For the life of me I cannot finish Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy. Three different times I tried to read this epic tome. Three times I failed. I am quite defensive about the endeavor. So, let me tell you upfront that it is not that the book is too complex or difficult. I need you to know that I am smart enough to read Tolstoy, got it?
It took years for me to come to terms with my true disdain for the book. For most of my twenties I thought it was the detailed descriptions in the chapter about Levin going to his country estate that undid me. The truth is that it was Anna’s desperate need for validation that I hated. This is the same thing I disliked about the Twilight series. Even though I voraciously read every single book, ahem.
These love stories touched on a base quality within myself that I desperately despised. That sad need to be validated by love. Most ladies call this romance or intimacy. I always called it weakness.
Only after marinating and maturing did I come to terms with my condescending attitude toward other women who swoon over a love story. It showed in my resentment of how the book of Ruth in the Bible is interpreted as a love story between Boaz and Ruth. That resentment was really a stabbing in my own heart. It was a deep fear of being vulnerable enough to fall open. To lay oneself out on the ground with all your baggage and need exposed. What if we are rejected? Do we die like Anna? What if Boaz does not become redeemer? Do we just scrape our innards off the ground and go about our business?
I wanted to shake Anna. I wanted to tell her that her husband does love her but that he is a man and men are driven by sexual desire and power. I wanted to tell her that Vronsky would be no different, that Anna needed to buck up and validate herself. I wanted to tell her that her need to be heard and have her passions and dreams admired were just weakness. I wanted to shake her hard and change her story.
That is until I realized it wasn’t Anna I wanted to shake. Until I understood that it is better to have our innards on the floor than to be caged up in denial – to live an anxiety ridden and insecure life.
Maybe Anna’s tragic tale of innards laid out, maybe Ruth at Boaz’s feet, maybe a pale girl loved by a werewolf and vampire – maybe these stories that resonate with the world’s women, maybe they are not weakness. It takes strength to be vulnerable. Standing firm and owning the side of one’s self that seeks love is a virtue.
This revelation shattered my armor. The bookmark two-thirds of the way through Anna Karenina may never move, but finally my deep held resentment shattered and healed, replaced by vulnerability and voracious love.
April Driver 