Anna Karenina

ISBN: 0143035002
ISBN 13: 9780143035008
By: Leo Tolstoy Richard Pevear Larissa Volokhonsky

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Genres

Classic Classics Fiction Historical Fiction Literature Romance Russia Russian Russian Literature To Read

About this book

The must-have Pevear and Volokhonsky translation of one of the greatest Russian novels ever written, soon to be a film adapted by Tom Stoppard and starring Kiera Knightley, Jude Law, Aaron Johnson, and Emily Watson Described by William Faulkner as the best novel ever written and by Fyodor Dostoevsky as “flawless,” Anna Karenina tells of the doomed love affair between the sensuous and rebellious Anna and the dashing officer, Count Vronsky. Tragedy unfolds as Anna rejects her passionless marriage and must endure the hypocrisies of society. Set against a vast and richly textured canvas of nineteenth-century Russia, the novel's seven major characters create a dynamic imbalance, playing out the contrasts of city and country life and all the variations on love and family happiness.             While previous versions have softened the robust, and sometimes shocking, quality of Tolstoy's writing, Pevear and Volokhonsky  have produced a translation true to his powerful voice. This authoritative edition, which received the PEN Translation Prize and was an Oprah Book Club™ selection, also includes an illuminating introduction and explanatory notes. Beautiful, vigorous, and eminently readable, this Anna Karenina will be the definitive text for fans of the film and generations to come.

Reader's Thoughts

Paul

For the Celebrity Death Match Review Tournament round 2.****The ball was only just beginning as Anna walked up the great staircase, flooded with light, and lined with flowers and footmen in powder and red coats. From the rooms came a constant, steady hum, as from a hive, and the rustle of movement; and while on the landing between trees the ladies gave last touches to their hair and dresses before the mirror, they heard from the ballroom the careful, distinct notes of the fiddles of the orchestra beginning the first waltz. A beardless youth, in an exceedingly open waistcoat, straightening his white tie as he went, bowed to them, and after running by, came back to ask Anna for a quadrille, which she promised him. Although her dress, her coiffure, and all the preparations for the ball had cost Anna great trouble and consideration, at this moment she walked into the ballroom in her elaborate tulle dress over a pink slip as easily and simply as though all the rosettes and lace, all the minute details of her attire, had not cost her or her family a moment's attention, as though she had been born in that tulle and lace, with her hair done up high on her head, and a rose and two leaves on the top of it. It was one of Anna's best days. Her dress was not uncomfortable anywhere; her rosettes were not crushed nor torn off; her pink slippers with high, hollowed-out heels did not pinch, but gladdened her feet; and the thick rolls of fair chignon kept up on her head as if they were her own hair. Her bare shoulders and arms gave Anna a sense of chill marble, a feeling she particularly liked. Her eyes sparkled, and her rosy lips could not keep from smiling from the consciousness of her own attractiveness. She had scarcely entered the ballroom and reached the throng of ladies, all smiles and ribbons, when a mighty blow assailed her, blood burst from her earlobe and she collapsed straightway to the floor, amidst a swirl of consternation. All eyes turned to the assailant who was a prim looking young woman arrived lately from England. Her gown was plain but striking, with a design incorporating flashes of orange taffeta, which some of the ladies present had not seen before, and were keen to copy. A gentleman standing by removed the candlestick from the lady's gloved hand, or, in fact, she indifferently gave it to him. "How vicious, how vicious," cried many of the ladies thronging about Anna's prone form, attempting to stop the copious blood flow with tulle and valencienne. The beardless youth, in fine fury, leaped before the Englishwoman and demanded of her – "What treachery is this? In heaven's name, whence come you and whance this cruelty?" The lady cast her eyes about the enraged, brilliantly spangled assembly. "I believe you will find that whance is no word in any dictionary, neither in England nor Russia. I say this with a modicum of authority, grammar is one of the lessons I have had to teach. Sir, I have travelled many miles for this, and now it is done. She will rise no more –" poking Anna's outstretched leg which was slightly twitching – "but should she do so she will receive another buffet." "But what dispute had you with this lady?" said the young man, attempting, it appeared, to make some sort of inquiry as to the purpose of the assault. "And are you not aware there are rules society has laid down to resolve such, and that you may not ambush your adversary in such a manner, and what had this lady done to you at all, since you come from England?" Although she was of smallish stature the English woman drew up her head and stared him straight in the eye. "My name is Jane Eyre. You do not understand this matter at all. And I am no longer inclined to abide by men's rules."

Manny

For the Celebrity Death Match Review Tournament, Jane Eyre (5) versus Anna Karenina (12)[sequel to this review]I have already recounted the events of the ball. When I returned to England, there was a missive waiting for me. Somehow I knew, even before I opened it, that the contents were nothing I wished to read; that, if I had the smallest good sense, I would throw it on the fire and be done with it. But my hands, moving, it seemed to me, of their own accord, carefully slit open the envelope, which contained a letter and a thick manuscript. I watched my fingers unfold the letter. Here, without further ado, is what it said.The rest of this review is in my book If Research Were Romance and Other Implausible Conjectures

Brandi

One of the best novels I've ever read. There was only one part that dragged a bit for me--the account of the provincial election in part 6. I rather loved the detailed descriptions--especially Tolstoy's habit of describing the little idiosyncrasies for each character. I love that each character was allowed to grow and change from the beginning to the end of the book, the book more than any other I've read flows like real life--the characters react and grow make decisions and change with what is happening and not vice-versa. Because of it's length, you get to see what sometimes other books don't show--that the Earth doesn't cease to keep spinning because of someone's actions. And Tolstoy allows us to see what happens when "life goes on" after choices are made.The prose was beautiful, especially Levin's insight and reflections (not that I think I comprehended all of his philosophical musings). In fact, I think I loved Levin's story even more than Anna's--though to compare their stories is compelling. As I was reading about 3-400 pages in, I started wishing I had begun with a pencil in hand to underline particularly beautiful or insightful passages. I told myself I would next time--and for me if I already have plans to read it again before I'm through the first time that means it's a pretty fabulous book.

Teresa

*update*ohmygoodness that took forever. that was a commitment. i think that was the longest book i've ever read. whew.so well obviously it was a lot to ingest so i'm sure my feelings will be developing and changing in the days to come. right now i feel satisfied and content with the book, but not amorous or breathless. i really enjoyed section eight because it gave you a happy ending, but one that felt very rational and possible. i am very much for endings that try their hardest to reflect real life. to me that is satisfaction, honesty and comedy. poor tolstoy/levin; he's so serious and agonized. i really felt his spirit lift when he went into nature odes. like the setting of Levin's final emotional release was so pared down and rich.now what was really cool was the counterpoint between Levin and Anna. on one level they work together as foils. but on a second level they are kindred spirits both managing discontent. this synchronizes with something i learned in training today. we're supposed to emphasize to the kids both their similarities to one another and also their uniqueness. i overall got this feeling from tolstoy that he is a very empathetic person who wants to display human nature without bias but in all its complexity as a kind of appreciator. i much liked how Levin was perceived by others. sometimes he was seen as a good man, a brooding man, a difficult man, a saintly man. the whole book you felt he was trying on different modes of existence, like he was forming. or maybe he was the same all along but people judged him based on their own tastes. he never seemed natural in any setting except when alone in nature or with kitty. i like how levin felt simultaneously like an emotional construction zone and the sanest person in the book. he was so plagued by acute frustration and confusion. he was really pitiful. it's weird to feel pity and admiration simultaneously. i think what i've written so far explains the book pretty well. overall the book gives you a weird feeling towards making judgements. i used to think it was something easy "sex in the city - i love it; fast food - evil; etc." but tolstoy really challenges the way we habitually understand things that is in a one-dimensional way. tolstoy shows you everyone from so many different angles that a character's presence becomes more and more something that just exists. there are no archetypes blowing messages out of megaphones; i think tolstoy would consider archetypes lowbrow. as i read i was playing the judgement-making game, but over time i had to stop doing it. it wasn't necessary in the world of this book. this was a new feeling for me. right now i feel a little mixed up and pushed around. but also i think i just ingested too many words :Pp.s. i felt like tolstoy was conflicted in his feelings towards anna and levin. i think this is why i don't know how to feel. see how i don't feel right if i can't easily peg a character down?well i am not sure whether to give three or four stars. three stars because i don't feel post-read euphoria like i like. four stars because tolstoy really put it all out there. four stars for respect.

Terry

In the beginning, reading Anna Karenin can feel a little like visiting Paris for the first time. You’ve heard a lot about the place before you go. Much of what you see from the bus you recognize from pictures and movies and books. You can’t help but think of the great writers and artists who have been here before you. You expect to like it. You want to like it. But you don’t want to feel like you have to like it. You worry a little that you won’t. But after a few days, you settle in, and you feel the immensity of the place opening up all around you. You keep having this experience of turning a corner and finding something beautiful that you hadn’t been told to expect or catching sight of something familiar from a surprising angle. You start to trust the abundance of the place, and your anxieties that someone else will have eaten everything up before your arrival relax. (Maybe that simile reveals more about me than I’d like.)My favorite discovery was the three or four chapters (out of the book’s 239) devoted to, of all things, scythe mowing—chapters that become a celebratory meditation on physical labor. When I read those chapters, I felt temporarily cured of the need to have something “happen” and became as absorbed in the reading as the mowers are absorbed in their work. Of course, the book is about Anna and Vronsky and Levin and Kitty and Dolly and poor, stupid Stepan Arkadyich. It’s about their love and courtship and friendship and pride and shame and jealousy and betrayal and forgiveness and about the instable variety of happiness and unhappiness. But it’s also about mowing the grass and arguing politics and hunting and working as a bureaucrat and raising children and dealing politely with tedious company. To put it more accurately, it’s about the way that the human mind—or, as Tolstoy sometimes says, the human soul—engages each of these experiences and tries to understand itself, the world around it, and the other souls that inhabit that world. This book is not afraid to take up any part of human life because it believes that human beings are infinitely interesting and infinitely worthy of compassion. And, what I found stirring, the book’s fearlessness extends to matters of religion. Tolstoy takes his characters seriously enough to acknowledge that they have spiritual lives that are as nuanced and mysterious as their intellectual lives and their romantic lives. I knew to expect this dimension of the book, but I could not have known how encouraging it would be to dwell in it for so long.In the end, this is a book about life, written by a man who is profoundly in love with life. Reading it makes me want to live.

Melanie

OK people...This is the BBE (best book ever)...I think I’ve read this three times; on my own and once the classroom setting. Though it’s famous for the first line, (“All happy families are alike…”) I actually have a tough time getting through the first 400 pages (JUST KIDDING!). Actually, this is the type of book that you love for 100 pages, hate for 100 pages, love for 100 pages, etc. I can see how this could deter readers, but I’ve found that the love/hate dynamic keeps me interested and makes this very re-readable.Although Tolstoy named the novel after the character of Anna Karenina, her story (which centers on infidelity with Count Vronsky, who is quite possibly the most toolish man in literature, is really only one half of the book. This could have just as easily been titled, “Levin” after the other main character, a gentry land owner searching, like many of us, for love and the meaning of life. The sections centering on Levin and his family are definitely amazing and occasionally sublime. The stories of Levin and Anna Karenina do intertwine, along with about 1,000 other characters, so I suggest you read this version as it has a 'cast of characters' section, that while making you feel silly when you have to turn to it, is uber-handy. My slavic lit prof also said this is the best translation as of 2003, and I’ve read it in other translations and have noticed quite a difference. Towards the end of the book there is a section when Levin walks through the fields of his home, looks at the stars, and has this moment of complete cosmic understanding. My description of this section is crap, but I’ve re-read this book just to get to this one paragraph alone.

Tyler

When the Russian elite first read this idyll to their vanity, they must have fallen headlong into the reflecting pool right after Narcissus. For now, you see, not only are they rich and powerful, but according to Tolstoy they’re also supremely virtuous. The theme of this book does the trick.Say a painter decides to do a Madonna and Child. Looking around, he frowns as he sees that this subject has already been painted thousands of times in every possible way over the ages. To stand out, he decides to paint the biggest, baddest Madonna and Child ever. Such is Tolstoy’s approach to the book’s theme, an admiring homage to God, family and class.Though the author paints on a sprawling canvas, this theme handcuffs the plot, which gets so predictable that it can be seen hundreds of pages in advance more or less what will happen. This same sprawl handcuffs character development because the characters have to be all bad or all good in order to make the author’s point. So the book needs exemplary writing in order to work.Here, however, Tolstoy never really trusts us to extract the message from his story. He tends to spell it out for us in case we didn’t get it the first time. After a few promising paragraphs, or pages, the prose gets eclipsed by remarks better suited to religious tracts, the kinds with cartoon crosses and all caps, and a penchant for showing up anonymously in public places. As a result, too much of the author can be seen and not enough of his story.Further damaging the narrative is the laughable misogyny by which the Stepford-wife females make fools of themselves. At one point, for example, three upper class women victoriously demonstrate to a dazzled peasant cook that their recipe makes the tastiest jam. All through the book, the corset-yanking writer pulls out every cliché, right down to the hooker with a heart of gold who, mortified by her own scarlet shame, literally (with a shawl) effaces herself before a ruling-class woman of virtue and promptly exits the stage after a disgraceful cameo. We’d have a veritable encyclopedia of sexism except that these caricatures must in turn compete with more subtle excoriations of liberals. The eponymous Anna, her eyes glittering, showcases the step-by-step descent into nihilism that liberalism causes, abetted by freethinkers and possibly even by atheists. Though more subtle, this condemnation is still much too obvious to the reader.Choking on dogma, the story scrapes bottom awhile. But luckily, about page 700, the author drags the manuscript off the mortuary table and applies shock. Over the next 240 pages, he tones down the agitprop, and Levin’s generally well written epiphany in the last 60 pages shoves this Frankenstein past the finish line. The author tries to mine the same vein as Dostoevsky, another religious conservative. But where Dostoevsky succeeds brilliantly, Tolstoy fizzles. The urge to moralize so impedes the narrative flow that it ruins the effect. What’s left is an archipelago of excellent prose floating on a pond of unctuous treacle.I wanted to give this novel at least some credit for these stretches of good writing. But sadly, the distractions in the writing conspired with a predictable plot and monochromatic characters to turn this book into a train wreck.

Rob

Well, I finished it. Not sure what to say.This is one of those books whose image in my mind is so distorted by its reputation for Greatness that it's impossible for me to evaluate it on its own terms. I think I liked it, but a voice nags at me: would any of that positivity remain if it had been unceremoniously plopped onto my desk with no context, without endorsements like this one? I finished the book and nodded: "yes, that was good. Four stars on Goodreads, let's say." But what I was nodding assent to was the mass of praise the reputable have heaped upon this Greatest of Great Novels, and this Greatest of Great Authors. Whatever admiration or affection I hold for the book, I'm not sure it would be enough for me to stand on its side of the fence if everyone else in the world weren't already standing there.One of the reasons I like long novels is that I get increasing returns from spending time in a fictional world. The longer I spend with a set of characters and with an author's style, the more sense of reality (or bewitching unreality) they take on. I see every new page in a slightly new context, and by the end of a good, long book the wealth of context is enough to make every writerly gesture, no matter how small, seem interesting by virtue of its interaction with its background. My experience with Anna Karenina certainly benefitted from this effect. Initially I wasn't impressed at all. Halfway through the book, the characters finally begin to feel alive; by the end even Tolstoy's descriptions of the most minute experiences began to seem profound, sitting as they were on top of so much understated and carefully chosen detail. It would be easy to chalk this feeling up to Tolstoy's "mastery of the realistic novel" or something. But it's hard for me to tell whether this book really did anything special or whether it simply profited from its length the way any competently produced 800-page novel would. (That is, it's hard for me to tell whether I like Tolstoy or whether I just like long novels.)I comfortably tell myself that Tolstoy was surpassingly skilled at characterization and that the eventual intensity of my engagement with his characters reflects this . . . then I remember that while reading Anna K., my mind would often drift to the characters of Community, a sitcom I was watching my way through at the time. Well, Community is certainly not a Great Work, and its characterization certainly displays no great subtlety. But if my own engagement with Tolstoy's characters means nothing about their Greatness (since I can readily engage with all sorts of non-Great things), what should I point to as evidence for that Greatness, if it exists? Tolstoy's characters have a certain reality to them, it's true. But I am neither sure that this sense of reality is valuable nor that it is not, in the end, an illusion. (Maybe Realism is not for me.)Now -- about translation. Something about translations has always startled me: they all sound awful. I don't know if other people actually don't feel this way or whether they just consider it too obvious to mention, but in any case it confuses me how little this is brought up. With a few exceptions (Rabassa's One Hundred Years of Solitude, Nabokov's translations of his own stuff), the translations I've read have read terribly: stilted, awkward, graceless, witless, limited in vocabulary . . . The obvious response here is that translations shouldn't be read as though they were English-language originals; the awkwardness is simply the result of the fact that the conventions of foreign literature don't map directly on the conventions of English literature (or of the English language itself) -- and if you aren't interested in foreign conventions, what are you doing reading foreign literature? A fair point, but without intimate knowledge of the conventional context -- knowledge that a foreign reader is unlikely to have, or to ever obtain -- one misses something enormous when one reads these alien forms, namely, how their sound/feel/functioning compares to that of their peers.Having read this big, imposing matte black object on my desk which has the word "Tolstoy" on it but which is not in Tolstoy's language, I can try if I want to speak about "Tolstoy's style" . . . but I know that all the information I have about Tolstoy's style comes not from reading Tolstoy, but from reading this very odd, very clumsily written English novel on my desk, whose selling point is its ostensible resemblance to Tolstoy's Great Novel Anna Karenina. I have no sense of how Tolstoy really sounds to a Russian reader, what sorts of special things he does with their language that they can't get anywhere else (he must do such things, since after all, he is a Great Writer), any more than a reader of Shakespeare in translation can grasp the special feeling a modern English speaker gets when they read this author whose work changed their language forever.The object on my desk is the celebrated, omni-approved Pevear and Volokhonsky translation, which I have to imagine is at least less bad than the alternatives. But I start to wonder when I look at the blurbs:At last, a version of Tolstoy's great novel that is neither musty, nor overly modernized, nor primly recast as a Victorian landscape. . . . a pellucid Anna Karenina that speaks (as Tolstoy himeslf wished to speak) from within its own time, but for all times.The ideal seems to be the sort of timelessness that results from lack of identification with any particular strain or era of English literature: it is neither "musty" nor "overly modernized" nor "primly recast as a Victorian landscape," and so forth, and after all these possibilities are rejected we are left with something "timeless" but also faceless and contextless, something that gives us no clues about how it is supposed to sound. (At least a "prim Victorian landscape" feels prim, which is something definite; P&V's Tolstoy is not prim because it is not quite anything.) Perhaps this is the right way to capture a foreign literature that does not map exactly onto English literature, but the costs are great. Once every coloration made possible by English literature has been removed, the result is not something recognizably foreign but simply something colorless; where it should be dressed in exotic clothing, the writing is simply naked. (I have been wondering, though, whether this "nakedness" isn't just the way 19th century literature as a whole seems to someone like me who's not used to it. But I doubt it. Having finished Anna K., I've just started Middlemarch, and the difference in variety, expressiveness, and particularity of language is remarkable.)This review has been almost entirely negative, which is not an accurate reflection of my experience with the book. I enjoyed it -- we had some good times together -- but I feel mostly unable to talk about my enjoyment, because I'm not sure how much of it can be separated from the book's reputation. Everything I could say would fall, with eerie exactitude, within the bounds established by all of the "Tolstoy is a Great Novelist" paeans that already exist, and I can't say with any confidence that I would be writing such a paean if I had never read one.

Christopher

In lieu of a proper review of my favorite book, and in addition to the remark that it would be more aptly named Konstantin Levin, I present to you the characters of Anna Karenina in a series of portraits painted by dead white men.Anna Karenina (Lady Agnew of Lochnaw by John Singer Sargent)Alexei Karenin (Portrait of Edouard Manet by Henri Fantin-Latour)Alexei Vronsky (Study of a Young Man by John Singer Sargent)Konstantin Levin (Robert Louis Stevenson and His Wife by John Singer SargentKitty Scherbatsky (Portrait of Julie Manet by Pierre-Auguste Renoir)Stepan Arkadyick Oblonsky (Monsieur Charpentier by Pierre-Auguste Renoir)Dolly Oblonsky (The Marchioness of Downshire by John William Waterhouse)An old muzhik (Tolstoy Plowing by Ilya Yefimovich Repin; yes, that is really a painting of Tolstoy himself, and he looks like what I imagine an old muzhik to look like.)

Mark

Levin, Levin, Levin, you are a conceited monkey. Why you worry so much?? Is it because you think your problems are bigger than everyone else's? Is it because you don't have enough to fill your days? I would think planting and harvesting would be enough to make a guy dog-tired at night. Dog-tired enough that his infernal mind would shutty uppy for even half a page. Or is it because you think your problems are greater than others'? That you as landowner are the sole decider of everyone else's fate? Cause dude, your head is way way too big. You need to hold the air valve sideways (it's there, just behind your ear) and deflate that enormous ego you have. Just for giggles, lemme introduce you to Madam Karenina. Madam K's got some real problems. Yes, you might say, they are indeed first-world problems. She's not starving to death, dying in the street. But compared to you, buck, she's got problems. You might say, in your troublesome way, that Ms. Karenina brought her problems on herself. But would you concede that Ms. Karenina was trapped in a loveless marriage and who the hell wants to spend their life living in some kind of doldrums where nothing happens save slow, arduous stagnation? Oh yes, that's right, you're so full of yourself that you can't feel empathy for other people. That's right. Even though you made it abundantly clear over many an inner monologue, I forgot for a second. Maybe that's because you ramble so much I tended to tune you out. What's that? No, I don't think you cared about the peasants. In your arrogant way, I think you did believe that you cared about the peasants, but that's not the same thing. Would you agree? Of course you wouldn't. Well who asked you? Listen, Madam K. had some shit going on and it was far bigger than your shit. No, I don't care that yours was about the very fate of your everlasting soul. You're an ass so I don't care. Sue me. You didn't care about people so I don't care about your problems. Yeah, well as we say in the south, you can go butt a stump. No, wait, come back. I still have to tell you why Madam K's problems are so much bigger than yours. You like discussing philosophical issues right? Don't lie, I know you do. I listened to you try to argue them for half a book. Now sit down. I'll call your brother. You know Sergei could outwit you, hell, even Nicholai could outwit you on almost every (heck, every) occasion! What's Madam K's problem? Don't act like you don't know. You spent half the book avoiding her because you were so hung up about whether or not your wife actually loved you. You know what her problem is. Yes I know you were based on Tolstoy himself. I wasn't sure of that until my buddy Mary told me, but I had an inkling from all the farming you did. No, I don't think you expressed yourself as well as Tolstoy. Tolstoy, while making a boneheaded decision to give you spotlight status, is still a brilliant writer whose syntax, scenes, characters (yes, even you) all came to life before my very eyes. The man knew classes, both the poor and the aristocratic. You would do well to emulate him. Yes, I realize that's what you were trying to do. But what era? Were you Tolstoy in his 20s, 30s, maybe his 50s? Yes, I know you're 34 but I'm saying mentally, where are you? Well, to me you're a child. You fuss and whine and worry and kick a stone along the road and convince yourself that you're right about everything and everyone knows you're not. We all know it. Yes, even Kitty knows it. Kitty's a helluva lot smarter than you, btw. I just wanted you to know that. Look, can I take a break? You're wearing me out. I'm going to get some lunch. We'll continue this in a bit ---Good lunch? Really? What'd you do then? Will you ever stop thinking? You'll drive yourself nuts. You really will. Have you read Salinger? Oh yeah, after your time. Right. Look, I ran into a buddy while I was out. Levin, this is my buddy, Mr. T Yes, like the letter T. "I pity da foo dat don't read dis cause it too long, foo." Mr. T enjoyed the book, Levin. He has a bit of a bone to pick with you. But he loved the writing. "I pity da foo dat don't like dis book, foo." See, what'd I tell ya? He loves it. Sit down, Mr. T. I was talking to Levin before - about what a self-righteous twit he is - and was going to ask him what he thought of Madam K's...predicament. "I pity da foo dat don't pity Madam K, foo." That's right. See, Levin, Mr. T and I have the same bone to pick so he thought he would come along, hang out, throw in his two cents if the mood struck. "I pity da foo dat don't got two cents, foo." But while I was out, I did find something that was sorta of positive about you, Levin. You won't know it since it's after your time, but all the existential writers who dabbled in fiction, there was quite a bit of your influence in them I think. They turned the pen inward upon themselves and pondered life's great questions - much like you did. But the thing was, Levin, they did it so much better than you and they thoroughly convinced me why I should care about what they were thinking. Did you know Ivan Ilyich? Just in name? Oh, okay. You don't know much about him? Tolstoy wrote about his death several years after writing about you, so I thought you may've heard of him. You and Ivan, I think you would have gotten along splendidly. Ivan was a confused guy too. While I appreciated his pondering - to an extent - I don't feel his pondering was sound. It felt forced. And I gotta tell ya, his was easier to digest because he shut the fuck up sometimes, you know? "I pity da foo dat don't know when to shut the fudge up, foo." So. Anna, then? You what? Want a second? What, like in a duel? We're just talking. Yes, but Mr. T is only interjecting a little bit. He's - I know he has big muscles. That's not why I brought him. He's not going to hurt you. Alright, alright, who do you want? Vronsky!? That's the last person I figured you to pick. Maybe you're wilier than I thought. Ha, yeah, I know he can take a hit. But still, you guys will be a pair ---Well if it isn't Vronsky. Man, I've got some words for you too, bucko. "I pity da foo dat don't calm down, foo." Okay, okay. See, he's here as much to calm me down as to -- never mind. Look Vronsky, what you did. The way you were. Well, you and Levin are more alike than you know. I see why Kitty... Do you see how Anna was put upon!? Why didn't you see how hard it was for her!? "I said, I pity da foo dat don't calm down, foo." Okay, okay. But didn't you see what you were doing to her? Oh yeah, wine and roses in the beginning. But isn't it always? Did you not see how hard her position was, though? She had a son, Vronsky. Don't you think that began to creep up on her? What she gave up for you? I don't even want to think about the kind of therapy her children will need. Yes, Karenin was a dick, too. Big ole lopsided dick. Needed Houdini to travel back in time to debunk all that trance shit. That was hilarious to Tolstoy to throw in, though. I do give him high marks for that. Great scene. Great writing. But you!! Gallivanting off to your men's club every chance you got, 'A man needs to be social,' you said, something like that, and Anna couldn't even go to a concert without an uproar. A simple concert! Yes, I know, society's as much to blame. But are you not a member of society? And you're a Count. Your words, as a 'man' would mean something. You could have said, "We're trying to procure a divorce but Karenin The Dick won't let us have one because he's got his own pettiness to deal with under the guise of a religious fervor." But nooo, you were too busy looking after Vronsky, what Vronsky needs. And and Levin - yes, we're back to you, again - are so much alike. Me, me, me. Mr. T, I'm sorry but I really wanna hurt the both of them. Like really really bad. Both of these assholes had good women and neither of them treated them fairly - shut the fuck up, Levin, you were an asshole to the end. "Foo?" We have to beat some sense into them, Mr. T. It's the only way they'll understand anything. They were too good to sully themselves for the ones they professed to love. It's the only way. On three. Ready? One. Two. Three. Urmph. Good one, Mr. T! Ugh. Zow. "I pity da foo dat don't know when to quit, foo!" Ping. Snap. "Pardon me boys, is that the Chattanooga Choo-choo?" Boing.Sprung. "Damn, man, like getting run over by a freight train...ughrmm. "Ha ha ha ha ha ha." Woosh.Yeeeeeee. Wait, wait, hang on. Wait. Stop. Let's just stop a minute. Don't get me wrong, it feels fan-friggin-tastic to wail on you guys. But I'm gotta stop a minute and duff my cap to Mr. Tolstoy again for creating such realistic characters for me to grapple with, to love, to loathe, to live with for the last several months. Mr. T, watch out for Vronsky. He's liable to sucker punch while I do my monologue. Oh harsh you trap, Levin, you got center stage for at least 400 pages. Mr. Tolstoy, I think you are a terrific writer, and though I didn't always agree with your characters - especially the autobiographical one - you are one kickass writer. It was a pleasure just to read your sentences. It would be awesome to be able to speak to you in person, to pick your brain. "I pity da foo dat don't open his eyes, foo." What, Mr. T? "I pity da foo dat don't know what T stand for, foo." What are you saying, Mr. T?? "Look, do I have to spell it out, fool? T. Tolstoy. Duh." Say what? "Reincarnation, man. Ever heard of it?" Uh. Yeah. "So, you liked the book?" Uh. Yeah. "Why are you lookin at me that way, foo?" I'm sorry, it's just a lot to wrap my head around. All this time...? "Yeah, foo." Mr. T---olstoy? Count? "Whatta ya say, foo, you feel like an ice cream?" Uh. Yeah. Erm, you guys wanna come? Urmph. "I'll clean dem up later." Uh. Okay. "So you didn't like Levin, huh?" ...

Emily May

This is a book that I was actually dreading reading for quite some time. It was on a list of books that I'd been working my way through and, after seeing the size of it and the fact that 'War And Peace' was voted #1 book to avoid reading, I was reluctant to ever get started. But am I glad that I did.This is a surprisingly fast-moving, interesting and easy to read novel. The last of which I'd of never believed could be true before reading it, but you find yourself instantly engrossed in this kind of Russian soap opera, filled with weird and intriguing characters. The most notable theme is the way society overlooked mens' affairs but frowned on womens', this immediately created a bond between myself and Anna, who is an extremely likeable character. I thought it had an amazing balance of important meaning and light-heartedness. Let's just say, it's given me some courage to maybe one day try out the dreaded 'War And Peace'.

Mohamed Galal

-- بداية قراءاتي في الأدب الروسيّ بشكل عام ، ول"تولستوي " بشكل خاص .-- رواية خلّدت تولستوي اجتماعيًا وإنسانيًا ، وتخطّت شهرته بها حدود روسيا الشاسعة إلى أطراف العالم كلّه .-- حزنت على التعليم المصري أنّ رواية مثل هذه تدرّس للصف الأوّل الثانوي في لبنان منذ عام 1998 ، لماذا لا نُعامل بالمثل ؟! -- بداية أنصح كل من لم يقرأها أن يبتعد تمامًا عن نسخة " مكتبة الأسرة " ، مختصرة جدًا ، والترجمة سيّئة ، لاحظت أنّ أغلب الروايات الأجنبيّة المترجمة من قبل نفس الهيئة ترجمتها ليست جيّدة وتضيّع قيمة العمل الأدبيّ ، فلا يصحّ الحكم على الكاتب بمثل تلك النسخ .-- قرأتها بنسخة دار الجيل _ بيروت . -- ندخل لصميم الرواية : ويحَك يا تولستوي : ماذا فعلت بي أيّها الدبُّ الروسيّ ؟! -- كم كلتُ من اتّهاماتٍ وسبٍّ ولعنٍ وقذفٍ للأبطال طول أحداث الرواية !-- لا أتذكّر أنّي كنتُ سافلًا في ألفاظي وانفعالاتي تجاه تصرّفات الأبطال كما كنتُ في هذه الرواية ، عذرًا فلم أجد بدًا لغير ذلك .-- أعجبني جدًا ردُّ فعل " فاريا " زوجة أخ " فرونسكي " تجاه طلب الأخير استقبالها ل" أنّا " في منزلها ، تنفسّت الصُعَدَاء ، أخيرًا وجدتُ من عنده الشجاعة الأدبيّة ليواجه الآخر بحقيقته !-- تعليقي على الشخصيّات : -- " فرونسكي " : نبيل وسيم ، محب لذاته إلى أقصى حد ، معتدٌ بنفسه جدًا ، يهوى اختطاف الأشياء من الغير ، ولا يرى أيّ غضاضة في ذلك ، متعته في تملّك الأشياء . -- " أليكسيس كارينين " : زوج مغلوب على أمره ، ليس قادرًا على استثارة زوجته ، بمنتهى البساطة لأنّها زوجته ، لا توجد إثارة مثل تلك التي توجد في تجاوز الخطوط الحمراء ، ما زالا في البقعة الخضراء الروتينيّة الفاترة .-- أنّا : شخصيّة مرحة ، شيطان في ثوب ملاك ، لبقة جدًا في الحديث ، امرأة لا قلب لها ولا شرف ولا دين ، تفعل الخطأ ، وتقنع نفسها بأحقيّتها في ما فعلت ، ولا حقّ لأحد في لومها ، مراجعتها ، أو إشعارها بالذنب ، بارعة في اللفّ والدوران ، بارعة في النفاق ، لا تحاسب نفسها ، فمن يراها دائمًا يجدها رائقة البال ، محمرّة الوجنتين ، لامعة العينين ،بارعة في إظهار ما لا تبطن ، مثل كثير من النساء ترى أنّها حُرمت من لذّة وإثارة التجربة ، وزُوّجت في سن مبكّرة ، فتنازعها أهواؤها بعد الزواج بسنين قليلة إلى تعويض ما فات .-- لم تنتابني أيُّ مشاعرِ شفقة أو رأفة ب" أنّا " ، فقعر الجحيم خُلقَ لمثلها من النساء ! -- كارينين : محافظٌ جدًا على عمله ، على هدوئه ، ومهتمٌ جدًا بالمظاهر الاجتماعيّة ، وهي " أنّا " زوجةٌ مجنونة مرحة ، تهوى من كان مجنونًا ومرحًا مثلها ، ليشاركها تصوّراتها ومغامراتها ليرضيَ شهواتِها الفاجرة . -- " أنّا " مثل كثيرٍ من النساء ، لا تنظر إلّا إلى نفسها ، تقنع نفسها أنّها محور العالم ، وتنتظر من كل المحيطين أنّ يكونوا خدمًا تحت قدميْها . -- وفي هذا القدر الكفاية ، فالحديث يبدو بلا نهاية !

Carmen

Amazing book. I expected something very difficult, that I would have to slog through. Was I ever surprised! This book blew me out of the water!P.S. I have been thinking about this a lot. I read this book and loved it. But was I missing something because I didn't read it in Russian? Or, the better question is, how MUCH of it's awesomeness am I missing because I'm reading it in English?I'm actually very sad now that I can't (currently) read Russian.

Sean

“Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.” One of the most famous lines in the history of literature. A phrase that sets the tone for the events that unfolds in this massive tome from one of Russian’s most famous novelist, Leo Tolstoy. This author is mostly famous for his double fisted pair of epics which feature a panoramic view of 19th century Russian society. This book, Anna Karenina rests in one hand as a tragic love story whereas the other complex war epic, War and Peace. Both of these books have become household names in the world of classic fiction. Both have experienced a reputation of being both equally loved and feared by those readers who have braved the 1000 pages and the long term investment that each of these novels demand. Anna Karenina is the first of Tolstoy’s novels that I have read. Although the main plot is fairly simple, it is one of the most complex novels I have ever read in terms of characterization and morality. The book is a quintessential example of realism in literature so the true strength lies in the complexity of its characters and its themes. Anna Karenina discussed many themes such as love, marriage, jealousy, infidelity, economics, art, and politics. It really is all there. It leaves very few areas untouched. I believe many themes are still relevant in today’s society. It really presents an interesting study of the challenges of being human. The plot follows the personal life of two families. One is in the early stages of creation; the other is on the verge of destruction. Both are inter-twined and both are presented with the same problems. Like the characters in this novel, one of the most important goals in anyone’s life is to achieve happiness. The definition of happiness varies from person to person. However, in many people’s lives happiness is something ambiguous. Many people do now know what makes them happy. Many believe that money, love, power, or a healthy family are the ingredients that bring them a sense of happiness. However, when some of these goals are achieved, a person may still feel as if they have not fully achieved happiness even though they have everything that they have always wanted in life. The same feelings are experienced in this book. I have never read a novel that had more realistic characters and been more relevant to the challenges of modern life today than Anna Karenina.

Keith

** spoiler alert ** I don't understand why Anna Karenina is considered a heroine. Her greatest hardship is that she's in a not totally fulfilling marriage and has a child to raise. Boo-hoo. She flat abandons her son. The extent of her remorse is never fully developed. I scoffed at her suicide, didn't empathize at all.I don't like Tolstoy much. Too verbose, grandiose. He's a silver spoon guy, which would be fine if he didn't try to write about the common man. These attempts make me embarrassed for him.He wrote a lot about late-19th century Russian class issues. He does this well I think. But in this book it doesn't add anything. Seems like he's just eager to write about it; it's thrown into the story haphazardly, in a way that doesn't advance the story.The book is not a masterpiece.

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