Anna Karenina

Anna Karenina è il libro che avrei voluto aver scritto io, quello in cui ho trovato me, ogni parte di me, ogni lato del mio carattere e ogni sfumatura - evidente o meno - della mia anima. È un'opera monumentale, una di quelle di cui si ha paura anche solo sentendole nominare; eppure, di Anna Karenina, non bisogna aver paura. Del romanzo spaventa la mole immensa di più di mille pagine, ma null'altro. È una lettura scorrevole, avvincente sempre, mai noiosa, ricca di azione, movimenti e viaggi. La storia è in continuo mutamento, nulla è dato per scontato e le centinaia di personaggi presenti mantengono costantemente vivo e reale il tutto. È un romanzo ricco di temi, di spunti di riflessione, di domande e di tante - anche se non show more tutte - risposte.

Credo che tra me e Anna Karenina sia stato amore a prima vista, forse, intenso come la passione tra Vrònskij e Anna... forse. Da subito ho capito che era questo il libro giusto, quello che stavo aspettando da tutta una vita e che avevo paura di non trovare mai; ho compreso subito che lo avrei amato con tutta l'anima, che gli avrei dato tutta me stessa, e infatti così è stato. Perché il libro giusto esiste e io ho finalmente trovato il mio, che, insostituibile a qualunque altro, si è meritevolmente guadagnato un posto privilegiato nel mio cuore accanto a quei pochi altri libri che ho amato come ho amato questo.
In Anna Karenina c'è tutto quello che avevo bisogno di leggere, tutte le domande che mi pongo e che mi sono sempre posta; mi sono vista, ho visto me attraverso i suoi personaggi, ho sentito la mia voce attraverso la loro, ho ascoltato le mie parole, quelle dette e quelle che neanche ho mai immaginato avrei potuto dire, ascoltando le loro. Mi sono vista traditrice, tradita, amante, moglie, madre, mi sono vista messa da parte e messa al centro dell'attenzione, e mi sono vista in tutte le sfumature in cui ho sempre desiderato vedermi. Mi sono vista ricca e mi sono vista povera, malata e guarita, peccatrice e redenta. Ho visto me stessa in abiti non miei, quegli abiti che da tempo desidero fossero stati miei. Mi sono guardata dall'esterno e dall'interno e mi sono capita un po' di più, proprio come Lèvin ha capito alla fine il significato che la Fede ha per lui.

Anna Karenina mi ha trascinata in un mondo a me estraneo eppure che mi sembrava di conoscere da sempre. Catapultata nella Russia zarista ho vissuto per circa cinque settimane tra Mosca, Pietroburgo e la campagna circostante, perfino nella sudicia e triste stanza d'albergo in cui viveva Nikolàj, il fratello di Lèvin, riempendomi il cuore delle tre scampanellate che preannunciano la partenza di un treno, delle musiche dei balli, del parlottare degli uomini al circolo, dei nitriti dei cavalli alle corse, del pianto dei bambini... Ho sentito con le mie orecchie gli spari dei fucili dei cacciatori, l'abbaio dei cani da caccia, di Làska, soprattutto, la cagnolina di Lèvin talmente tanto personificata da parere un essere umano in tutto e per tutto, proprio come Frou Frou, la cavalla purosangue inglese di Vrònskij per la quale ho provato più pena e tenerezza che per Vrònskij stesso. Ho vissuto assieme a tutti loro e sono stata sempre presente in ogni dove, desiderando di non lasciarli mai, quei luoghi che ho tanto amato.

Protagoniste di Anna Karenina sono tre coppie che non potrebbero essere più diverse l'una dall'altra: Dolly e Stepàn Arkàd'ic, quella con cui inizia il romanzo e in crisi sin dalla prima pagina; Anna e Aleksèj Aleksàndrovic, che va di pari passo con quella formata da Anna e Vrònskij e che, infondo, è la maggior protagonista; e infine la mia favorita, quella che ha rubato e stregato il mio cuore, Kitty e Lèvin, i personaggi che più ho amato fra tutti. Sono loro, tutti loro, i personaggi che hanno spazio in ogni capitolo, in ogni singola pagina, di cui si seguono tutte le vicissitudini. Personaggi complessi, complicati e mai sono esistiti personaggi più umani e reali che con la parola 'personaggi' non hanno nulla a che fare. E intorno a loro una miriade di altri personaggi altrettanto umani e veri, vivi, di cui ho avvertito il respiro sul collo e lo sguardo addosso.
Mosca e Pietroburgo, anche grazie a loro, non mi sono mai sembrate più belle e vicine nonostante la distanza geografica che mi separa da loro.

A mano a mano che la lettura progrediva, io progredivo con lei e con lei mi evolvevo, con lei cambiavo e rinascevo, dal momento che a questa lettura io ho dato tutta me stessa e tutta la mia anima e tutto il mio cuore. Sapevo che l'avrei terminata e sapevo che non avrei mai sopportato separarmi da lei, dalle sue vicende e dai suoi personaggi che mi sono stati amici fedeli e sempre presenti; eppure non mi sono mai fermata, mai scoraggiata e sono andata avanti sempre con la stessa costanza e con la stessa dedizione con la quale, con una certa paura, l'avevo iniziata. E avevo iniziato la lettura per un solo motivo: mi stava chiamando. L'avrei altrimenti rimandata, e così ho fatto a inizio giugno, troppo spaventata dalla sua immensa mole, ma già allora sapevo che fuggirle mi era impossibile. Solo per quel motivo, per quel richiamo che sentivo in me, che mi attraversava da parte a parte, sapevo che non avrei mai potuto non amare Anna Karenina, perché il modo in cui la vedevo scrutarmi dalla libreria aveva già detto tutto quello che era necessario dire, e quando sfogliavo con timore le sue pagine ancora immacolate e oggi gialle, stropicciate, un po' strappate e solcate quasi tutte dai segni della mia matita mai stata più consumata, sapevo che era inutile rimandare ancora ció che era già stato deciso e che era predestinato dovesse accadere fra noi: io non avrei mai potuto non amare Anna Karenina, in cui sono racchiusi tutti i miei segreti e tutte le mie paure, in cui ho lasciato pezzi d'anima e pezzi di cuore che mai faranno ritorno.
Anna Karenina è il mio horcrux: in lei c'è parte della mia anima e finché lei vive, io vivró con lei. show less

This one was an unexpected delight for me. I was expecting a melodramatic romance and lots of “woe is me” bits. Instead, I found a novel that delved into personal happiness vs. social expectations, religion, and Russian culture.

The book is packed with interesting characters, only one of which is mentioned in the title. Anna might be the headliner, but she’s certainly not the only act. The book really parallels the lives and journeys of two characters, Anna and Levin. At the beginning of the book, Anna is optimistic. She travels to visit her family to help her brother put his marriage back together. By the end of the book, her life has been thrown upside down and she loses her faith.

Levin on the other hand is awkward and show more pessimistic. He’s in love but has no idea how to go about wooing the woman he’s interested in. Throughout the book, he finds solace in hard labor. Through his struggles and trials, he finds his faith. He learns the meaning of true love and understands the difference a good woman makes to his life. Both characters seem to do a complete 180 by the end of the novel.

There is so much more that I’m not even touching on. Tolstoy deals with the social customs at the time, the ease at which people can be welcomed or shunned from society, and the rights women didn’t have during that time period, etc. He makes the reader consider the difference between momentary bliss and the sometimes sedate, but long-lasting joy of family, but at the same time he never makes it feel like a preachy cautionary tale.

If you’re thinking about trying Tolstoy I would highly recommend starting here. There are fewer major characters than there are in War and Peace and the plot is easier to follow.

**Rereading update**
When I first read this I was not married and had no children. Rereading it after adding those life experiences to my worldview certainly changes some things. I can’t imagine Anna’s pain at the thought of leaving her child. I was also surprised to find myself reminded of Austen’s Persuasion in Levin and Kitty’s sections. The parallels are striking and I love seeing how the couple mature separately before coming together. Levin learns to deal with his prideful nature and Kitty reprioritizes what’s truly important to her.

“But that’s the aim of civilization: to make everything an enjoyment.” – Stepan Arkadyich
Stepan’s approach to life is reckless. He wants only to satisfy every immediate pleasure. Levin, on the other hand, strives to work hard and serve others.

“All this was terribly vile, but for Levin it seemed by no means as vile as it might have seemed to those who did not know Nikolai Levin, did not know his whole story, did not know his heart.”
We all see our family and friends through the lens of knowing their hearts and can make excuses for their shortcomings. If we could give others the benefit of the doubt in our judgment of them, the world would be a gentler place.

“Spring is the time for plans and projects. And, going out to the yard, Levin, like a tree in spring, not yet knowing where and how its young shoots and branches, still confined in swollen buds, will grow, did not himself know very well.”

“‘How I wish I knew others as I know myself,’ Anna said seriously and pensively. ‘Am I worse than others or better? Worse, I think.’”

“You may or may not like my way of life, it makes absolutely no difference to me: you must respect me if you want to know me.”

“I’ve always loved you, and when you love someone, you love the whole person, as they are, and not as you’d like them to be.” show less

** spoiler alert ** We all know Tolstoy could write. His prose is beautiful, giving you glimpses into the minds and feelings of his characters and creating settings that feel real and tangible. The narrative builds in an engaging and entertaining way with progressions that make sense and seem realistic, even at our historical remove.

That being said: my goodness, this book was unwieldy. I blazed through the first half and then slowly dragged my way through the rest. Excellent writing only carries me so far, particularly when I find it so difficult to connect with any of the characters in a serious way. Levin was endlessly irritating and self-important. Anna is an immensely sympathetic character, her internal monologue is one of the most show more realistic representations of severe depression I’ve ever read. That being said, I find it hard not to feel Vronsky and Anna are the architects of their own destruction. I guess that’s the point, but I still struggled with them both.

I hated the decision to continue the book after Anna’s death. I couldn’t help but feel the emotional impact of her death was lost by refocusing on Levin. Those final chapters feel superfluous and disruptive to the symmetry of the story. Frankly, it seems a disservice to Anna. To me, the book is her narrative and closing it out with her last thoughts would have been a more appropriate conclusion to the story that bears her name. show less

Because I seldom give a well known and widely read book such as Anna Karenina as derogatory a review as this, please allow me to begin with a couple of disclaimers. 1. I do not fancy myself as any sort of expert in Russian literature (although I like Solzhenitsyn, endure Dostoyesky, and can even stomach Kafka). 2. A translator always stands between me and any Russian-language author so any critique I may offer of a Russian-language book is really a critique of what an often-anonymous translator has shown me of that book. 3. As Edmund Wilson noted, no two people ever read the same book, and I am not so egotistical as to think that my reaction should be even vaguely related to that of any other reader.

Speaking of translators, the version show more of Anna Karenina that I read was published by Easton Press in 1975 from a translation by Constance Garnett with corrections made by Bernard Guilbert Guerney and with previously censored chapters translated by Gustavus Spett for an edition first issued in 1933. I am making an assumption that these translators are of some reliability since they are identified by name, something not always to be found in a translated book.

Why did I read Anna Karenina? At 935 pages, it is a rather ponderous tome. First, as noted above, I have generally enjoyed works by other Russian authors and felt that I should add something by Tolstoy to the collection. Second, I was aware that Anna Karenina has been read (and rated highly) by thousands of other readers, has been the subject of academic study, and has been explicated by multiple literary critics, so anyone who fancies himself at all literate should have at least a passing acquaintance with the book. Third, the book has taken up space in my house in one bookshelf or another for the past 16 years and I felt it high time that I actually read it.

To recount one of my reactions, let us begin with the title. Why name a book that deals with several main characters and even more secondary “walk-ons” after only one character, one that neither begins the saga nor lasts until the end? Despite the plethora of protagonists that populate this story and despite the fact that we could do an exhaustive psychological workup on each one of them, Anna Karenina reads like a modern American soap opera on daytime television. As the World Turns, Days of Our Lives, Modern Romances, Love Is a Many Splendored Thing, One Life To Live, Where the Heart Is and any number of similar titles would have fit the book perfectly.

Another difficulty I had while reading Anna Karenina was keeping my indignation under control. I really do not think of myself as a severe moralist, but the parade of philandering husbands, denigrated women, wavering fidelities, abandoned children, and social stratifications became annoyingly tiresome after a few hundred pages.

As one nears the culmination of this somewhat sordid tale, most of the characters simply disappear or are summarily dispensed with. We read of no reactions whatsoever to the death of the title character, the narrative resuming two months after her suicide. Vronski, primarily instrumental in Anna's downfall and death, is shuffled off stage by having him volunteer to go fight the Turks, and we never see him again once the train carries him out of sight. About Alexei Alexandrovich Karenin, Anna's cuckolded husband, we read nothing at all. I received the distinct impression that the author had tired of the story and was intent on bringing it to an end – and just forget about a denouement.

Anna Karenina also shatters the literary quality of unity. After 890 pages of reading about “the perils of Pauline,” the reader is suddenly and mercilessly plunged into Levin's existentialist angst about why he is alive and what he is supposed to be doing, not to mention the fact that his eventual death makes it all meaningless anyway.

In sum, I found Anna Karenina an almost interminable soap opera with an ending that had little relation to the story that had preceded it. There are books that I have eagerly read more than once—Moby Dick is one—but Anna Karenina is not among them.

For those seeking more expert literary criticisms and analyses of the book than mine, I recommend two articles to be found at the following sites:

theguardian.com/books/2012/aug/31/rereading-anna-karenina-james-meek

commentarymagazine.com/articles/the-moral-urgency-of-anna-karenina show less

Tolstoy's writing is amazing - he reveals his characters souls. Everyone is flawed. Some find happiness, while others find disaster.

I did find the book terribly long. Even then, I found it hard to skip over Tolstoy's elegant musings.

It's interesting that Levin struggles with decisions in his life. He searches for meaning in life and finally "finds God", but realizes that he is still the same man - it doesn't change him. He can now live for a higher purpose and strive to the best he can be.

Kitty already knows this, of of course. She gets her strength not only from her faith but her role as a faithful wife and mother.

Vronsky and Anna's lives are an inevitable train wreck. It's a powerful metaphor that extends from the beginning of show more their relationship to the end - her death. I am particularly disappointed in Anna's relationship with her children, although that may be a reflection of the time in which they lived. She does become very self-centered and shallow.

The theme of death is prevalent. Most characters think of death and suicide but find a way out of the murky shadows while Anna succumbs.

Secondary characters are interesting. Stiva, while shallow, is a breath of fresh air. He's a bad husband, but a good friend. Karenin is a lost soul. He "finds God" too, but it doesn't bring meaning to his life - he just hides from it. Nikola's life and death surely have a deep impact on Levin and Kitty.

There is a lot of politics, religion, and society in this book that reflects the time in which it is set - some good history here but it does contribute to the long read.

The best book I've ever read? Maybe, but I hope not! Soo many more to go... show less

This is the first classic that I've read this year that is getting added to my all-time favorites. This book does it for me, and I think it is because I have learned so much about the psychology of so many groups of people. I learned how the rich justify being rich, how the poor justify being poor, how cheaters justify their infidelity, how men justify their work passions, among so many others.

The characters in this story don't choose sides between good and evil, with the exception of two characters. The namesake character Anna Karenina is the embodiment of self-absorbed, arrogant, and uncaring evil. She ruins another life every time she does something, and she knows this. To counter this, Konstantin Levin, despite being a wealthy show more landowner, shows the good that can come from high society. He is devoted to his wife and child, to his work, and to his workers.

The landscape is breathtaking, and every single location that is explored has its importance. Within the cities of Moscow and Petersburg, the bustle of the people that seems to avoid the highest of society shows how these people lived as opposed to the rest of the Russian people. The constant balls and concerts and galleries that the rich are expected to enjoy is in stark contrast to the poverty of the "muzhik" (peasant). I can see why communism was allowed to explode in a place like this. The country in this story shows an unfiltered beauty that can come from toil and diligent work, while exploring how the high society exploit their land in any and every way. Hunting is a common affair, walking hundreds of acres is a break from the affairs that fill the household, and passions of the landowner are able to be explored. The class divide is stark, but due to Levin's character, is not something that is unbearably cruel.

This book taught me more than most college courses I have taken. From writing technique, to psychology, to religion, to love, this book sets out to teach right and wrong. And it does just that. show less

All books you love are alike; each unloved book is unloved in its own way. On page 542 of Tolstoy's Anna Karenina, the titular character remarks to her lover, Vronsky: "for us, for me and for you, only one thing matters: whether we love each other. There are no other considerations." It is this statement which perhaps best explains my somewhat muted reaction to reading Tolstoy's lauded novel, often reflexively seen as the pinnacle of literature in the same way Citizen Kane is for cinema. You see, for all its remarkable qualities, the only thing that mattered was whether I loved the book. In the final analysis, there could be no other consideration.

And when I say I didn't love the book, I should be clear that I don't mean I disliked it. show more There is a great deal to admire about Anna Karenina, and I have almost nothing bad to say about it. In the introduction to the Penguin Classics edition, with a translation by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky (the P&V translation – one I highly recommend), Tolstoy is quoted in a letter as having said he was "proud of my architecture. But my vaults have been assembled in such a way that the keystone cannot be seen" (pg. xix). And, certainly, it is a magnificent assembly. Trains and train stations are a key theme in the book: the famous scene towards the end, of course, but also the comings and goings of characters throughout, "these announcements invite one to go, and everywhere and always" (pg. 764), with the stationmaster "courteously conducting [people] through the crowd" (pg. 105).

The oft-criticised dual narrative of the book (the story of Anna's love affair with Vronsky is told alongside the story of author avatar Konstantin Levin) in fact works well for Tolstoy's architecture. Just as two train tracks are held in place by slats without ever touching directly, so too are Anna and Levin on complementary journeys, even if they only meet the once in more than 800 pages. Tolstoy is laying his foundation work on this from the very first page, where two characters "felt that there was no sense in their living together and that people who meet accidentally at any inn have more connection with each other than they" (pg. 1). The keystone cannot be seen, as Tolstoy stated in his letter – for the keystone is that everything and everyone is interconnected, moving in and out of one another's lives. It is what Levin learns at the end. The world is that subtle kind of architecture that seems to support itself.

And yet, in spite of my admiration for its construction, I was always of the mind that War and Peace, Tolstoy's other great novel, presented the same summa of life much more convincingly – and, to my tastes at least, more entertainingly. War and Peace balanced its themes and characters better (despite its epilogue), whereas Anna Karenina is much more heavily weighted towards the characterisation. The philosophical elements of Anna Karenina are not as stimulating as those of War and Peace, and as essential as it is for Tolstoy's architecture, the Levin narrative is often far too dry.

I tend to have an aversion to 'society' novels, the sort where a bunch of upper- or upper-middle-class types fret about their standing as they manoeuvre through a social calendar of dinner parties and personal engagements, but it works in Anna Karenina precisely because we are seeing the penalties of not adhering to it. The society is the architecture, and Anna is trying to follow her heart instead of the social norms. The subtle, shifting ways in which society (often coldly) grinds its gears in order to wear her down into something that can no longer threaten it, is interesting to observe. We sympathise with Anna: I suspect there is a lot of feminist critique out there about how Anna pays the social penalty, but her male lover Vronsky doesn't – though for Tolstoy, this would not have been political, simply a sign of his humanity. Anna makes her own decisions regarding love and family, but has an almost fatalistic "awareness of her humiliation", recognising Vronsky "has the [legal] right to go off wherever and whenever he wants. Not only to go off but to abandon me. He has all the rights and I have none" (pg. 666). We the reader have immense sympathy for her situation (a divorced woman has few rights in the Russia Tolstoy is writing about), and yet we also experience exasperation at many of her thoughts and decisions. Similarly, we often disapprove of Vronsky (and Anna's implacable estranged husband Alexei Karenin), and at other times recognise some of their logic, or sensible emotion. Part of Tolstoy's literary achievement here is that none of the characters are fully right or moral all the time, or even most of the time. They are very real, very human.

This strong emphasis on characterisation in Anna Karenina allows for some very moving scenes. The train scene towards the end of the book is well-written and rightly famous (it is a great credit to Tolstoy's overarching architecture that [spoiler] when a man is run over by a train early on, Anna is told (in Vronsky's presence) that it would have been terrible if she'd seen the mangled corpse (pg. 64). For at the end, Vronsky is tormented by the memory of seeing her mangled corpse, "terrible in the fixed, unclosed eyes", after she commits suicide by throwing herself under a train (pg. 780). [end spoiler] But it is not the only scene that moves the reader: Anna's clandestine meeting with her son on page 537 carries power, as does Levin's single (and singular) meeting with Anna ("a special glow lit up [her] face" (pg. 697)). Elsewhere, Count Vronsky's wounded pride as he returns from Italy and tries to reintroduce Anna into 'respectable' society is palpable. Even Levin's much-criticised narrative gets its own moment, in the tenderly-drawn scene in which his child is born – and sneezes (pp718-19).

Even so, I return to Anna's remarks I quoted at the start of this review. The only thing that matters is whether we love the book, and for all its qualities I do not want to use as strong a word as 'love'. Love is something emotional and idiosyncratic, and so while my reviews for books I love all sound the same, I must write a long review about a book I do not love, like this one, to try to get into the unique particulars of why I don't love it. Like Levin after his sole meeting with Anna, I find Anna Karenina a representation of an "extraordinary woman… Not just her intelligence, but her heart", and yet I am content with confining myself to the reviewer's equivalent of being "terribly sorry for her" (pg. 701). Like Levin, I am happy to acknowledge her and admire her, but not to proactively raise her up. Even when I laud certain moving scenes, as I mentioned above, I find myself thinking that it's entirely proper they should be moving, when you consider how many hundreds of pages of characterisation Tolstoy has prepared before them. Ultimately, this novel is thoroughly enjoyable – you cannot help being charmed by Anna at times – but, for the most part, I found myself thinking that Anna Karenina evokes what I enjoy about architecture (and portraiture), not what I enjoy about literature. show less