Woo hoo! I now get to consider myself among those who have actually read, cover to cover, all 817 pages of Anna Karenina.
I guess I’m more 21st century than I ever thought. The pacing of that tome was, at times, a real struggle despite the fact that the story was told with incredible precision. I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I almost couldn’t slow down enough to comprehend the stunning nuances of scene, character, and action that filled every page. I fought mightily against powerful urges to skim over parts just so that I could get the thing finished, but why? What’s my hurry? Quick, quick, quick! Is that me? I don’t want to be a rapid sound bites kind of person, but maybe I am. Maybe I’m not that bad, but I’m certainly not wired like the 19th century audience that Anna Karenina was writen for.
Well, to summarize: Part Seven’s ending was so powerful; it caused me to have an almost sleepless night. But before I get to the ending, the beginning was a drag. I mean it dragged. It dragged because it was supposed to. Kitty and Levin had temporarily relocated to Moscow so that Kitty would have all the help she needed when it came time to deliver her baby. They were in that interminable phase of pregnancy when waiting is all that can be done. Kitty, or somebody, miscalculated the due date by a couple of months, so Levin was going out of his mind trying to find things to do with himself in the city while Kitty and her family stayed busy preparing for the birth. Levin, so use to full days on his farm, had to dig deep to find worthwhile activities. Like a fish out of water, he made the best of outings to “the club,” a sanctuary of bourgeois privilege.
The day before his son was born, Levin found himself at the club, overly intoxicated, chatting-up his self-perceived archrival, Vronsky. In a mood of drunken passivity, Levin is swayed to go with his rascally brother-in-law Stepan Oblonsky to visit Kitty’s nemesis, the infamous Anna. Anna poured on the charm and was captivating as ever. Levin all but fell in love with her.
When he returned home, Levin confessed to the meeting. He had the good sense not to go on about how enchanted he was by Anna. Kitty, practically immobilized by her pregnancy, was infuriated by such a betrayal. To visit such a shameful woman was a direct affront to her integrity. But then she goes into a twenty-two hour labor. The risk of death during birth is very real, and Levin is beside himself with anxiety. During this trial, Levin surprises himself by casting up a plea for mercy from a God he’s never believed in. The baby boy arrives in perfect health, and Kitty emerges radiant with motherhood.
The second half of part seven portrays the passionate yet volatile struggles between Anna and Vronsky. Anna is wretchedly trapped. She’s trapped in a marriage that she cannot get out of. She’s trapped by a society that either pities or despises her. She is trapped by an all-consuming jealousy over Vronsky’s blithe freedom to come and go as he pleases. She is trapped by her own pride. But above it all, I believe she is trapped by toxic perfectionism. She, to my way of thinking, has it all: beauty, wealth, brains, and Vronsky’s repeated declarations of love. But she’s not satisfied. Walking that fine line, Tolstoy obscures the matter because Anna does have plenty to be dissatisfied with, but for the perfectionist, there is never satisfaction. There will never be enough adulation to satisfy the perfectionist, and such is the pathetic case for Anna.
Eager to get to the end of part seven, I stayed up late to finish the chapter. It was a mistake because, in the end, Anna, imagining Vronsky’s agonizing grief, throws herself in front of an oncoming train. I felt sick. It was so sad. It was so wrong. It was so unnecessary, but she couldn’t see it. She couldn’t see beyond her own perfectionistic construct of how her life was supposed to be. It was so tragic.
How was the master going to conclude this ultimate tale of woe? Dissatisfied as I was, Tolstoy concluded with life going on. I wanted to spend more time with Anna, post mortem, but that didn’t happen. Instead, the story goes down a tangent about Levin’s brother and the book he published with unmet high hopes. Vronsky, a shattered man, goes off to war. And, at the very end, Levin, having entertained suicidal thoughts of his own, has a spiritual conversion.
Really? Is that it? I guess so.
I’m sure I’ll be thinking about this one for a long time. I’m glad to have read it. It was work, but should the subject ever come up, I’ll probably have something to say, and that’s a good thing.
Yesterday I went on a three-hour hike to clear my head of Anna, Vronsky, Karenin, Levin, Kitty, Dolly and Stepan, and it worked to a certain extent. I’m loving it that spring is finally here with birds, blue sky, flowers and numerous flowing creeks and streams.
Have a great week, and I’ll post again next Friday.
Thanks again for the wonderful review.
Rita