My commute elevated recently by the audiobook of “Anna Karenina” by Lev Nikolayevich Tolstoy…or Leo Tolstoy for the Anglicized world. In the book, he used Russian names so devoutly, that it seems rude to call him “Leo.” Though, I don’t think he’d mind…it seems he got a little earthy as he progressed in life.
Until now, I have refused to pick up Tolstoy’s writing due to the immensity in pages and content. The refusal served me, though. If I would have tried to read “Karenina” years ago, I wouldn’t have connected with it so deeply. Now, I saw myself in so much of it…and some of it was “yes!” and some was “…yeesh…” I am so grateful.
There are many insights I took away from the book, but four continue to nag at me.
1. Equating assumption with truth is dangerous.
My greatest frustration was when characters would assume something about another character. They would take these assumptions and with its fictitious silk, weave a web so tangible, it became “truth”! The damage done to the relationships – whether a superficial scratch or a deep, fatal stab – had assumptions playing at the core, with bad behavior as a close friend.
We’ve all been there. The stories we write about another – or ourselves – can be so much more terrible than what is actually the case, but we believe the tale and not the account, and they are likely so different. In “Karenina”, assumptions lead to a disastrous and fatal ending. Anna’s assumptions about herself, about others, about how others see her…so many assumptions brought on by both internal and external pressures…contributed heavily – along with potentially inescapable mental illness – to driving her to madness and tragedy.
Levin also made many assumptions – but what was different about him is that he would anchor himself back to fact. He learned to admit out loud when he was wrong. He pushed others to anchor their opinions to fact so that assumptions didn’t burden the conversation or relationship. He wasn’t perfect at it, but he had the right idea. When was the last time you shared your diary with your significant other? Levin could tell you how to do it (so could Tolstoy, as he drew from his own action).
2. We’ve lost the art of conversation and debate.
We need more salons! Not hair style salons, but places to gather and talk about ideas, literature, culture, religion, philosophy, agriculture, economy, ways to improve the community. Could this be a business venture? Hmmm…
Today, what I observe – and sadly, do it myself – is a reliance on technology for exchange, debate, and collaborative ideation. It doesn’t really work. I’m not saying technology conversation is bad ((hi, I’m writing a blog…and you’re reading it…). Our reliance on it is bad. It’s not healthy. Texting anger is not healthy. “Seagulling” people via text, email, or Facebook is not healthy. Even sharing an exciting idea will likely only live out a portion of it’s potential unless it is nurtured through dialogue and debate.
What I envisioned while reading “Karenina” is that the characters could readily observe the others – words, tone, volume, pace, facial expression, posture, presence. They then could adjust, clarify, or build upon their ideas in response to the others and their own internal reactions. It was in the moment, real presence with each other – not hiding behind a keyboard.
We don’t know how to do this anymore, at least well, and as a society. Look at our political conversations – both on TV and in our own circles on Facebook (pick your social media poison). I relished moments when Levin, Anna, Sergei, and others would get into meaty discussions and sharing of ideas about all sorts of topics. Exhilarating.
3. When judgement is suspended, it enriches the reading experience.
It took me about twenty hours into the story to stop triggered reactions to characters’ thinking and behavior. I was starting to get so frustrated with Anna and Vronsky – seriously, I wanted to just sit them down and help them stop talking past each other. Then it hit me: no one said I had to agree with the characters, and frankly, Tolstoy himself couldn’t agree with all his characters. It wasn’t about agreement, but understanding.
This realization nit a nerve when the novel started getting precarious. Not only did the characters’ webs get all tangled, but the world around them aided in the mess. Imperial Russia was in its waning decades. The rise of railways was making the world a bit smaller, and revolutions overturned long-standing governments. Characters made comments about women and other races that made me wince. I found myself getting frustrated…and then I paused, reflected on the frustration, and chose to hover above the story and simply observe without judgement. If characters and plotlines only contained things that didn’t offend us or challenge us, then the story would surpass fiction to being a flat-out lie.
By releasing judgment, the characters and relationships unfolded in all their wonderful imbalance that feels so true to the real world. I then had space to contemplate, identify what troubled me and inspired me, and most importantly, where I connected.
4. Being defined by money, title, or status is a trap.
I have long believed this, but in the last couple years it has been even more apparent to me: when money, title, or status are your defining terms of who you are as a human being, it’s an almost inescapable trap. This resonated with me so much in “Anna Karenina”.
The constant struggle and debate was “who am I” and “what identifies me.” Anna was in the priveleged inner circle, as was Vronsky, and Anna’s husband, and others. Anna struggled – as did Levin, who occupied a different sector of the privileged as a land owner, but who loved working side-by-side with his laborers – with the rules that governed marriage, children, dress, schedules, friendships, and enemies. Every move was calculated on what benefit the move would bring a person.
Anna began to hate the rules that governed her life, hate her marriage for it, and made a mad emotional dash to toss it all away in hopes of escaping her prison of wealth and privilege. Unfortunately, she didn’t well calculate the risk involved and wasn’t ready to accept the consequences, hateful as they may seem to some readers.
The happiest of characters, it seemed to me, as Levin and, in the end, too, his wife, Kitty (Ekaterina). Although they were well-off, Levin worked hard for what he built, honoring the work of his grandfather. He never seemed to see himself as above someone else (at least, in status or importance; sometimes, he’d get on his philosophical high-horse). And although they certainly had ties to the aristocracy through both Kitty’s and his relationships, they were not bound by them.
Something to think about for sure. How do you define you? Is your definition of you acceptable? It got me thinking…
“War and Peace” will hit my ears shortly. I can’t wait.
For now, I’m enjoying the meat Tolstoy gives in “Anna Karenina.” Whether Tolstoy would shake his head at my insights or not…obviously, who knows. But is the author’s intent the purpose of writing fiction? Another philosophical question to contemplate in a salon somewhere. Or a brewery, I suppose…or a coffeehouse. No, I think a salon is needed…that serves beer and coffee. But, I digress…
a tilting of air 