described as ‘lonely,’ you may, because of your friendship with Marya, find yourself more inclined to think of that person tenderly, even though you haven’t met her yet” (71).