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I admit it, my rating is biased. I adore Chekhov, and gooseberry happens to be my favourite fruit. This book was a destined five-star. I didn’t even need to read it.

However, I did.

The story mainly revolves around two brothers, Ivan and Nikolai, who, although similar-looking, make very different choices in life. Ivan is a dreamer. He sustains himself with a work that’s not even specified in the story, yet longs for a small garden, lake, and a quiet life. He spends his time dreaming.

Nikolai is the opposite. He is a fierce man—practical and ambitious. Instead of dreaming about a little garden, he decides to obtain an absurdly large amount of land, a grandiose home, and his own gooseberry plantation. Being so passionate about his goals, he sure reaches them.

Not to tell the entire story, I assure the author did a good job portraying the complexities of a person and unescapable suffering the human existence brings. However, there’s one scene that stuck with me:

The brothers sit down at the table and eat gooseberries in the summer sun. Snacking on them, Ivan feels the sense of freedom and appreciation of nature's wonders. However, Nikolai feels pride eating gooseberries as they signal his skill, ownership, and success. Isin’t it oddly beautiful, how same things are different to each of us?

You may want to ask � which brother is the happy one? Neither. They both suffer.