Pe Myint - Ward No. 6

The order of the divine lineage

There needs to be a community in the literary world. A community is not a sect. It is not meant to breed sectarianism.

People with similar interests, basic ideas, and concepts need to come together and discuss literature. We need to properly analyze the current state of Myanmar literature and the international literature, and discuss what books should be read, what kind of literature should be written, what topics should be written, and what kind of books should be published.

Bookstores, printing houses, writers, publishers, and literary enthusiasts gather on 33rd Street, known as Yangon's Literary Street. They also have their own circles and personalities.

Among them was a group of young people. They were educated young people from the university. There were also graduates from the medical university. They gathered in a small printing room, on a smelly drain, and in a noisy tea shop, talking about various things. Among them were also about literature. In this way, they became a literary group. They strived to publish world classics. They themselves also strived to write and edit properly. Among them was a certain Pe Myint.

He is a doctor. His first book is The Hospital, a translation of Arthur Haley's book, and his second book is Chekhov's Ward No. 6.

However, he was not writing medical books because he was a doctor. He was passionate about literature and wanted to be a writer, so he chose books that suited him.

The first book, Hospital, is a successful book. The original author is also a world-famous person. The original book is also a best-selling book. Pe Myint's Burmese translation is also accepted by many. Since it is related to the world of medicine and the world of hospitals, it is appropriate to translate it by a doctor. However, it seems to be quite difficult to translate because of the large number of medical terms. Readers also make special efforts to read it. I wonder if his translation is a little rough because the medical terms are disturbing.

This second book is also about a hospital. However, it hardly uses medical terminology. Although the six rooms are a psychiatric ward in a hospital in a small Russian town, Chekhov did not want to write about medicine or hospitals.

I just wanted to describe the social organization of Russia at that time.

Ward number six has 5 patients, 1 doctor, and that's all he has. The other hospital staff and township council officials are just a bunch of support staff. But it could also be said that the whole community is depicted.

Furthermore, Chekok vividly portrays the corruption and development of society through a university student who arrives at the hospital as a mentally ill patient and a doctor who confesses the truth.

Not only does The Sixth Hospital not contain any difficult medical terminology, but Chek Kok's narrative is elegant and engaging, making it a perfect fit for both the translator and the reader. Chek Kok is a master at conveying a strong and profound story in a light and engaging way.

The author himself says that his novel is boring because it doesn't have a female protagonist, but in reality, Ward Six is ​​captivating. It can keep the reader engaged from beginning to end.

This is why Lenin particularly praised the novel. Lenin said that while reading it, he felt as if he were being imprisoned in a prison cell.

Many of Chekhov's literary friends and critics praised the novel, but some criticized the lack of clarity in the plot.

In any case, now that Pe Myint has returned, Burmese readers will have to read and critique Che Kaw's sixth novel, The Hospital for the Sick.

Divine lineage

4,5, 1977

(1)

There was a small building in the hospital courtyard. Around the building, bushes and trees grew wild. The roof of the building was crumbling and the chimney was broken in half. The brick staircase was covered with grass and the walls were only a shadow of what had once been plastered. In front of the building was the main hospital building, and behind it was a large field. Between the field and the small building was a dark brick wall with iron spikes. The iron spikes, the dark brick wall, and the small building itself, all bore the image of the misfortune and futility of our hospitals and prisons.

If you don't mind the pungent smell of the tea tree, follow the path to the small dormitory and see what's going on inside. Push open the large outer door and enter the hall. The walls of the room and around the fireplace are piled high with old hospital equipment. Torn beds, torn clothes, underwear, blue shirts, worn-out shoes, etc., all piled up in a tangled mess, giving off a foul odor.

On top of the pile of garbage, lying with one hand still attached to the cane, was the guard Nikita. Nikita was a retired soldier, still wearing an old uniform with torn insignia. His eyes were wide and his cheeks were wrinkled, but his face was stern. His long, thick eyebrows made him look like a sheepdog. His nose was red. Although he was not a big man, Nikita was a formidable man. He was as tough as a small iron. His fists were terrifyingly strong. He was a man who always remembered one thing, a very stubborn person who did not think about anything except the rules and regulations. That was why he thought, "These people can't hurt you." He only knew how to hit the back, the chest, the face. He understood that this was the only way to maintain order here. If you continue on from there, you will come to a large hall. This large room, which was the entrance hall, took up the rest of the small room. The walls of the hall were painted a dull, pale blue. The ceiling was soggy, like the roofs of ancient huts without chimneys, and it was obvious that the whole room would be filled with smoke in the winter. The windows were covered with iron bars, making it look ugly. The floor was dirty and cracked. In addition, the whole room was filled with the smell of pickled cabbage, the smell of lamp oil, the smell of bedbugs, and the smell of ammonia, making it feel like you were entering an animal cage.

In the room, beds were bolted to the floor. People dressed in blue suits and old-fashioned headscarves were lying on the beds, some sitting, some lying down. They were mentally ill.