Saturday, April 24, 2010

'Anna Karenina'

I kind of have this thing with reading, cuz books are the things that separate us from hairy creatures. And yes, this does fit in with the Nyc theme, since New Yorkers are the folks who know too much for their own good.

I finished 'Anna Karenina' the other night, so let's start this label with Tolstoy.

Since this isn't a book report, I'm not going to feed it to you. He's right. Every activity is repeated in one fashion or other. And, why do we do the things we do if the reality of the matter is that death starts at birth?

Yeah, there's some suicide talk, but it's the good kind. It's the acknowledgement that everyone thinks about it at some point, and those who go through with it are temporarily crazed, or just crazed.

This being said, 'Anna Karenina' has great things to offer. I usually back books with conscionable insight, such as, live your life while you have it. And live it righteously.

What Tolstoy, I mean, what Levin eventually learns is that it's hard to be conscience of the soul when faced with the daily conversations of life, coffees, and annoyances. Yet, these distractions do not extinguish the purpose, it merely leaves it in the trunk of one's car for awhile. And O, there is a purpose, but disclosing it would do away with the incentive for this read.

 Throughout the first section of pages, I thought, "I am her, I'm Anna." Then came the never getting what she wants and the whole, I'll never be happy bit. She never gets it, not once. "It" being the larger picture, she insists on looking at life through a key hole. Have you tried looking through a key hole? There isn't much to see.

 Vronsky's old mother gets it right when she says, "It's all just to prove something special." When I read that line, I didn't want to believe it. But it's true, except it isn't special.

There is no gnarly way to discuss this in one blog post. I recommend you read it for yourself. This will make you think.

(I didn't really want to go into the Country verses City argument since Tolstoy roots for the simplicities of country life, and I'm not sure if I agree with him on that one. But I am getting closer to the truth, my truth.)

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