Anna Karenina

I definitely understand why this is repeatedly chosen as the best novel ever.

Two things struck me about the book. First, it is True in its depiction of the human condition, and therefore applicable and understandable even by those in different circumstances. The relationship between Anna and Vronsky, especially as shown clearly in part 7, was remarkably like the relationship I had with a friend. I was Vronsky, he was Anna. Nothing in external circumstances was alike at all. Two men, not lovers; but the personalities and the way they clashed, Anna's pain and internal monologues: I understood my former friend so much better by understanding Anna. As far as I know, my friend has not thrown himself under a train, and I pray he never does, thought it would not surprise me if he did. However, the anguish which got Anna to her climax and my friend to his are so similar in their fantastical inability to live in the world as it is.

Second, I loved the final section and am glad I read it. I have read a few reviewers who hated it, hated it, and who wrote that it was written under duress and that nobody should read it. I think maybe I now understand why those reviewer hated it so much, and I think they must be thorough-going materialists unable to deal with a differing point of view, as is so often the case. The account of Levin's ruminations and spiritual life speak to me. I am far more orthodox in my theology than he, but his process of reaching his particular accommodation is similar to mine–similar enough that I feel a close kinship with him.

A wonderful book! As with all good literature, I think I know the human condition, the whole world, and myself better for having read it.