Chekhov vs Oates

  In class today Mr Sexson asked us to ask ourselves why we didn't like Oates' short story The Lady with the pet dog, why we preferred Chekhov's version.
  As a woman of the 21st century, independent of social standings and with financial means of my own, I see myself capable of removing myself from an unsatisfying marriage, especially if there are no kids involved. So in Chekhov's short story The Lady with the pet dog I easily fall into the story as a romanticist. The Romeo and Juliet come out in me and I am anxious for the couple to be released from their casts which socially bind them; he from his arranged marriage and her from her marriage of youth. Once a sense of forbidden love is introduced, the story easily becomes wrapped in romance. I am willing to ignore the torridness of the affair and let myself fall for the warmth of love. To watch Carol Oates' character in The Lady with the pet dog become so feeble as to be willing to take her own life before she was willing to make a decision was too much for me. I appreciated the womans point of view and the torment of emotions that Oates drug us through. But for me the implications of suicide stripped the story of any romance it might of had. There was also no mention of a difference in social status, no indication of impending social outcasting (forbidden love), so it was just an ugly, torrid affair. I had nothing to cling to. Oates stripped away the warm, fuzziness of romance and stuck me in the bitter world of love. I'm a sucker for romance. In literature any chance I get I'll ignore bitter reality. One for Chekhov.