{"id":26,"date":"2019-05-22T13:09:15","date_gmt":"2019-05-22T17:09:15","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/pressbooks.bccampus.ca\/perspectives\/chapter\/the-lottery-ticket-by-anton-chekov-1886\/"},"modified":"2019-05-23T18:37:31","modified_gmt":"2019-05-23T22:37:31","slug":"the-lottery-ticket","status":"publish","type":"chapter","link":"https:\/\/pressbooks.bccampus.ca\/perspectives\/chapter\/the-lottery-ticket\/","title":{"raw":"The Lottery Ticket by Anton Chekov (1886)","rendered":"The Lottery Ticket by Anton Chekov (1886)"},"content":{"raw":"
\r\n
\u201cThe task of a writer is not to solve the problem but to state the problem correctly.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u2014 Anton Chekov<\/blockquote>\r\n\r\n
\r\n\r\nIVAN DMITRITCH, a middle-class man who lived with his family on an income of twelve hundred a year and was very well satisfied with his lot, sat down on the sofa after supper and began reading the newspaper.\r\n\r\n\u201cI forgot to look at the newspaper today,\u201d his wife said to him as she cleared the table. \u201cLook and see whether the list of drawings is there.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cYes, it is,\u201d said Ivan Dmitritch; \u201cbut hasn\u2019t your ticket lapsed?\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cNo; I took the interest on Tuesday.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cWhat is the number?\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cSeries 9,499, number 26.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cAll right... we will look... 9,499 and 26.\u201d\r\n\r\nIvan Dmitritch had no faith in lottery luck, and would not, as a rule, have consented to look at the lists of winning numbers, but now, as he had nothing else to do and as the newspaper was before his eyes, he passed his finger downwards along the column of numbers. And immediately, as though in mockery of his scepticism, no further than the second line from the top, his eye was caught by the figure 9,499! Unable to believe his eyes, he hurriedly dropped the paper on his knees without looking to see the number of the ticket, and, just as though some one had given him a douche of cold water, he felt an agreeable chill in the pit of the stomach; tingling and terrible and sweet!\r\n\r\n\u201cMasha, 9,499 is there!\u201d he said in a hollow voice.\r\n\r\nHis wife looked at his astonished and panic-stricken face, and realized that he was not joking.\r\n\r\n\u201c9,499?\u201d she asked, turning pale and dropping the folded tablecloth on the table.\r\n\r\n\u201cYes, yes... it really is there!\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cAnd the number of the ticket?\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cOh, yes! There\u2019s the number of the ticket too. But stay... wait! No, I say! Anyway, the number of our series is there! Anyway, you understand....\u201d\r\n\r\nLooking at his wife, Ivan Dmitritch gave a broad, senseless smile, like a baby when a bright object is shown it. His wife smiled too; it was as pleasant to her as to him that he only mentioned the series, and did not try to find out the number of the winning ticket. To torment and tantalize oneself with hopes of possible fortune is so sweet, so thrilling!\r\n\r\n\u201cIt is our series,\u201d said Ivan Dmitritch, after a long silence. \u201cSo there is a probability that we have won. It\u2019s only a probability, but there it is!\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cWell, now look!\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cWait a little. We have plenty of time to be disappointed. It\u2019s on the second line from the top, so the prize is seventy-five thousand. That\u2019s not money, but power, capital! And in a minute I shall look at the list, and there\u201426! Eh? I say, what if we really have won?\u201d\r\n\r\nThe husband and wife began laughing and staring at one another in silence. The possibility of winning bewildered them; they could not have said, could not have dreamed, what they both needed that seventy-five thousand for, what they would buy, where they would go. They thought only of the figures 9,499 and 75,000 and pictured them in their imagination, while somehow they could not think of the happiness itself which was so possible.\r\n\r\nIvan Dmitritch, holding the paper in his hand, walked several times from corner to corner, and only when he had recovered from the first impression began dreaming a little.\r\n\r\n\u201cAnd if we have won,\u201d he said\u2014\u201cwhy, it will be a new life, it will be a transformation! The ticket is yours, but if it were mine I should, first of all, of course, spend twenty-five thousand on real property in the shape of an estate; ten thousand on immediate expenses, new furnishing... travelling... paying debts, and so on.... The other forty thousand I would put in the bank and get interest on it.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cYes, an estate, that would be nice,\u201d said his wife, sitting down and dropping her hands in her lap.\r\n\r\n\u201cSomewhere in the Tula or Oryol provinces.... In the first place we shouldn\u2019t need a summer villa, and besides, it would always bring in an income.\u201d\r\n\r\nAnd pictures came crowding on his imagination, each more gracious and poetical than the last. And in all these pictures he saw himself well-fed, serene, healthy, felt warm, even hot! Here, after eating a summer soup, cold as ice, he lay on his back on the burning sand close to a stream or in the garden under a lime-tree.... It is hot.... His little boy and girl are crawling about near him, digging in the sand or catching ladybirds in the grass. He dozes sweetly, thinking of nothing, and feeling all over that he need not go to the office today, tomorrow, or the day after. Or, tired of lying still, he goes to the hayfield, or to the forest for mushrooms, or watches the peasants catching fish with a net. When the sun sets he takes a towel and soap and saunters to the bathing-shed, where he undresses at his leisure, slowly rubs his bare chest with his hands, and goes into the water. And in the water, near the opaque soapy circles, little fish flit to and fro and green water-weeds nod their heads. After bathing there is tea with cream and milk rolls.... In the evening a walk or vint<\/em> with the neighbours.\r\n\r\n\u201cYes, it would be nice to buy an estate,\u201d said his wife, also dreaming, and from her face it was evident that she was enchanted by her thoughts.\r\n\r\nIvan Dmitritch pictured to himself autumn with its rains, its cold evenings, and its St. Martin\u2019s summer. At that season he would have to take longer walks about the garden and beside the river, so as to get thoroughly chilled, and then drink a big glass of vodka and eat a salted mushroom or a soused cucumber, and then\u2014drink another.... The children would come running from the kitchen-garden, bringing a carrot and a radish smelling of fresh earth.... And then, he would lie stretched full length on the sofa, and in leisurely fashion turn over the pages of some illustrated magazine, or, covering his face with it and unbuttoning his waistcoat, give himself up to slumber.\r\n\r\nThe St. Martin\u2019s summer is followed by cloudy, gloomy weather. It rains day and night, the bare trees weep, the wind is damp and cold. The dogs, the horses, the fowls\u2014all are wet, depressed, downcast. There is nowhere to walk; one can\u2019t go out for days together; one has to pace up and down the room, looking despondently at the grey window. It is dreary!\r\n\r\nIvan Dmitritch stopped and looked at his wife.\r\n\r\n\u201cI should go abroad, you know, Masha,\u201d he said.\r\n\r\nAnd he began thinking how nice it would be in late autumn to go abroad somewhere to the South of France... to Italy.... to India!\r\n\r\n\u201cI should certainly go abroad too,\u201d his wife said. \u201cBut look at the number of the ticket!\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cWait, wait!...\u201d\r\n\r\nHe walked about the room and went on thinking. It occurred to him: what if his wife really did go abroad? It is pleasant to travel alone, or in the society of light, careless women who live in the present, and not such as think and talk all the journey about nothing but their children, sigh, and tremble with dismay over every farthing. Ivan Dmitritch imagined his wife in the train with a multitude of parcels, baskets, and bags; she would be sighing over something, complaining that the train made her head ache, that she had spent so much money.... At the stations he would continually be having to run for boiling water, bread and butter.... She wouldn\u2019t have dinner because of its being too dear....\r\n\r\n\u201cShe would begrudge me every farthing,\u201d he thought, with a glance at his wife. \u201cThe lottery ticket is hers, not mine! Besides, what is the use of her going abroad? What does she want there? She would shut herself up in the hotel, and not let me out of her sight.... I know!\u201d\r\n\r\nAnd for the first time in his life his mind dwelt on the fact that his wife had grown elderly and plain, and that she was saturated through and through with the smell of cooking, while he was still young, fresh, and healthy, and might well have got married again.\r\n\r\n\u201cOf course, all that is silly nonsense,\u201d he thought; \u201cbut... why should she go abroad? What would she make of it? And yet she would go, of course.... I can fancy... In reality it is all one to her, whether it is Naples or Klin. She would only be in my way. I should be dependent upon her. I can fancy how, like a regular woman, she will lock the money up as soon as she gets it.... She will hide it from me.... She will look after her relations and grudge me every farthing.\u201d\r\n\r\nIvan Dmitritch thought of her relations. All those wretched brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles would come crawling about as soon as they heard of the winning ticket, would begin whining like beggars, and fawning upon them with oily, hypocritical smiles. Wretched, detestable people! If they were given anything, they would ask for more; while if they were refused, they would swear at them, slander them, and wish them every kind of misfortune.\r\n\r\nIvan Dmitritch remembered his own relations, and their faces, at which he had looked impartially in the past, struck him now as repulsive and hateful.\r\n\r\n\u201cThey are such reptiles!\u201d he thought.\r\n\r\nAnd his wife\u2019s face, too, struck him as repulsive and hateful. Anger surged up in his heart against her, and he thought malignantly:\r\n\r\n\u201cShe knows nothing about money, and so she is stingy. If she won it she would give me a hundred roubles, and put the rest away under lock and key.\u201d\r\n\r\nAnd he looked at his wife, not with a smile now, but with hatred. She glanced at him too, and also with hatred and anger. She had her own daydreams, her own plans, her own reflections; she understood perfectly well what her husband\u2019s dreams were. She knew who would be the first to try and grab her winnings.\r\n\r\n\u201cIt\u2019s very nice making daydreams at other people\u2019s expense!\u201d is what her eyes expressed. \u201cNo, don\u2019t you dare!\u201d\r\n\r\nHer husband understood her look; hatred began stirring again in his breast, and in order to annoy his wife he glanced quickly, to spite her at the fourth page on the newspaper and read out triumphantly:\r\n\r\n\u201cSeries 9,499, number 46! Not 26!\u201d\r\n\r\nHatred and hope both disappeared at once, and it began immediately to seem to Ivan Dmitritch and his wife that their rooms were dark and small and low-pitched, that the supper they had been eating was not doing them good, but lying heavy on their stomachs, that the evenings were long and wearisome....\r\n\r\n\u201cWhat the devil\u2019s the meaning of it?\u201d said Ivan Dmitritch, beginning to be ill-humoured.\r\n\r\n\u201cWherever one steps there are bits of paper under one\u2019s feet, crumbs, husks. The rooms are never swept! One is simply forced to go out. Damnation take my soul entirely! I shall go and hang myself on the first aspen-tree!\u201d\r\n
\r\n

Discussion Questions<\/p>\r\n\r\n<\/header>\r\n

\r\n
    \r\n \t
  1. Dmitrich\u2019s personality seems to change the more he thinks about his wife winning the lottery. What is his true character?<\/li>\r\n \t
  2. Do Dmitrich\u2019s thoughts seem realistic?<\/li>\r\n \t
  3. What could Dmitrich\u2019s wife be thinking throughout the story?<\/li>\r\n<\/ol>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n

    Text Attributions<\/h3>\r\n
      \r\n \t
    • \"The Lottery Ticket\" by Anton Checkov is free of known copyright restrictions in Canada and the United States.<\/li>\r\n<\/ul>\r\n<\/div>","rendered":"
      \n

      \u201cThe task of a writer is not to solve the problem but to state the problem correctly.\u201d<\/p>\n

      \u2014 Anton Chekov<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

      \n

      IVAN DMITRITCH, a middle-class man who lived with his family on an income of twelve hundred a year and was very well satisfied with his lot, sat down on the sofa after supper and began reading the newspaper.<\/p>\n

      \u201cI forgot to look at the newspaper today,\u201d his wife said to him as she cleared the table. \u201cLook and see whether the list of drawings is there.\u201d<\/p>\n

      \u201cYes, it is,\u201d said Ivan Dmitritch; \u201cbut hasn\u2019t your ticket lapsed?\u201d<\/p>\n

      \u201cNo; I took the interest on Tuesday.\u201d<\/p>\n

      \u201cWhat is the number?\u201d<\/p>\n

      \u201cSeries 9,499, number 26.\u201d<\/p>\n

      \u201cAll right… we will look… 9,499 and 26.\u201d<\/p>\n

      Ivan Dmitritch had no faith in lottery luck, and would not, as a rule, have consented to look at the lists of winning numbers, but now, as he had nothing else to do and as the newspaper was before his eyes, he passed his finger downwards along the column of numbers. And immediately, as though in mockery of his scepticism, no further than the second line from the top, his eye was caught by the figure 9,499! Unable to believe his eyes, he hurriedly dropped the paper on his knees without looking to see the number of the ticket, and, just as though some one had given him a douche of cold water, he felt an agreeable chill in the pit of the stomach; tingling and terrible and sweet!<\/p>\n

      \u201cMasha, 9,499 is there!\u201d he said in a hollow voice.<\/p>\n

      His wife looked at his astonished and panic-stricken face, and realized that he was not joking.<\/p>\n

      \u201c9,499?\u201d she asked, turning pale and dropping the folded tablecloth on the table.<\/p>\n

      \u201cYes, yes… it really is there!\u201d<\/p>\n

      \u201cAnd the number of the ticket?\u201d<\/p>\n

      \u201cOh, yes! There\u2019s the number of the ticket too. But stay… wait! No, I say! Anyway, the number of our series is there! Anyway, you understand….\u201d<\/p>\n

      Looking at his wife, Ivan Dmitritch gave a broad, senseless smile, like a baby when a bright object is shown it. His wife smiled too; it was as pleasant to her as to him that he only mentioned the series, and did not try to find out the number of the winning ticket. To torment and tantalize oneself with hopes of possible fortune is so sweet, so thrilling!<\/p>\n

      \u201cIt is our series,\u201d said Ivan Dmitritch, after a long silence. \u201cSo there is a probability that we have won. It\u2019s only a probability, but there it is!\u201d<\/p>\n

      \u201cWell, now look!\u201d<\/p>\n

      \u201cWait a little. We have plenty of time to be disappointed. It\u2019s on the second line from the top, so the prize is seventy-five thousand. That\u2019s not money, but power, capital! And in a minute I shall look at the list, and there\u201426! Eh? I say, what if we really have won?\u201d<\/p>\n

      The husband and wife began laughing and staring at one another in silence. The possibility of winning bewildered them; they could not have said, could not have dreamed, what they both needed that seventy-five thousand for, what they would buy, where they would go. They thought only of the figures 9,499 and 75,000 and pictured them in their imagination, while somehow they could not think of the happiness itself which was so possible.<\/p>\n

      Ivan Dmitritch, holding the paper in his hand, walked several times from corner to corner, and only when he had recovered from the first impression began dreaming a little.<\/p>\n

      \u201cAnd if we have won,\u201d he said\u2014\u201cwhy, it will be a new life, it will be a transformation! The ticket is yours, but if it were mine I should, first of all, of course, spend twenty-five thousand on real property in the shape of an estate; ten thousand on immediate expenses, new furnishing… travelling… paying debts, and so on…. The other forty thousand I would put in the bank and get interest on it.\u201d<\/p>\n

      \u201cYes, an estate, that would be nice,\u201d said his wife, sitting down and dropping her hands in her lap.<\/p>\n

      \u201cSomewhere in the Tula or Oryol provinces…. In the first place we shouldn\u2019t need a summer villa, and besides, it would always bring in an income.\u201d<\/p>\n

      And pictures came crowding on his imagination, each more gracious and poetical than the last. And in all these pictures he saw himself well-fed, serene, healthy, felt warm, even hot! Here, after eating a summer soup, cold as ice, he lay on his back on the burning sand close to a stream or in the garden under a lime-tree…. It is hot…. His little boy and girl are crawling about near him, digging in the sand or catching ladybirds in the grass. He dozes sweetly, thinking of nothing, and feeling all over that he need not go to the office today, tomorrow, or the day after. Or, tired of lying still, he goes to the hayfield, or to the forest for mushrooms, or watches the peasants catching fish with a net. When the sun sets he takes a towel and soap and saunters to the bathing-shed, where he undresses at his leisure, slowly rubs his bare chest with his hands, and goes into the water. And in the water, near the opaque soapy circles, little fish flit to and fro and green water-weeds nod their heads. After bathing there is tea with cream and milk rolls…. In the evening a walk or vint<\/em> with the neighbours.<\/p>\n

      \u201cYes, it would be nice to buy an estate,\u201d said his wife, also dreaming, and from her face it was evident that she was enchanted by her thoughts.<\/p>\n

      Ivan Dmitritch pictured to himself autumn with its rains, its cold evenings, and its St. Martin\u2019s summer. At that season he would have to take longer walks about the garden and beside the river, so as to get thoroughly chilled, and then drink a big glass of vodka and eat a salted mushroom or a soused cucumber, and then\u2014drink another…. The children would come running from the kitchen-garden, bringing a carrot and a radish smelling of fresh earth…. And then, he would lie stretched full length on the sofa, and in leisurely fashion turn over the pages of some illustrated magazine, or, covering his face with it and unbuttoning his waistcoat, give himself up to slumber.<\/p>\n

      The St. Martin\u2019s summer is followed by cloudy, gloomy weather. It rains day and night, the bare trees weep, the wind is damp and cold. The dogs, the horses, the fowls\u2014all are wet, depressed, downcast. There is nowhere to walk; one can\u2019t go out for days together; one has to pace up and down the room, looking despondently at the grey window. It is dreary!<\/p>\n

      Ivan Dmitritch stopped and looked at his wife.<\/p>\n

      \u201cI should go abroad, you know, Masha,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

      And he began thinking how nice it would be in late autumn to go abroad somewhere to the South of France… to Italy…. to India!<\/p>\n

      \u201cI should certainly go abroad too,\u201d his wife said. \u201cBut look at the number of the ticket!\u201d<\/p>\n

      \u201cWait, wait!…\u201d<\/p>\n

      He walked about the room and went on thinking. It occurred to him: what if his wife really did go abroad? It is pleasant to travel alone, or in the society of light, careless women who live in the present, and not such as think and talk all the journey about nothing but their children, sigh, and tremble with dismay over every farthing. Ivan Dmitritch imagined his wife in the train with a multitude of parcels, baskets, and bags; she would be sighing over something, complaining that the train made her head ache, that she had spent so much money…. At the stations he would continually be having to run for boiling water, bread and butter…. She wouldn\u2019t have dinner because of its being too dear….<\/p>\n

      \u201cShe would begrudge me every farthing,\u201d he thought, with a glance at his wife. \u201cThe lottery ticket is hers, not mine! Besides, what is the use of her going abroad? What does she want there? She would shut herself up in the hotel, and not let me out of her sight…. I know!\u201d<\/p>\n

      And for the first time in his life his mind dwelt on the fact that his wife had grown elderly and plain, and that she was saturated through and through with the smell of cooking, while he was still young, fresh, and healthy, and might well have got married again.<\/p>\n

      \u201cOf course, all that is silly nonsense,\u201d he thought; \u201cbut… why should she go abroad? What would she make of it? And yet she would go, of course…. I can fancy… In reality it is all one to her, whether it is Naples or Klin. She would only be in my way. I should be dependent upon her. I can fancy how, like a regular woman, she will lock the money up as soon as she gets it…. She will hide it from me…. She will look after her relations and grudge me every farthing.\u201d<\/p>\n

      Ivan Dmitritch thought of her relations. All those wretched brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles would come crawling about as soon as they heard of the winning ticket, would begin whining like beggars, and fawning upon them with oily, hypocritical smiles. Wretched, detestable people! If they were given anything, they would ask for more; while if they were refused, they would swear at them, slander them, and wish them every kind of misfortune.<\/p>\n

      Ivan Dmitritch remembered his own relations, and their faces, at which he had looked impartially in the past, struck him now as repulsive and hateful.<\/p>\n

      \u201cThey are such reptiles!\u201d he thought.<\/p>\n

      And his wife\u2019s face, too, struck him as repulsive and hateful. Anger surged up in his heart against her, and he thought malignantly:<\/p>\n

      \u201cShe knows nothing about money, and so she is stingy. If she won it she would give me a hundred roubles, and put the rest away under lock and key.\u201d<\/p>\n

      And he looked at his wife, not with a smile now, but with hatred. She glanced at him too, and also with hatred and anger. She had her own daydreams, her own plans, her own reflections; she understood perfectly well what her husband\u2019s dreams were. She knew who would be the first to try and grab her winnings.<\/p>\n

      \u201cIt\u2019s very nice making daydreams at other people\u2019s expense!\u201d is what her eyes expressed. \u201cNo, don\u2019t you dare!\u201d<\/p>\n

      Her husband understood her look; hatred began stirring again in his breast, and in order to annoy his wife he glanced quickly, to spite her at the fourth page on the newspaper and read out triumphantly:<\/p>\n

      \u201cSeries 9,499, number 46! Not 26!\u201d<\/p>\n

      Hatred and hope both disappeared at once, and it began immediately to seem to Ivan Dmitritch and his wife that their rooms were dark and small and low-pitched, that the supper they had been eating was not doing them good, but lying heavy on their stomachs, that the evenings were long and wearisome….<\/p>\n

      \u201cWhat the devil\u2019s the meaning of it?\u201d said Ivan Dmitritch, beginning to be ill-humoured.<\/p>\n

      \u201cWherever one steps there are bits of paper under one\u2019s feet, crumbs, husks. The rooms are never swept! One is simply forced to go out. Damnation take my soul entirely! I shall go and hang myself on the first aspen-tree!\u201d<\/p>\n

      \n
      \n

      Discussion Questions<\/p>\n<\/header>\n

      \n
        \n
      1. Dmitrich\u2019s personality seems to change the more he thinks about his wife winning the lottery. What is his true character?<\/li>\n
      2. Do Dmitrich\u2019s thoughts seem realistic?<\/li>\n
      3. What could Dmitrich\u2019s wife be thinking throughout the story?<\/li>\n<\/ol>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

        Text Attributions<\/h3>\n
          \n
        • “The Lottery Ticket” by Anton Checkov is free of known copyright restrictions in Canada and the United States.<\/li>\n<\/ul>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"author":103,"menu_order":6,"template":"","meta":{"pb_show_title":"on","pb_short_title":"","pb_subtitle":"","pb_authors":[],"pb_section_license":""},"chapter-type":[],"contributor":[],"license":[],"class_list":["post-26","chapter","type-chapter","status-publish","hentry"],"part":3,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.bccampus.ca\/perspectives\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/26","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.bccampus.ca\/perspectives\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.bccampus.ca\/perspectives\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/chapter"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.bccampus.ca\/perspectives\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/103"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.bccampus.ca\/perspectives\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/26\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":126,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.bccampus.ca\/perspectives\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/26\/revisions\/126"}],"part":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.bccampus.ca\/perspectives\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/parts\/3"}],"metadata":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.bccampus.ca\/perspectives\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/26\/metadata\/"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.bccampus.ca\/perspectives\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=26"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"chapter-type","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.bccampus.ca\/perspectives\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapter-type?post=26"},{"taxonomy":"contributor","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.bccampus.ca\/perspectives\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/contributor?post=26"},{"taxonomy":"license","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.bccampus.ca\/perspectives\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/license?post=26"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}