Earlier quoted context omitted.
Opinions are divided concerning Garnett. I don't speak Russian but what I have read is that she does an excellent job translating the tone and meaning though there are mistakes and omissions (as you say). Many of the most famous Russian writers were highly influenced by Dickens and Trollope and she preserves that influence. Also, keep in mind that Russian literature gained its reputation in the English speaking world…
> she does an excellent job translating the tone and meaning I really can't agree with this. Her translation work was journeyman level at best. I've read most of her translations, and they simply do not convey the magical soul of Chekhov's prose very well. Nothing is going to replace reading it in the original language, but Pevear and Volokhonsky get far closer in my opinion. Constance Garnet's translations still sti…
As I said, the reputation that Russian literature has in the English speaking world is mostly due to Garnett's translations. If nothing else, her translations are beautiful.
From the linked article:
> What differentiates Chekhov from other story writers is his fineness of perception, his ability to discern the subtlest emotional shades, and his appreciation of “the elusive beauty” of human experience. In the story “Strong Impressions,” the hero learns “that the same word has thousands of shades of meaning according to the tone in which it is pronounced, and the form which is given to the sentence.” And that is why one should never read any translation by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky. They translate literary masterpieces word by word, with no appreciation of what the author is trying to accomplish or what makes a great work extraordinary. If Pevear and Volokhonsky had done the King James Bible, Cain would have asked whether he was his fraternal sibling’s custodian. With Chekhov, their approach is especially unfortunate. He is all nuance, and they are all bluntness.
> Some fifty years ago, Ann Dunnigan did the best versions of Chekhov’s plays and of some of his stories. For the rest, the versions of Constance Garnett, all thirteen volumes of which were reprinted in 1986, remain, despite some lapses, impressive in their sensitivity to tone. I have cited their translations in this essay. Just as there is no point in reading a translation of a comic novel that loses the humor, so Chekhov can be appreciated in English only when a translator can catch the fine shades of his stories’ elusive beauty.