306 Reviews of self-willswith theirhidden motives and subconscious drives-makes for a fasci nating reading, reminiscent of the illuminating finale of a detective novel where all the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle are put together by a skilful sleuth. Using a 'descend ing'metaphor, Young's book brings tomind Eric Berne's best-selling Games People Play: The Psychology ofHuman Relationships (Harmondsworth: Penguin, I964) by demonstrating the theatre of lifebehind Dostoevsky's characters' multi-levelled in teractions. However, while Berne's book results in schematizing and simplification of human interactions for the general audience, Young's work, with itsmeticulous attention to detail and penetrating insights, sustains the highest level of scholarly research and inscribes human psychology into a complex literaryuniverse, studying simultaneously the superimposed scripts of the characters and theway Dostoevsky's fiction refracts these human interactions and is shaped by them. Feeling remarkably at ease with thevast body of existing research,Young both com plements and challenges other scholars, including Bakhtin. Thus she demonstrates that 'by identifying the scripting strategies [. . .] the reader is able to distinguish between degrees of ideal and non-ideal dialogic interaction, an issue which Bakhtin in general fails to address' (p. 25). Like Harriet Murav inHoly Foolishness: Dosto evsky'sNovels & thePoetics ofCultural Critique (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1992), Young exposes thedestructive and dark features of the carnivalesque in contrast toBakhtin's perception of itas joyful and life-affirming. Of course, one may not necessarily agree with all ofYoung's conclusions, but then it is hardly possible to 'resolve' the enigma of Dostoevsky's fiction,which forever escapes finalization. Thus, forexample, Young suggests that it isperhaps 'the overt implication of the reader in theprocess of thecharacters' coming intobeing' (p. I84) thatmakes The Idiot such amemorable novel. However, formany the effect may be confined just to the images as such: the striking and overpowering image ofNastas'ia Filippovna or, as forFazil' Iskander, of Prince Myshkin: 'It is such people that are most striking:with a beautiful soul and damaged mental capacities, unable to pro cess their personal interests logically', Iskander writes (E Iskander, 'Ponemnogu o mnogom', Novyi mir, 10 (2000), I I6-48 (p. I33)). Iwould highly recommend Young's engaging work to all thosewho enjoy both the challenge and the stimulus ofDostoevsky's ceuvre.The book could benefit from an index,which scholars would certainly findhelpful; this is something that could be incorporated in a second edition. UNIVERSITY OF BATH OLGA TABACHNIKOVA Seeing Chekhov: Life and Art By MICHAEL C. FINKE. Ithaca, NY, and London: CornellUniversityPress. 2005. xi+237pp. $29.95. ISBN978-o-80I4-43I5-2. The 2004 centenary of Chekhov's death has ensured that for some years to come monographs and collections of conference papers will continue to be published, in a desperate attempt to findmore material on Chekhov or new frameworks intowhich he can be placed. Given that there are only fourmajor plays and about two dozen stories onwhich Chekhov's reputation rests,critics are forced touse hindsight or self persuasion to see genius inhis early hack work or his firstattempts at constructing a tragicomedy.With theopening ofRussian archives in I990, all Chekhov's lettersand the immense correspondence directed at or about him by his contemporaries have come into the public domain, and this has resulted in amass of biographical detail thatcan only be reassembled indifferentpatterns. Michael Finke's monograph, ifnot an outstanding triumph, is quite an achieve ment, given these difficulties.This book agglomerates a number of articles, theearliest MLR, 103. 1, 2oo8 307 dating from I993, and by creating continuity,chopping out theduplication, and bring ing in the leitmotifof the title as a conceit of both authors, Chekhov and Finke, as unseen seerswho unwittingly show themselves when theyhide, succeeds inmaking a genuinely readable critique of Chekhov. Above all, Finke writes very cogently, so thatevenwhen his assertions and judgements are questionable he retains our respect and interest. Sometimes he takes Chekhov, a man prone to self-contradiction, too much at face value. One cannot make Chekhov's autobiographophobia a premiss for a critique, when much of the evidence points in the opposite direction. The use of facts,even names, fromChekhov's private life, well known to literarycircles, in stories such...