ANNA KARENINA is, as advertised, a great book. No surprise there. 

One segment in particular grabbed me hard. The chapter in which Kitty is in labor and Levin, the expectant father, is in his own Twilight Zoneish hell of waiting, is simply stunning. And the description of Levin beholding his new son, is a touching, chest-clutching masterpiece. 

“And meanwhile, there at the foot of the bed, in the deft hands of Lizaveta Petrovna, like a small flame over a lamp, wavered the life of a human being who had never existed before and who, with the same right, with the same importance for itself, would live and produce its own kind.”    

Tolstoy has a remarkable ability to locate, isolate, and describe human behavior and human nature in its broadest obviousness and in its most utter invisibility. As Anna disintegrates, Tolstoy takes us inside her deeply troubled head. It’s great stuff. 

But…

...I have to admit, starting with about 200 pages to go, I began to fervently wish for Anna to for God’s sake stop whining, and just head for the nearest train station.