After ReadingNo matter how hard I try to stay balanced and self-aware, I still get anxious sometimes. When those moods hit, my go-to remedy is diving into the heavyweight stuff—Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, those massive books. I just finished rereading Anna Karenina. The masters always leave you with so much to feel, yet somehow words fail you. So here I am again, just rambling through whatever thoughts come to mind. There’s too much to say anyway.
I read Anna Karenina once when I was little, skimmed it really. By the time Anna and Vronsky finally got together, I lost patience with the rest. I felt cheated—not even a kiss scene! But even then, I knew Tolstoy was something special, because that famous ball scene where Kitty and Anna compete for attention? I read it over and over. Think about it: a little girl’s entire understanding of fashion and beauty was planted by some old Russian guy, and it was never overturned. That’s how good this old Russian guy was.
Tolstoy describes two stunning women—one eighteen, one pushing thirty—and shows how the thirty-year-old beats the teenager at her own game. He starts by detailing the eighteen-year-old’s outfit: she’s gorgeous, and every detail of her dress is perfect, flawless, exactly right. He praises her to the heavens. So what’s he going to do when Anna shows up? Tolstoy pulls a completely unexpected move.
“Kitty had seen Anna every day, she adored her, and had always imagined her in lilac. But now, seeing her in black, she felt she had never before understood her full charm. She saw her now in a completely new and unexpected light, and realized that Anna could not have worn lilac, that her charm lay precisely in always standing out from what she wore, that her dress was never noticeable on her. And her black dress with rich lace was not noticeable; it was just a frame. What you noticed was her—simple, natural, elegant, and at the same time gay and full of life.”
In today’s language, we’d call this presence. Real style and beauty is about the person wearing the clothes, not the clothes wearing the person. Anna Karenina was written in 1877. I often hear people dismiss these classics as outdated. I just smile and don’t bother explaining. Some people don’t realize that those cutting-edge ideas they’re so proud of? The masters played with them long ago and moved on.
The first time I read Anna, I found Levin’s storyline kind of annoying because I didn’t care about all that rural stuff. This time around, I actually got teary-eyed reading a conversation between two landowners at a noble assembly. When I mentioned it to a friend, she asked, confused, “What made you cry?” I couldn’t really answer. Later I understood: it’s because the man writing this book—how could he have such a compassionate heart? How could he understand so many different people, pity them, love them? That’s something only a god could do.
He was powerful, yet gentle and generous. He never condemned anyone. In his work, no matter who they were, he treated them as human. How did he do it? He understood even the people we hate. Even Anna’s husband—critics say Tolstoy was criticizing him, but when I reread it, I could see his helplessness and compassion even there.
Stanislavsky said: “When Tolstoy was alive, we often said: ‘How fortunate we are to live in the same era as Tolstoy!’ When we suffered setbacks in spirit or in life, when we felt like we were becoming beasts, we consoled ourselves: ‘Tolstoy lives at Yasnaya Polyana!’ And then we wanted to live again.”
When I was little, I sprained my ankle and limped to school. My classmates made snide remarks, said I was faking it. I held back tears all day. But when I got home and ran into my dad at the door, I burst out crying. Later I thought: that’s what a breaking point feels like. Reading Tolstoy often gives me that same feeling—like you’ve endured and suffered, stayed strong until now, and suddenly you meet your father, you meet God. You know he has a warm, tender heart, a soul as open as the sky and as solid as a mountain. He will surely have mercy on you, care for you, understand you, love you. I think that’s how Stanislavsky felt about him too.
I remember the first time I read those words, I laughed at Stanislavsky for being such a fanboy. I hadn’t reread Tolstoy yet. Now, as I read Anna Karenina, I find myself wishing I could meet him in person, give him a hug. This is rare for me. I love Hemingway, and I’ve never felt that way about him.
Pasternak wrote: Those young people surely never imagined that everything Tolstoy worried about but didn’t live to experience, they themselves would bear in full. Yes, Stanislavsky and his generation really were lucky. As I read Anna, I think about this bewildering world I live in. Dear Mr. Tolstoy, I share my thoughts with people who need to hear them too, but if only you were still alive—I really want to know what you’d say about all this, how you’d see it.
Classics are classics because they never go out of date. Reading Tolstoy is such a gift. While reading, I still have those moments of sudden clarity, when things finally click. There are too many points to record them all. But here’s the thing: his books sit there gathering dust, within easy reach for most people, but they just can’t bring themselves to read them.
The old man was a born rebel his whole life, stirred up plenty of trouble. He studied, held office, moved in high society, farmed the land, owned an estate, served as a soldier, fought in wars. At 63, he renounced private property. At 65, he learned to ride a bicycle. At 70, he was still ice skating. The tsar had no use for his humanitarianism, neither did the revolutionaries, and even the church excommunicated him. While writing Anna, he hid the rope and put away his hunting rifle to keep himself from committing suicide. Even today, Russia was silent on Tolstoy’s centennial. Compared to the big production they made for Chekhov’s anniversary, only a few TV stations gave him a brief mention.
But people love him. His grave has no headstone, no inscription. Zweig called it the most beautiful grave in the world. When young couples in the area get married, they go to lay flowers at Tolstoy’s tomb. Of course, even if you don’t get married, you can still bring flowers.
