Pearls My Mother Wore

I was working on today’s blog last night when I took a break and turned on the television, then saw that Japan was experiencing an epic catastrophe.  I will never forget those images of debris packed tsunami waters, its unrelenting push over the land, destroying everything and presumably everybody in its path.  The pure, inescapable defenselessness is terrifying.  I’ve never given the word “tsunami” its due, using it far too lightly.  Now I know.  My heart aches for the people of Japan.

And so, as is always the case in the wake of disaster, I wonder what to do next.  I’m going to try my best to write the blog I had intended to write last night.

I‘ve been diligently working my way through Anna Karenina since mid January.  This week I was mildly complaining to my friend, Ruth, about how hard the reading has been.  Then I showed her my book, and she gasped at its layout – the tiniest font and the tightest lines of type.  She strongly urged me to buy another edition.

Oh?  It hadn’t occurred to me that it might help.  Curious about my options, I went to my favorite local bookstore here in Sonoma, Readers’ Books, and low and behold, they had something that appeared quite different.  It was a new/used copy for only $8.   Turns out, I lucked into a used copy of the latest and greatest translation.  It’s won awards and was wholly endorsed by none other than Oprah!   A husband and wife team, Richard Pevear and Larisssa Volokhonsky, wrote this translation.  At a glance, I can already tell that the syntax isn’t nearly as complex as the edition I’ve been working through.  For just one example, in my 1965 edition, the first sentence of Part Five reads: “Princess Shcherbatskyaya considered that it was out of the question for the wedding to take place before Lent, just five weeks off, since not half the trousseau could possibly be ready by then.” My new 2000 edition reads:  “Princess Shcherbatsky thought that to have the wedding before Lent, which was only five weeks away, was impossible, because half of the trousseau would not be ready by then;” And that’s just one sentence.  I suspect my reading pace is going to pick up significantly.  Phew!

Visually, I don’t think the pictures below adequately demonstrate just how different these two editions are, but it’s massive.  The 1965 edition has 43 lines of type on a 4.5 x 7.25 inches page, while the 2000 edition has 39 lines of type on a 5.5 x 8.5 inches page.

Now for a brief plot summery of Part Five.  The first six chapters of Part Five are spent getting Levin and Kitty married.  There’s a touch of farce in it because Levin’s wedding suit is missing its shirt; it’s been packed in the massive pile of luggage that’s about to leave for the country home.  Consequently, he’s quite late for the wedding, and Kitty spends almost an hour wondering if he’s changed his mind.

The action then moves to Vronsky and Anna and the establishment of their new temporary residence in Italy.  Vronsky takes up painting and dons a soft, wide-brimmed hat and a flowing cloak that he flings over one shoulder.  Although Vronsky shows great promise and skill as an artist, he’s shown up by one who’s more accomplished and abandons his efforts.  Before not too long, the two return to Petersburg, especially since Anna wishes to see her son.

In her new county home, young Kitty tries to establish herself as the woman of the house.  She gets a little push back from the servants, but ultimately, she wins them over with her sweet nature.

When Levin receives word that his brother Nicolai’s death is imminent, he argues with Kitty about her joining him to Moscow.  Kitty wins the argument by asserting that it’s her place to be at her husband’s side during a time of sorrow, and she will be of help, not hindrance.  She helps both brothers by her natural womanly ways, immediately seeing what is needed for the patient.  She shows no fear in addressing the emaciated individual with love and kindness.  She cleans the man and completely refreshes his room.  And she sends for better doctors and medicine.  And she sees to it that he receives extreme unction from a priest.

Although her efforts do not save his life, they do make his final hours as comfortable as they possibly can be.  Before breaking off from Levin, Kitty and the dead brother, in a mixture of solemnity and hopefulness, we learn that Kitty is now pregnant.

Back in Petersburg, a new character is introduced, Countess Lydia Ivanovna. The countess is a pious biddy who’s inserted herself into Alexsei Karenin’s life.  Weak and despairing over the shameful end of his marriage, Karenin welcomes her friendship and is inflicted with her brand of scriptural righteousness.  The big problem is that the woman is given charge of Anna’s son, and she tells him that his mother is dead.  Her treachery is far worse than Anna’s infidelity.  Fortunately, Seryozha learns otherwise from an old nurse and doesn’t suffer endless grief.

Anna has to sneak into her old home to steal a visit with her son on his birthday.  The imbalance of power in Anna’s marriage to Karenin is sadly imposed upon the little boy, and it’s tragic when she has to pull herself away when Karenin discovers her in their son’s room.

Anna had planned the visit to her son without uttering a word of it to Vronsky.  He can tell that she is upset, but he knows not why.  Following the birthday disaster, Anna decides to flaunt her disgrace and insists on going to the theatre that night.  Vronsky argues with her, but she will have none of it.  It was interesting to me that Karenin was preoccupied with what people would think of him, while, in this argument, Vronsky is not concerned about what society will think of him but what they will think of her.

It doesn’t go well.  Anna does get publicly humiliated.  Vronsky and Anna reunite in their shared shame and indignation and leave Petersburg the very next day.

O.K.  On to Part Six.

Natural disasters always remind me that everyday is precious and not to be taken for granted.  Enjoy your week, as I will mine.  I’ll post again next Friday.

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