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…this entire thing could’ve been avoided if someone would’ve just given Levin a heroic dose of mushrooms from the start
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Marcel Proust scriveva che “ogni lettore, quando legge, legge se stesso”, e nessuna frase potrebbe descrivere meglio il mio rapporto con Anna Karenina.
Ma andiamo con ordine.
Quando lessi per la prima volta questo libro avevo diciassette anni e un caso avanzato di adolescenza problematica. I testi sacri su cui si basava la mia comprensione del mondo erano, nell’ordine: L’insostenibile leggerezza dell’essere, Cime tempestose e le canzoni degli Smiths. Twilight era stata per me un’opera formativa, e il mio amore per i poeti romantici aveva trasformato i muri della mia stanza in una galleria di citazioni di Keats. L’ambiente in cui ero cresciuta, insomma, aveva fatto del suo meglio per spingermi a sviluppare una visione delle relazioni sentimentali distorta e orientata al melodramma.
È a questo punto che entra in scena Anna Karenina. La mia reazione, ovviamente, è di amore immediato ed assoluto, non tanto per il romanzo in sé — quello è ben scritto, ma troppo dispersivo, troppo incentrato su quisquilie irrilevanti come la vita nei campi e le politiche economiche — quanto per Anna stessa, eroina tragica dal fascino irresistibile. Tutto in lei mi attira, mi conquista: dalla sua bellezza leggendaria, al suo cuore dominato da passioni violente, fino alla morte tragica (ma così poetica!) che la suggella ai miei occhi come la vittima innocente di una società moralista e ipocrita.
Vorrei essere Anna, o vorrei innamorarmi di Anna? Probabilmente entrambe le cose, ma in fondo non è importante: quel che conta è che ella assume all’istante un posto d’onore tra le mie icone letterarie. In lei rivedo il mio animo romantico, pronto a qualunque sacrificio in nome dell’amore (e pazienza se colui per cui mi sacrifico non farebbe mai lo stesso per me; che amore sarebbe se non facesse soffrire?). Quando Oblonskij dice della sorella che ”ella è, prima di tutto, una donna di cuore”, quella frase si imprime nella mia memoria come il simbolo di tutto ciò che vorrei mi rappresentasse. E nella mia memoria rimane, avvolta dal ricordo dorato dell’opera da cui è tratta, per oltre dieci anni.
Fino a quando, ormai adulta, non decido di riprendere in mano il romanzo, scoprendo con sgomento che dei miei ricordi romantici è rimasto poco o nulla.
Ai miei occhi di quasi trentenne, il capolavoro di Tolstoj appare come un’opera autocelebrativa e insopportabilmente moralista. Il protagonista è un palese alter ego dell’autore, che per fugare ogni dubbio gli affibbia pure il suo nome. La narrazione esalta continuamente le virtù di Lev(in), perfetta incarnazione dell’eroe tolstoiano che ama la campagna, detesta la vita mondana e finisce inspiegabilmente per sposare la fanciulla più ambita dall’alta società. I personaggi che lodano Levin sono positivi; quelli che lo disprezzano o che non sposano le sue idee sono stupidi, corrotti o destinati a una morte prematura.
L’autore si dilunga spesso in riflessioni su temi etici e politici, come la riforma agraria e la condizione della classe operaia; ma le sue riflessioni assumono, agli occhi del lettore moderno, un tono quasi grottesco. La prospettiva di chi le formula è sempre fredda, distaccata, palesemente estranea alla drammatica realtà che descrive: è il punto di vista di un nobile privilegiato che parla dei contadini, delle donne e delle minoranze etniche come si parlerebbe di animali in un giardino zoologico. Mentre i braccianti di Levin vivono nella miseria, lui passa il tempo a pontificare sulla bellezza del lavoro nei campi e sull’opportunità di concedere loro un’assistenza sanitaria di base. Se si pensa che questo libro venne dato alle stampe appena quarant’anni prima della rivoluzione russa, è facile immaginare quegli stessi contadini mentre prendono d’assalto la casa del padrone al grido di “Morte al nemico capitalista!”.
La delusione più cocente, però, è arrivata proprio da Anna. L’eroina della mia adolescenza si è rivelata essere una donna frivola e immatura, incapace di prendere decisioni sensate e assumersi qualsiasi responsabilità. Impulsiva, egoista, troppo impegnata a piangersi addosso per valutare con lucidità le conseguenze delle proprie azioni, la protagonista di Tolstoj mi ha spinta a chiedermi se al liceo avessi davvero letto lo stesso libro che troneggia ora sui miei scaffali. Non ho impiegato molto, però, per intuire la causa delle mie impressioni contrastanti: se anni fa mi identificavo così tanto con Anna è perché ella pensa e agisce esattamente come un’adolescente. Ma se è comprensibile che una ragazzina si comporti in maniera melodrammatica e irrazionale, lo stesso non si può dire di una donna matura.
Da questo punto di vista, rileggere Anna Karenina mi ha rivelato molte più cose su me stessa che sull’opera in sé. Mi ha spinto a riflettere su com’è cambiato nel tempo il mio approccio ai classici, e soprattutto mi ha confermato in via definitiva che lo sguardo di chi legge conta più del libro in sé.
Ma andiamo con ordine.
Quando lessi per la prima volta questo libro avevo diciassette anni e un caso avanzato di adolescenza problematica. I testi sacri su cui si basava la mia comprensione del mondo erano, nell’ordine: L’insostenibile leggerezza dell’essere, Cime tempestose e le canzoni degli Smiths. Twilight era stata per me un’opera formativa, e il mio amore per i poeti romantici aveva trasformato i muri della mia stanza in una galleria di citazioni di Keats. L’ambiente in cui ero cresciuta, insomma, aveva fatto del suo meglio per spingermi a sviluppare una visione delle relazioni sentimentali distorta e orientata al melodramma.
È a questo punto che entra in scena Anna Karenina. La mia reazione, ovviamente, è di amore immediato ed assoluto, non tanto per il romanzo in sé — quello è ben scritto, ma troppo dispersivo, troppo incentrato su quisquilie irrilevanti come la vita nei campi e le politiche economiche — quanto per Anna stessa, eroina tragica dal fascino irresistibile. Tutto in lei mi attira, mi conquista: dalla sua bellezza leggendaria, al suo cuore dominato da passioni violente, fino alla morte tragica (ma così poetica!) che la suggella ai miei occhi come la vittima innocente di una società moralista e ipocrita.
Vorrei essere Anna, o vorrei innamorarmi di Anna? Probabilmente entrambe le cose, ma in fondo non è importante: quel che conta è che ella assume all’istante un posto d’onore tra le mie icone letterarie. In lei rivedo il mio animo romantico, pronto a qualunque sacrificio in nome dell’amore (e pazienza se colui per cui mi sacrifico non farebbe mai lo stesso per me; che amore sarebbe se non facesse soffrire?). Quando Oblonskij dice della sorella che ”ella è, prima di tutto, una donna di cuore”, quella frase si imprime nella mia memoria come il simbolo di tutto ciò che vorrei mi rappresentasse. E nella mia memoria rimane, avvolta dal ricordo dorato dell’opera da cui è tratta, per oltre dieci anni.
Fino a quando, ormai adulta, non decido di riprendere in mano il romanzo, scoprendo con sgomento che dei miei ricordi romantici è rimasto poco o nulla.
Ai miei occhi di quasi trentenne, il capolavoro di Tolstoj appare come un’opera autocelebrativa e insopportabilmente moralista. Il protagonista è un palese alter ego dell’autore, che per fugare ogni dubbio gli affibbia pure il suo nome. La narrazione esalta continuamente le virtù di Lev(in), perfetta incarnazione dell’eroe tolstoiano che ama la campagna, detesta la vita mondana e finisce inspiegabilmente per sposare la fanciulla più ambita dall’alta società. I personaggi che lodano Levin sono positivi; quelli che lo disprezzano o che non sposano le sue idee sono stupidi, corrotti o destinati a una morte prematura.
L’autore si dilunga spesso in riflessioni su temi etici e politici, come la riforma agraria e la condizione della classe operaia; ma le sue riflessioni assumono, agli occhi del lettore moderno, un tono quasi grottesco. La prospettiva di chi le formula è sempre fredda, distaccata, palesemente estranea alla drammatica realtà che descrive: è il punto di vista di un nobile privilegiato che parla dei contadini, delle donne e delle minoranze etniche come si parlerebbe di animali in un giardino zoologico. Mentre i braccianti di Levin vivono nella miseria, lui passa il tempo a pontificare sulla bellezza del lavoro nei campi e sull’opportunità di concedere loro un’assistenza sanitaria di base. Se si pensa che questo libro venne dato alle stampe appena quarant’anni prima della rivoluzione russa, è facile immaginare quegli stessi contadini mentre prendono d’assalto la casa del padrone al grido di “Morte al nemico capitalista!”.
La delusione più cocente, però, è arrivata proprio da Anna. L’eroina della mia adolescenza si è rivelata essere una donna frivola e immatura, incapace di prendere decisioni sensate e assumersi qualsiasi responsabilità. Impulsiva, egoista, troppo impegnata a piangersi addosso per valutare con lucidità le conseguenze delle proprie azioni, la protagonista di Tolstoj mi ha spinta a chiedermi se al liceo avessi davvero letto lo stesso libro che troneggia ora sui miei scaffali. Non ho impiegato molto, però, per intuire la causa delle mie impressioni contrastanti: se anni fa mi identificavo così tanto con Anna è perché ella pensa e agisce esattamente come un’adolescente. Ma se è comprensibile che una ragazzina si comporti in maniera melodrammatica e irrazionale, lo stesso non si può dire di una donna matura.
Da questo punto di vista, rileggere Anna Karenina mi ha rivelato molte più cose su me stessa che sull’opera in sé. Mi ha spinto a riflettere su com’è cambiato nel tempo il mio approccio ai classici, e soprattutto mi ha confermato in via definitiva che lo sguardo di chi legge conta più del libro in sé.
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I am happy to have discovered this little marvel of deciphering nature and human passions, not in my 'Russian classics' around 20 years ago! At the time, I found significant serenity there, especially with Dostoievski. Today, regarding the question of maturity or only of work, I see something quite different: a magnificent painting of the human condition, both beautiful and tragic, with many ironies and even more finesse in the psychological analysis. In short, it is a masterpiece.
As the title suggests, we follow the story of Anna Karenina, the wife of a high Russian dignitary; she is beautiful, healthy, joyful, and radiant until she meets passion, its complications, and its compromises. But, as the title does not indicate, there is also a whole gallery of portraits: her lover Vronsky, sometimes enthusiastic seducer, a sometimes responsible and wise man; her husband Karenina, all confided in his respectability but touched by his sufferings and his dignity; Levine, accurate literary double of Tolstoi according to the notice, the tortured, the pragmatist and the lover; Kitty, the simple, sweet and good woman, after having been a little brainless; the good-natured but well-intentioned parasite Oblonski; and so many others which will take us to the mundane and somewhat idle salons of Saint Petersburg, the revolutionary circles, the district assemblies or deep into the Russian countryside.
What is extraordinary (or terrible, depending on which point of view you take) is that you find yourself in the characters and the situations. I am not a 19th-century Russian aristocrat engaged in a passionate affair. Yet I understand her, especially in her paradoxes, constant doubts, inability to stop the spiral of arguments, her interpretations distorted by anxiety, his exaltation, and his absolute love. So much more than the adulterous woman, it is the incarnation of the woman in love: if she had lived today, with the possibilities of divorce and professional activity for women, could she have loved Vronsky? And quietly? I'm not sure. And she will remain a tragic heroine with whom I especially would not like to identify!
Although I don't look like the heroine, I am thrilled by my reading, which explains why this review is probably confusing.
As the title suggests, we follow the story of Anna Karenina, the wife of a high Russian dignitary; she is beautiful, healthy, joyful, and radiant until she meets passion, its complications, and its compromises. But, as the title does not indicate, there is also a whole gallery of portraits: her lover Vronsky, sometimes enthusiastic seducer, a sometimes responsible and wise man; her husband Karenina, all confided in his respectability but touched by his sufferings and his dignity; Levine, accurate literary double of Tolstoi according to the notice, the tortured, the pragmatist and the lover; Kitty, the simple, sweet and good woman, after having been a little brainless; the good-natured but well-intentioned parasite Oblonski; and so many others which will take us to the mundane and somewhat idle salons of Saint Petersburg, the revolutionary circles, the district assemblies or deep into the Russian countryside.
What is extraordinary (or terrible, depending on which point of view you take) is that you find yourself in the characters and the situations. I am not a 19th-century Russian aristocrat engaged in a passionate affair. Yet I understand her, especially in her paradoxes, constant doubts, inability to stop the spiral of arguments, her interpretations distorted by anxiety, his exaltation, and his absolute love. So much more than the adulterous woman, it is the incarnation of the woman in love: if she had lived today, with the possibilities of divorce and professional activity for women, could she have loved Vronsky? And quietly? I'm not sure. And she will remain a tragic heroine with whom I especially would not like to identify!
Although I don't look like the heroine, I am thrilled by my reading, which explains why this review is probably confusing.
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I'm not sure I can quite explain how much I loved this book. I certainly can't explain adequately how annoyed I was at various stages at how certain characters were treated.
It's definitely a book that warrants a re-read in the future. Tragic and beautiful in equal measures
A masterpiece
It's definitely a book that warrants a re-read in the future. Tragic and beautiful in equal measures
A masterpiece
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As part of my reading challenge this year, I wanted to read at least one or two classics, and Anna Karenina was high on my list. It's considered by many to be one of the best novels ever written, and I've never read any Tolstoy. So even though it's a monster at more than 800 pages, I decided it's time I conquered it.
The story starts out so strong, with what seems to be an insightful treatise into the family and romantic life of several characters, including title character Anna. The domestic strife, misunderstandings, affairs, and life in general of the Russian elite, when boiled down to its essentials, are not so different from what occupy people's attentions today. I found the initial chapters to be interesting, and was drawn towards the circle of people who would make up the main cast of the book.
Then as the story progressed, things started to reach their natural conclusions, until about halfway through the book. At that point, I wish Tolstoy would have stopped because I found the second half to be more or less unnecessary. Everything had been resolved by then. But Tolstoy continued, and for me, the story just fell apart after that.
The main characters, in particular Anna, having gotten what they wished for, started acting loony, for lack of a better word. The more their wishes came true, the unhappier they became. A good portion of the second half was devoted to Anna lamenting how her partner does not love her. Every time he goes somewhere, she would pounce on him as soon as he comes home, saying crazy things about how he must be thinking of other women and no longer of her. He would reassure her constantly of his love and unending devotion. She wouldn't listen, so when he inevitably would get frustrated, she took that as confirmation that he doesn't love her. She would leave messages for him not to bother her, and when he doesn't, she would take that as a sign that she is right. This went on for like 200 pages. I wanted to stab myself every time Anna showed up in a scene. It's hard to tolerate a book when you dislike the main character that much.
I'm also a little uncomfortable that Tolstoy seems to portray women in his story as weak and mentally unstable, while the men are portrayed as high-thinking orators. The women would fly into tears and rages at the drop of a hat, stirring up domestic trouble while their men are out doing their jobs or hanging out with their buddies. The women also blushed uncontrollably when talking to any man who isn't their husband. Maybe this is just the way it was during Tolstoy's time and this book would have been seen as progressive, but as a modern woman reading it now, it makes me cringe so hard.
Tolstoy also seems to have treated this book as a vehicle to get out whatever he wanted to say on a variety of topics, including farming techniques, local governments and elections, the meaning of life, religion, snipe shooting, duty and rights of citizens, etc. This book is full of philosophical musings on these topics and more. I don't mind when authors want to present interesting and tangential thoughts, but Tolstoy did it constantly and without filter. His ramblings would go on for many chapters, and were so unedited that it's essentially a stream of consciousness. I'm sure there are some good points in there, but it's so buried under pages of unreadable and irrelevant prattle that I couldn't find them. While these technical and philosophical ruminations are all throughout the book, they were much worse in the second half, taking up a significant portion of it.
Reading this 800+ page tome has been an odyssey. I didn't find any of the characters to be particularly likable or charming. They were all rather silly, unstable, or full of themselves. To me, this is far from one of the best books I've ever read, though it's possible that back then, when there wasn't much to read or do for fun, this would have fulfilled that role. Now I can say I have read Anna Karenina, but that's about as much as I got out of it.
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The story starts out so strong, with what seems to be an insightful treatise into the family and romantic life of several characters, including title character Anna. The domestic strife, misunderstandings, affairs, and life in general of the Russian elite, when boiled down to its essentials, are not so different from what occupy people's attentions today. I found the initial chapters to be interesting, and was drawn towards the circle of people who would make up the main cast of the book.
Then as the story progressed, things started to reach their natural conclusions, until about halfway through the book. At that point, I wish Tolstoy would have stopped because I found the second half to be more or less unnecessary. Everything had been resolved by then. But Tolstoy continued, and for me, the story just fell apart after that.
The main characters, in particular Anna, having gotten what they wished for, started acting loony, for lack of a better word. The more their wishes came true, the unhappier they became. A good portion of the second half was devoted to Anna lamenting how her partner does not love her. Every time he goes somewhere, she would pounce on him as soon as he comes home, saying crazy things about how he must be thinking of other women and no longer of her. He would reassure her constantly of his love and unending devotion. She wouldn't listen, so when he inevitably would get frustrated, she took that as confirmation that he doesn't love her. She would leave messages for him not to bother her, and when he doesn't, she would take that as a sign that she is right. This went on for like 200 pages. I wanted to stab myself every time Anna showed up in a scene. It's hard to tolerate a book when you dislike the main character that much.
I'm also a little uncomfortable that Tolstoy seems to portray women in his story as weak and mentally unstable, while the men are portrayed as high-thinking orators. The women would fly into tears and rages at the drop of a hat, stirring up domestic trouble while their men are out doing their jobs or hanging out with their buddies. The women also blushed uncontrollably when talking to any man who isn't their husband. Maybe this is just the way it was during Tolstoy's time and this book would have been seen as progressive, but as a modern woman reading it now, it makes me cringe so hard.
Tolstoy also seems to have treated this book as a vehicle to get out whatever he wanted to say on a variety of topics, including farming techniques, local governments and elections, the meaning of life, religion, snipe shooting, duty and rights of citizens, etc. This book is full of philosophical musings on these topics and more. I don't mind when authors want to present interesting and tangential thoughts, but Tolstoy did it constantly and without filter. His ramblings would go on for many chapters, and were so unedited that it's essentially a stream of consciousness. I'm sure there are some good points in there, but it's so buried under pages of unreadable and irrelevant prattle that I couldn't find them. While these technical and philosophical ruminations are all throughout the book, they were much worse in the second half, taking up a significant portion of it.
Reading this 800+ page tome has been an odyssey. I didn't find any of the characters to be particularly likable or charming. They were all rather silly, unstable, or full of themselves. To me, this is far from one of the best books I've ever read, though it's possible that back then, when there wasn't much to read or do for fun, this would have fulfilled that role. Now I can say I have read Anna Karenina, but that's about as much as I got out of it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
✧ Connect with me ✧ Instagram ✧
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There are two problems with reading anything by Leo Tolstoy. 1) That guy seriously needed an editor with a forceful personality, as his most famous books are far too long. 2) It's nearly impossible to keep the characters apart, because they all have something like 10 different names depending on the situation and social setting (this is true of much of Russian literature, though for me it's worst by far with Tolstoy).
I don't remember much about this book, to be honest, as I read it in the summer of 1998. I do remember that by less than halfway through I didn't want to finish it, and I only did finish it through sheer force of will (I have this thing about finishing books I've started). So I didn't want to read half of it and I couldn't keep straight who anyone was...why the hell did I initially give this 2 stars? Gotta downgrade it to 1.
I don't remember much about this book, to be honest, as I read it in the summer of 1998. I do remember that by less than halfway through I didn't want to finish it, and I only did finish it through sheer force of will (I have this thing about finishing books I've started). So I didn't want to read half of it and I couldn't keep straight who anyone was...why the hell did I initially give this 2 stars? Gotta downgrade it to 1.
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مراجعتي للرواية في الرابط ادناه، حلقة بعنوان ليه لازم نقرأ انا كاريننا
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jQ9wu...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jQ9wu...
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[Turn the volume up;
open me in new tab]
There is a well-known belief that, brimming with the romanticism of bygone days to which reason acquiesces in silence, attempts to explain the elusive nature of human relations. According to this myth, the gods get involved in our existence by using a red cord. In Japanese culture, such cord is tied around the little finger; in China, around the ankle. Be it as it may, that string binds one person to the other; people who were always destined to meet, regardless the place, time or circumstances. The character of this connection varies, since it is not restricted to lovers: the two people whose paths are meant to converge at some point, will make history in some way or another, in any given situation. It is said that the red string might get tangled or stretched but it can never break. If it breaks, then only one person was truly holding that red string. One person and a sensation.
Amid all the plausible and unrealistic explanations that might be conceived in order to unravel the true nature of all the encounters we experienced and the ones still awaiting for us, this myth is one of the most poetic ways to try to elucidate their puzzling essence while conveying a lack of randomness in human relations (this certainly goes beyond any rationalization that I could manage to elaborate and that would ultimately be rather pointless). For you could find the person to whom you were always meant to share your life with when you least expect it, no matter your marital status, undoubtedly. And a story that could epitomize this legend took place in 19th-century Russia.
Anna Karenina is not merely a story about an ill-fated relationship that begins with one of the most famous lines in classic literature. Admittedly it was prejudice what prevented me from picking up this book for years. I thought it was going to be another mawkish love story that, alongside its many comings and goings, dealt with—and probably romanticized—the theme of adultery. As much as I spent my entire life questioning the dogmas that my surroundings may have tried to impose upon my own fragile set of principles in youth (that slowly became more grounded through the years), a certain vestige may have survived, but I'm not trying to compete with Tolstoy over who has the most moralizing tone, for I judge no one but myself. To sum up, in literature, the idea of infidelity bores me, so if I have to put up with over nine hundred pages of passion, deception, lustful gazes, thrilling rendezvous and any other similar situation... I'd better stick to short stories.
So imagine my surprise when I found this substantially complex universe populated by people coming from different backgrounds, following different principles, imbued with many noble qualities and ordinary flaws; all captives of something, be it a required sense of dignity, an observance of decorum, stifling social conventions, the game of honesty and feigned emotions or a religion that ruled over most aspects of their lives. A universe defined by the sacrifice of one's wishes, the rejection of one's true feelings in order to do what is proper. A self-denial attitude to demonstrate compliance with the social rules of the world. Actions intended to safeguard a reputation that might get tarnished by truth or falsehood.
I must confess that my lips sarcastically twitched every time I read Tolstoy's effusive meditations on the magnanimous nature of religion and its elevated consequences upon people's behaviour. Oh, 'I want to turn the other cheek, I want to give my shirt when my caftan is taken, and I only pray to God that He not take from me the happiness of forgiveness!' and excerpts as such. At times, I was unable to shake off the impression of a preachy tone that perhaps it was not so, but that my skeptical disposition perceived it anyway. Thankfully, he didn't gush about that too often.
Thus, I gave in. I surrendered to the magnificence of his words, unconditionally.
Every character has been meticulously developed. They were given strong opinions and even the ones I found slightly weak at first, astonished me later when I read their poignant musings, especially when it came to women and their role in both family and society. The idea of (preferably) attractive women whose main job is to give birth, bear with husbands of libertine inclinations and accept their inability to form any opinion worth hearing because nature (un)fortunately has not endowed them with men's brilliance, has clearly survived the 19th century and still resides in some minds that surely scream progress and common sense.
A third-person omniscient narrator takes the lead and introduces us to the world of Anna Arkadyevna Karenina, Karenin's wife, who falls in love with Count Alexei Vronsky, a single, wealthy man. My feelings toward Vronsky gradually changed; I found him rather obnoxious at first—though not as much as Anna’s brother, Stepan Oblonsky, a charming and utterly selfish womanizer married to Darya (‘Dolly’).
This narrator (who acquires a suitable tone for each character and even gives voice to the thoughts of their pets) also follows the story of Konstantin Levin and Ekaterina “Kitty” Shcherbatskaya. Needless to say, Levin has become a favorite of mine. Through his actions and way of thinking, some fascinating factors came into play. His riveting conversations—that he maintained while trying to overcome a heart-rending awkwardness, especially when he found himself cornered due to his inability to disentangle his innovative thoughts when discussing philosophical and political issues—and internal monologues are for me the most memorable parts of the entire novel.
Anna's story is a faithful account of the pressure caused by social norms and the influence of the Russian Church which combined with other elements eventually brought about a relentless state of blinding jealousy, another theme deeply explored by Tolstoy, along with hypocrisy and the need to resort to appearances to be at least theoretically happy. On the contrary, Levin embodies the simplicity of the countryside life, far away from any display of unnecessary opulence; also the bewilderment regarding bureaucracy and the efforts to grasp the concept behind politics, the difficulties present in his relationship with peasants and, in a global scale, the whole agrarian system in contrast to the perception of progress seen in the city. In addition, we witness his struggles concerning faith, an aspect that immediately drew me in, as I also feel frustrated every time I ponder the essence of our existence, our identity, the acknowledgement of death—mortality salience or a persistent state of fear and anxiety—and how everything is supposed to fit an intricate system based on faith; swinging back and forth between reality and a need to believe in something.
This absolutely compelling book showed me another side of Tolstoy. He opened the doors to a world I may recognize since it is not my first Russian novel but that I have barely seen through his eyes for I stubbornly shunned his look for so long. His gifted mind, the uniqueness of his style, the now unmistakable sound of his words thanks to this wonderful translation, the beauty of his language and the sincere nature of his thoughts that were conveyed so eloquently, left an indelible impression on me. Through the characters he has skillfully brought to life, Tolstoy not only shared his views on society and politics, but also his unswerving commitment to do everything in his power to attain a meaningful life. That strenuous search we are always returning to; one that cannot be limited to any time or place since it is intrinsic to human condition. That purpose to which existence might aspire. Something to stimulate our slow, measured pace, often against the flow.
Many things lead to that much desired meaning. Many ways that by themselves are insufficient as life, in constant motion as it is, is a complement of them all. Countless roads branching out while we contemplate, with fearful eyes and wavering avidity for they have ramified in so many directions, the one we should choose.
There is one clear path that this novel illustrates with unflinchingly compassionate brushstrokes of reality. It is understandable that, seeing how love might deteriorate over time, how a kiss becomes an endless reproach and a word, a way to punish and inflict pain on others in the midst of an atmosphere of self-destruction, might make you realize of how that possibility, that unremitting sense of an ending has been injecting fear into your being through the years and all of the efforts you have made to keep a reassuring distance from everything; echoing infantile attempts at self-preservation. A child stepping into society for the first time, again; learning how to speak and behave accordingly, again. Anna, her ghosts, they all demanded, energetically; others, while yearning for different scenarios, return to the shadows, quietly. Giving too much; receiving halves, too late. Doors are always on the verge of closing; serenely becoming accustomed to nothingness.
Even so, amid a myriad of red threads that belong to the vastness of a timeless tapestry, love still constitutes one of the paths that may render a fulfilling life possible.
A bedroom adorned with poppy tears is now shrouded in silence. A red string dwelt there once. It connected two people destined to meet; people who lived a thousand lives in the eternity of a second. According to the myth, such string stretched, tangled and stretched again.
Until she seized hold of it, hoping for a season of forgiveness.
April 01, 16
* Also on my blog.
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There is a well-known belief that, brimming with the romanticism of bygone days to which reason acquiesces in silence, attempts to explain the elusive nature of human relations. According to this myth, the gods get involved in our existence by using a red cord. In Japanese culture, such cord is tied around the little finger; in China, around the ankle. Be it as it may, that string binds one person to the other; people who were always destined to meet, regardless the place, time or circumstances. The character of this connection varies, since it is not restricted to lovers: the two people whose paths are meant to converge at some point, will make history in some way or another, in any given situation. It is said that the red string might get tangled or stretched but it can never break. If it breaks, then only one person was truly holding that red string. One person and a sensation.
Amid all the plausible and unrealistic explanations that might be conceived in order to unravel the true nature of all the encounters we experienced and the ones still awaiting for us, this myth is one of the most poetic ways to try to elucidate their puzzling essence while conveying a lack of randomness in human relations (this certainly goes beyond any rationalization that I could manage to elaborate and that would ultimately be rather pointless). For you could find the person to whom you were always meant to share your life with when you least expect it, no matter your marital status, undoubtedly. And a story that could epitomize this legend took place in 19th-century Russia.
Anna Karenina is not merely a story about an ill-fated relationship that begins with one of the most famous lines in classic literature. Admittedly it was prejudice what prevented me from picking up this book for years. I thought it was going to be another mawkish love story that, alongside its many comings and goings, dealt with—and probably romanticized—the theme of adultery. As much as I spent my entire life questioning the dogmas that my surroundings may have tried to impose upon my own fragile set of principles in youth (that slowly became more grounded through the years), a certain vestige may have survived, but I'm not trying to compete with Tolstoy over who has the most moralizing tone, for I judge no one but myself. To sum up, in literature, the idea of infidelity bores me, so if I have to put up with over nine hundred pages of passion, deception, lustful gazes, thrilling rendezvous and any other similar situation... I'd better stick to short stories.
So imagine my surprise when I found this substantially complex universe populated by people coming from different backgrounds, following different principles, imbued with many noble qualities and ordinary flaws; all captives of something, be it a required sense of dignity, an observance of decorum, stifling social conventions, the game of honesty and feigned emotions or a religion that ruled over most aspects of their lives. A universe defined by the sacrifice of one's wishes, the rejection of one's true feelings in order to do what is proper. A self-denial attitude to demonstrate compliance with the social rules of the world. Actions intended to safeguard a reputation that might get tarnished by truth or falsehood.
I must confess that my lips sarcastically twitched every time I read Tolstoy's effusive meditations on the magnanimous nature of religion and its elevated consequences upon people's behaviour. Oh, 'I want to turn the other cheek, I want to give my shirt when my caftan is taken, and I only pray to God that He not take from me the happiness of forgiveness!' and excerpts as such. At times, I was unable to shake off the impression of a preachy tone that perhaps it was not so, but that my skeptical disposition perceived it anyway. Thankfully, he didn't gush about that too often.
Thus, I gave in. I surrendered to the magnificence of his words, unconditionally.
Every character has been meticulously developed. They were given strong opinions and even the ones I found slightly weak at first, astonished me later when I read their poignant musings, especially when it came to women and their role in both family and society. The idea of (preferably) attractive women whose main job is to give birth, bear with husbands of libertine inclinations and accept their inability to form any opinion worth hearing because nature (un)fortunately has not endowed them with men's brilliance, has clearly survived the 19th century and still resides in some minds that surely scream progress and common sense.
A third-person omniscient narrator takes the lead and introduces us to the world of Anna Arkadyevna Karenina, Karenin's wife, who falls in love with Count Alexei Vronsky, a single, wealthy man. My feelings toward Vronsky gradually changed; I found him rather obnoxious at first—though not as much as Anna’s brother, Stepan Oblonsky, a charming and utterly selfish womanizer married to Darya (‘Dolly’).
This narrator (who acquires a suitable tone for each character and even gives voice to the thoughts of their pets) also follows the story of Konstantin Levin and Ekaterina “Kitty” Shcherbatskaya. Needless to say, Levin has become a favorite of mine. Through his actions and way of thinking, some fascinating factors came into play. His riveting conversations—that he maintained while trying to overcome a heart-rending awkwardness, especially when he found himself cornered due to his inability to disentangle his innovative thoughts when discussing philosophical and political issues—and internal monologues are for me the most memorable parts of the entire novel.
Anna's story is a faithful account of the pressure caused by social norms and the influence of the Russian Church which combined with other elements eventually brought about a relentless state of blinding jealousy, another theme deeply explored by Tolstoy, along with hypocrisy and the need to resort to appearances to be at least theoretically happy. On the contrary, Levin embodies the simplicity of the countryside life, far away from any display of unnecessary opulence; also the bewilderment regarding bureaucracy and the efforts to grasp the concept behind politics, the difficulties present in his relationship with peasants and, in a global scale, the whole agrarian system in contrast to the perception of progress seen in the city. In addition, we witness his struggles concerning faith, an aspect that immediately drew me in, as I also feel frustrated every time I ponder the essence of our existence, our identity, the acknowledgement of death—mortality salience or a persistent state of fear and anxiety—and how everything is supposed to fit an intricate system based on faith; swinging back and forth between reality and a need to believe in something.
This absolutely compelling book showed me another side of Tolstoy. He opened the doors to a world I may recognize since it is not my first Russian novel but that I have barely seen through his eyes for I stubbornly shunned his look for so long. His gifted mind, the uniqueness of his style, the now unmistakable sound of his words thanks to this wonderful translation, the beauty of his language and the sincere nature of his thoughts that were conveyed so eloquently, left an indelible impression on me. Through the characters he has skillfully brought to life, Tolstoy not only shared his views on society and politics, but also his unswerving commitment to do everything in his power to attain a meaningful life. That strenuous search we are always returning to; one that cannot be limited to any time or place since it is intrinsic to human condition. That purpose to which existence might aspire. Something to stimulate our slow, measured pace, often against the flow.
Many things lead to that much desired meaning. Many ways that by themselves are insufficient as life, in constant motion as it is, is a complement of them all. Countless roads branching out while we contemplate, with fearful eyes and wavering avidity for they have ramified in so many directions, the one we should choose.
There is one clear path that this novel illustrates with unflinchingly compassionate brushstrokes of reality. It is understandable that, seeing how love might deteriorate over time, how a kiss becomes an endless reproach and a word, a way to punish and inflict pain on others in the midst of an atmosphere of self-destruction, might make you realize of how that possibility, that unremitting sense of an ending has been injecting fear into your being through the years and all of the efforts you have made to keep a reassuring distance from everything; echoing infantile attempts at self-preservation. A child stepping into society for the first time, again; learning how to speak and behave accordingly, again. Anna, her ghosts, they all demanded, energetically; others, while yearning for different scenarios, return to the shadows, quietly. Giving too much; receiving halves, too late. Doors are always on the verge of closing; serenely becoming accustomed to nothingness.
Even so, amid a myriad of red threads that belong to the vastness of a timeless tapestry, love still constitutes one of the paths that may render a fulfilling life possible.
A bedroom adorned with poppy tears is now shrouded in silence. A red string dwelt there once. It connected two people destined to meet; people who lived a thousand lives in the eternity of a second. According to the myth, such string stretched, tangled and stretched again.
Until she seized hold of it, hoping for a season of forgiveness.
April 01, 16
* Also on my blog.
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Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina:"Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way."
Tolstoy draws us into the tragedy by looking down in disdain at boring, happy families (the Brady family always comes to my mind) and sells his book by deciding that unhappy families provide more variety and thus entertainment, however tragic. From the start, we know that things will end badly, so later when we are introduced to Anna and Vronsky, we are more fascinated by the details on how things will unravel than being surprised at the outcome. The phrase itself is perfectly balanced and stands alone in a separate paragraph - as if he was giving us the moral from the outset. A perfect start to one of the most technically perfect novels of all time - as a matter of fact, Tolstoy considered this to be his true first novel (he considered War and Peace (also an extraordinary read) to be more than just a novel).
Tolstoy draws us into the tragedy by looking down in disdain at boring, happy families (the Brady family always comes to my mind) and sells his book by deciding that unhappy families provide more variety and thus entertainment, however tragic. From the start, we know that things will end badly, so later when we are introduced to Anna and Vronsky, we are more fascinated by the details on how things will unravel than being surprised at the outcome. The phrase itself is perfectly balanced and stands alone in a separate paragraph - as if he was giving us the moral from the outset. A perfect start to one of the most technically perfect novels of all time - as a matter of fact, Tolstoy considered this to be his true first novel (he considered War and Peace (also an extraordinary read) to be more than just a novel).
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Passing Through the Human Passions
"...Let him first cast a stone at her"
I read this Tolstoy masterpiece for the first time 7 years ago, coming to it with a cynicism formed by my mistaken impression that it was simply about Anna Karenina's terminal adulterous affair and her despicable selfishness toward her son. I thought the novel would, no doubt, effectively demonstrate the tragic consequences of self-centeredness and the absence of a moral compass. Beyond that, I was a cynic.
My skepticism was misguided. While Anna K's affair with Count Vlonsky is the primary tale being told, this must be viewed within the context of the novel's three other relationships to appreciate the purified beauty of this masterwork.
Both of the Russian Giants (Tolstoy and Dostoevsky) sculpt consistently around themes of
These themes are arguably nowhere more breathtakingly composed for study, contemplation and interpretation for all time, by scholars, thinkers, students and lovers of literature, than in this transcendent tragedy.
Anna Karenina's illicit romance with the younger, adonic Count Vronsky is mainscreen. I recall seeing an article shortly after reading this novel revealing that Tolstoy began with the idea of making a fallen married woman, condemned for her actions, sympathetic to readers for her human weaknesses and her lot in life (or something to this effect). He wanted to test Jesus' admonition in the Bible to those about to stone to death a woman caught having sexual relations outside her marriage: "He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her." John 8:7, KJV.
In addition to the eponymous affair, the novel also follows:
^ The verecund, thinking farmer Levin and his courtship of and marriage to the gorgeous, shallow and vestal Kitty (who was once infatuated with Vronsky);
^ The mired uxorial partnership between Anna's brother, the unsteady, unfaithful social-hound Stiva Oblonsky and his loyal wife Dolly (Kitty's sister), who is the exemplary, unappreciated mother of his children, and who finds herself having muliebral daydreams of a scorching affair of body and soul with another man; as well as,
^ Anna's relationships with her controlling, cuckolded husband Karenin and with her poor, innocent son.
Tolstoy created this stunningly gorgeous mindtrip over a terrain he drew in a way that would emotionally drain the reader* and provoke her thoughts and feelings such that she might find an obscure piece of her soul revealed.
In my opinion, this is the best novel ever written.
"...Let him first cast a stone at her"
I read this Tolstoy masterpiece for the first time 7 years ago, coming to it with a cynicism formed by my mistaken impression that it was simply about Anna Karenina's terminal adulterous affair and her despicable selfishness toward her son. I thought the novel would, no doubt, effectively demonstrate the tragic consequences of self-centeredness and the absence of a moral compass. Beyond that, I was a cynic.
My skepticism was misguided. While Anna K's affair with Count Vlonsky is the primary tale being told, this must be viewed within the context of the novel's three other relationships to appreciate the purified beauty of this masterwork.
Both of the Russian Giants (Tolstoy and Dostoevsky) sculpt consistently around themes of
the relationship between a husband and a wife;
a human's relationship to and with God;
the mortal struggles
--of faith versus doubt, and
--of monogamy and morality versus free will and the pleasures of the flesh; and,
below the firmament, the ongoing and infinite war between the forces of good and evil.
These themes are arguably nowhere more breathtakingly composed for study, contemplation and interpretation for all time, by scholars, thinkers, students and lovers of literature, than in this transcendent tragedy.
Anna Karenina's illicit romance with the younger, adonic Count Vronsky is mainscreen. I recall seeing an article shortly after reading this novel revealing that Tolstoy began with the idea of making a fallen married woman, condemned for her actions, sympathetic to readers for her human weaknesses and her lot in life (or something to this effect). He wanted to test Jesus' admonition in the Bible to those about to stone to death a woman caught having sexual relations outside her marriage: "He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her." John 8:7, KJV.
In addition to the eponymous affair, the novel also follows:
^ The verecund, thinking farmer Levin and his courtship of and marriage to the gorgeous, shallow and vestal Kitty (who was once infatuated with Vronsky);
^ The mired uxorial partnership between Anna's brother, the unsteady, unfaithful social-hound Stiva Oblonsky and his loyal wife Dolly (Kitty's sister), who is the exemplary, unappreciated mother of his children, and who finds herself having muliebral daydreams of a scorching affair of body and soul with another man; as well as,
^ Anna's relationships with her controlling, cuckolded husband Karenin and with her poor, innocent son.
Tolstoy created this stunningly gorgeous mindtrip over a terrain he drew in a way that would emotionally drain the reader* and provoke her thoughts and feelings such that she might find an obscure piece of her soul revealed.
In my opinion, this is the best novel ever written.
...
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I can say I really enjoyed this story. It was a captivating story about the parallel lives centered roughly on four people. The first is a down-to-earth, even naive, and relatively quite man (Konstantin Levin) who gets rejected by the young woman ('Kitty') he deeply loves.
Levin grows as a character, moves back out into the country, and eventually finds himself together with Kitty in the end. They are happy and content with how life has turned out.
The second is a beautiful woman (Anna Karenina) who has a rich and lavish lifestyle, has an affair with a "Mr. Wonderful" Count Vronsky, gets him, and then it all ends tragically.
It was wordy, lengthy, and full of human emotion and spirit yet I enjoyed this story from start to finish. My first Tolstoy attempt and I'm sure I'll read more. I would recommend it to anyone who wants a rich story. Thanks!
Levin grows as a character, moves back out into the country, and eventually finds himself together with Kitty in the end. They are happy and content with how life has turned out.
The second is a beautiful woman (Anna Karenina) who has a rich and lavish lifestyle, has an affair with a "Mr. Wonderful" Count Vronsky, gets him, and then it all ends tragically.
It was wordy, lengthy, and full of human emotion and spirit yet I enjoyed this story from start to finish. My first Tolstoy attempt and I'm sure I'll read more. I would recommend it to anyone who wants a rich story. Thanks!
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