Part II, Chapters 22-25: Life and Death Matters

A friend recently pointed out to me that Anna Karenina is the antithesis of the kind of book that people usually read in the summer. And while he's right - anyone who starts a classic Russian novel with hopes for a  Hunger Games is liable to be disappointed - I've found a silver lining to the long-winded nature descriptions and socioeconomic commentary. Namely, that when something the least bit shocking or exciting happens in Anna Karenina, it's ten times as interesting as it would be ordinarily. Kind of like C-3PO and R2-D2 showing up in Sesame Street versus, you know, Star Wars.

Still a better love story than Attack of the Clones.

So when Anna looks Vronsky in the eye and says, "I am pregnant," I flipped out and started screaming, "What? What?" at the book.  Considering that it took them over a hundred pages to start an affair, I'd assumed they'd linger in torment for at least two hundred more before there was any new development. Instead, I was compensated for a tree's worth of stuffy aristocratic dialogue with lines straight out of a daytime soap opera:

"Neither you nor I have looked on our relations as a passing amusement, and now our fate is sealed.  It is absolutely necessary to put an end to the deception in which we are living...Leave your husband and make our life one."

Pretty intense, Tolstoy. Too bad it doesn't go anywhere. Anna is too worried about losing her son to go along with the scheme, and Vronsky quickly shrugs off the news of his impending fatherhood to concentrate on what's really important: winning his horse race. Like the Missouri Tigers' football coach, he knows how preoccupation with the body of a woman can sap even the greatest sportsman's skills.

Suddenly, Andy Roddick's slump makes sense.

So after skedaddling out of the Karenin family's garden, Vronsky heads over to the other lady in his life: the "lean and beautiful" Frou-Frou. They're competing in a steeplechase, which seems to be an obstacle course for horses. Not my thing, but a slight improvement on the Kentucky Derby, where they need big hats, chocolate pie, and 120,000 mint juleps to make everyone forget that it's just a bunch of people riding in circles.

Vronsky has a lot riding on this race (pun most certainly intended). This is his chance to show off in front of Anna and everyone else in Peterburg's upper class, prove that he's not the tubby degenerate his fellow officers take him for, and beat his archnemesis Makhotin. It's hard not to want to root for him. Heck, I think Vronsky's a slimeball and even I wanted him to win, if only to see Frou-Frou emerge victorious over her formidably named counterparts.

It's the same reason I can't pull against UCSC. Go, Banana Slugs!

But this book was written by Leo Tolstoy, and he wasn't in the business of producing heartwarming stories that make you want to hand out free Krispy Kremes to strangers. Hey, do you remember how the dogs in Stone Fox and Where the Red Fern Grows and Old Yeller all died? Do you remember the scene in The Neverending Story when Atreyu's horse sinks to his death in the Swamps of Sadness? Did you dare to hope that the death of beloved pets was a concept unique to children's literature, and that it was finally safe to stop using Kleenex as a bookmark? That smashing sound you hear is your soul being mercilessly crushed:

...Frou-Frou lay gasping before him, bending her head back and gazing at him with exquisite eye. Still unable to realize what had happened, Vronsky tugged at his mare's reigns. Again she struggled all over like a fish, and, her shoulders making the wings of the saddle crackle, she rose on her front legs; but unable to lift her back, she quivered all over and again fell on her side.

I recommend the full scene to those who Nicholas Sparks fans and anyone else who thinks "having a jolly old time" equals "curling up in the fetal position and sobbing until I'm dehydrated." Vronsky's devastation upon finding out that he'd inadvertently broken Frou-Frou's back is so sincere that it made me want to hug the guy, piece of scum or not. It's in honor of his dearly departed horse that today's Official Lit Dish is Carrot Oatmeal cookies, since they combine two favorite equestrian foods. Here's hoping that this death isn't an omen for the future of Anna's pregnancy...

Chapters 28-34: Motherhood and Cinnamon Rolls

When I was in the eleventh grade, my English class read a number of famously controversial books (several appear on this list). But during discussion time, it wasn't The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn or The Catcher in the Rye that brought us closer than the Cuban Missile Crisis to setting off World War III. That honor went to the less famous novella The Awakening. Why? Because half the class thought that the main character, a woman who behaves recklessly in response to a stifling marriage, was acting selfishly by betraying her duties as a mother. The other half was silk screening Betty Friedan's face on T-shirts.

Not really, but I wanted a segue to showing you this picture of her.

The point of this is that people get fired up over the issue of what parents - particularly mothers - owe to their children. Do they sacrifice their opportunity to make morally questionable choices once they have kids relying on them? Many would say yes, but the issue gets murkier when delving into specifics. I couldn't help thinking about this topic while I read about Anna's homecoming. A fair share of her inner turmoil appears to arise from wanting to live up to her son Seriozha's trust.

Anna experienced...a moral reassurance, when she met his ingenuous, trusting and loving glance, and heard his naive questions.

Anna's lust for Vronsky is much more interesting when you remember that, in addition to being the It Girl everyone loves, she's a mom. And while that role never kept Daisy Buchanan or Scarlett O'Hara from living la vida loco, Tolstoy makes it clear that Anna does not see her kid as a larger, less intelligent replacement for an accessory dog.

Still less cringeworthy than child leashes.

She also genuinely cares about Kitty, which is why she goes to pieces in front of Dolly before she leaves, blaming herself for the way Vronsky ditched his supposed-to-be sweetheart at the ball. Sheesh, these characters take self-hatred to a whole new level. It almost drives Anna to insanity on her train ride home in an interior monologue that reads like something from Alice in Wonderland.

"What's that on the arm of the chair - a fur cloak or some beast? And what am I myself: is it I, or some other woman?"

That's why when she steps off the train and sees Vronsky, I assumed it was a hallucination. But no, it really is Vronsky, who is apparently unaware that following her home is a stalkeresque move worthy of his very own Overly Attached Fictional Boyfriend meme.

Actually, I can think of a few more characters who qualify.

There's an awkward introduction to Anna's husband, who happens to have the same first name as Vronsky (Alexei). Apparently it's a common one in Russia, but it seems like it would've taken Tolstoy two seconds to make up a new one and keep the name thing less confusing than it is already.

Anyway, Alexei Alexandrovich makes Anna's instant attraction to Vronsky much more understandable. He's not unpleasant, but considering that his expressions of affection peak at "You wouldn't believe how I've grown used to you," it's no wonder she melts a little at Vronsky's passionate declarations of love. The woman's been married to a Vulcan for the past decade. Although Vronsky doesn't sound like he's terrific husband material either:

But there was another kind of people...to which [he] belonged: and here the chief thing was to be elegant, magnanimous, daring, gay, and to abandon oneself without a blush to every passion, and to laugh at everything else.

In fact, Vronsky and his hedonistic friends could be the predecessors of the Jersey Shore crew. (Before you argue that great literature should never be compared to MTV, check out this valid opinion that the guido gang and The Great Gatsby aren't that different.) It's certainly interesting to note that he isn't too put off by the fact that his love interest is married. I'm guessing that Anna's inner turmoil is only getting started, considering that she's being wracked with guilt when she and Vronsky haven't done anything more scandalous than talk. In contrast, doing more than talking is all he can think about, since "all his forces...were centered on one thing, and bent with fearful energy toward one blissful goal." Three guesses as to what that is.

It's not those giant letters floating in the background.

Three cheers for finishing Part One! Today's Official Lit Dish is inspired by the bread and cream that Anna's husband eats while rehashing his workday to the bored-out-of-her-skull Anna: cinnamon rolls with vegan cream cheese glaze. That's one hedonistic impulse worth the guilt. Go make some now and eat them in front of your computer as you wait for the Curiosity pictures to load on NASA's website. And enjoy yourself.