LOPAKHIN: ... "Lord, thou gavest us vast forests, boundless fields, broad horizons, and living in their midst we ourselves ought truly to be giants. .LOPAKHIN: ... "Lord, thou gavest us vast forests, boundless fields, broad horizons, and living in their midst we ourselves ought truly to be giants. . . ." LYUBOV ANDREYEVNA: Now you want giants! They're good only in fairy tales, otherwise they're frightening.
I love Chekhov. I found this funnier the first time around when I read it for a theatre course in college ... Laugh out loud funny. The professor opened a debate after the reading assignment: Was it a drama? Or a comedy? I answered comedy, without a doubt; It WAS Chekhov's intent. So what was different this time around? *shrug* Perhaps it was the translation. Perhaps I'VE changed. Perhaps I'll read it again ......more
While it's true that Tolstoy harbored some misogynist views towards women, it's something I'm willing to look past: That's sort of a given, consideri While it's true that Tolstoy harbored some misogynist views towards women, it's something I'm willing to look past: That's sort of a given, considering the consciousness of the 19th century. Tolstoy was impeccably honest in his writings; I couldn't help but feel he was at war with his opinion of Anna, who is in fact, an anti-heroine. I would have loved to see Tolstoy live at least another hundred years; all great minds are self-transcending.
The book covers a broad spectrum of philosophical reflection: Theology, nihilism, aesthetics, ethics, psychology ... It really is a very beautiful piece of work, the book has a heartbeat.
Like all great art, Anna Karenina transcends beyond Tolstoy's original intent, becoming its own entity . . . with all the utmost respect regarding the author, of course ( I LOVE Tolstoy, despite his inclination to preach through his work ). Everyone walks away from the book with something different, uniquely their own. Whether that's something negative or positive is up to you.
"The longer Levin mowed, the oftener he felt the moments of unconsciousness in which it seemed that the scythe was mowing by itself, a body full of life and consciousness of its own, and as though by magic, without thinking of it, the work turned out regular and precise by itself. These were the most blissful moments."
"Now nothing mattered: going or not going to Vozdvizhenskoe, getting or not getting a divorce from her husband. All that did not matter. The only thing that mattered was punishing him. When she poured out her usual dose of opium, and thought that she had only to drink off the whole bottle to die, it seemed to her so simple and easy that she began musing with enjoyment on how he would suffer, and repent and love her memory when it would be too late."