I can't read anymore of Anna Karenina. I can't. I tried, and made it 100 pages, but it's so slow, and the day-to-day activities of these pampered rich people are so mundane, so boring, that I keep hoping some Communist revolutionaries will come along and send them to Siberia. I actually like the inner lives of these characters, but I hate their mundane activities, and I wish the story would move. I toughed it out for 120 pages and that was enough.
Sorry, Tolstoy. Maybe I'll try War and Peace one of these decades.
My next book is Academaze by friend-of-the-blog Sydney Phlox, aka Xykademiqz.
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I had to read Anna Karenina in high school. If Anna hadn't killed herself, I would have gotten in there and strangled her myself. Tolstoy is just awful at writing women. (The satellite Kitty and Levin story was my favorite part of the book; although as a whole I hated it.)
When I contrast Anna Karenina with Madame Bovary (they have much of the same topical core), it's like night and day. Madame Bovary is written like a real, multifaceted person.
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