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Before the smoking ban it might have happened that a lively young instructor running a creative writing course and picking up an ashtray from his or her desk could have said, 'Well, class, for our next assignment I want you to write me a story about this ashtray.' The class would then be doing what Chekhov as a needy young medical student had nearly done a hundred years before. In Chekhov's case the assignment was an imaginary one: his friend and fellow writer Vladimir Korolenko recorded in his memoirs that Anton Pavlovich had once picked up an ashtray when they were discussing together how stories should be written, and joked that if Korolenko had happened to be an editor, and would like a tale called 'The Ashtray,' he could have it by next morning at the latest.
Review, 3810 words
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