So! Here goes, with the Chekhov and the Poe comparison:
Chekhov's short stories indicate a shift into what has become the modern perspective by focusing on character development, regardless of events, and by making a plot only so far as it concerns the psyche of the characters. The fiction illumines the struggle to come to understanding, depicts the momentary aspect of life, and betrays the moralistic attitudes of previous writters. For Chekhov, people are wounded, terrible, and flawed to immense degrees, yet loveable and understandable.
With Poe, the good guy's the good guy, the bad guy's the antagonist, and the inconsiderate cur should have kept himself to himself. With such one-dimensional characters, it is not hard to understand the focus on forms such as detective stories, ghost stories, and the augury of science fiction. As is the case with the contemporary counterparts, the morals of such forms stand above the work itself: when we watch star trek, we know we should love Uhru and spock, shatner and (get this) chekhoff, all working together to triumph over terrible evils, despite their differences.
The humanitarian foci of chekhov tend to teach us, essentially, nothing about the world, and yet, at the same time, a great deal. We come to understand the human condition, the flawed nature of our pursuits, and our desires to understand this or that, or seek this or that. We are not told what is right and wrong; we are not told that such and such is crazy, but are asked to see him from his perspective--if this example makes sense...
Also, Mr. Chekhov likes to leave us wondering and betrays finality. Although the frame story was used by many an author, we are left feeling that Ivan could have told another story, wanted to hear another story, or we at least understand that, when we leave him, he and his buddies will live on, an idea that seems to have eluded Poe, with his monstrosity signaling a fall-down, drop-out, everything short of an "and-everyone-lived-(un)happily-ever-after" ending.
Chekhov took a picture; Poe liked his stories with a once upon a time. (I hope I haven't made it sound as though I don't care for Poe. There may be a little to much finality in my own words.)
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In keeping with Mark's words about Chekov's "lovable and understandable characters" and how he "took a picture" and simply presented it to us, to make of it what we will, here are some quotes from Chekov that I found shed some nice, soft light on what he was trying to "accomplish" with his writing: "It is time for writer's to admit that nothing in this world makes sense."
"I still lack a political, religious and philosophical world view--I change it every month--so I will have to limit myself to descriptions of how my heroes love, marry, give birth, die and how they speak."
"My concern is to write not to teach."
"There is nothing that I want to say."
And you are right, Mark, he takes a picture and the rest is up to us. What respect he had for the reader! His stories become very intimate and personal and different from one reader to the next. Poe leads the reader in one (dreary) direction; a direction that is somewhat entertaining (along with disturbing!)but charted. We know we are supposed to be repulsed and shocked. The atmosphere he sets up is so carefully painted, and in it we, the readers, stand face to face with evils and horrors that are foreign to most. Poe keeps us there until the end, sometimes relentlessly beating us over the head with dark moods and inner chaos. Entertaining? Sometimes. Thought provoking? Not really. I preferred Chekov.
Now. About Nick Adams. I'll first admit that I did not do a "close read" on the Nick Adams' stories. Help me out on the vignettes, if you will. Of what we've read so far, I believe Nick to be an ordinary boy trying to grow into a man (once he defines what that is). I am watching my own sons grow and I can see Nick in each of them. I can see the looks of confusion as they try to be brave and manly while honoring their sensitive sides. Nick reminds me of my sixteen year old son, Mike, who is beginning to push away. Normal stuff, but a rocky road for boys sometimes-- figuring out what kind of men they want to be. To an extent, I think Nick's father is still trying to figure out what kind of man he wants to be. Nick is impressionable and deep and sympathetic and kind and forgiving. Recently had a dream about my own son, drifting out on the open seas in nothing but a raft. The waves were choppy and I worried about his safety. I wouldn't want to be sixteen again. I believe Nick and his father are more alike then they may appear. What men are forced to do and become as a result of their circumstances may not be who they originally set out to be. Henry tries to model strength and bravery for Nick but maybe those attributes don't come to him very easily. Parenting is hard.
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