Of the novels I've read, Tolstoy's Anna Karenina is probably my favorite.
Lionel Trilling claimed that the critic, in accounting for Tolstoy's greatness, is reduced to pointing: this scene and that one, and this and this and this, also this. To which I'd add (though I'm sure that someone else already has) that some of the scenes seem "paired," by which I mean that a similar circumstance, interview, or stream of thought recurs, the second seeming to balance the first. The same general situation, in other words, is re-presented, in an altogether different light, and, as I tend to think that the second is truer and finer than the first, it pleases me to think that Tolstoy was correcting himself as he went along.
In Anna Karenina, for instance, Levin's halting and finally successful courtship of Kitty has its counterpart in Koznyshev's later failure to propose to Varenka on a mushroom hunt. Of course the Levin-Kitty story is a very much more prominent strand in the novel, but, as a representation of life, it seems to me flawed. The engagement comes too quickly and easily and without resolution of the obstacles Levin himself comprehended. Remember that he has proposed to Kitty, been rejected, and, pride wounded, retreated to his country estate. Now, with Vronsky out of Kitty's life, is he to limp back to Moscow and claim the prize due the runner-up? He argues to himself the implausibility of this, and has at least persuaded me. But then, without benefit of a single subsequent interview with Kitty, or any personal contact whatsoever, he is one evening invited to supper at her house, unhesitatingly accepts, is filled with emotion upon seeing her, shyly renews his offer, and receives the answer he'd hoped for. Even allowing for different courtship customs, I don't believe it, and the more charming the scene becomes the harder it is not to cringe. What reason is there to believe that Kitty is the kind of girl who would comprehend the letter game in which the bruised feelings are repaired and the difficult questions asked and answered? Here is how I account for the passage: Tolstoy, in order to advance the narrative while indulging his penchant for creating scenes of great portent and lift, conveniently ignores a fully rendered, wholly convincing aspect of the selfsame narrative. The pieces don't fit together.
When, however, Levin's half-brother Koznyshev determines to propose to Varenka on the mushroom hunt, events unfold in less magical fashion. Varenka expects the proposal and, though nervous about the interview, is ready happily to accept. Koznyshev understands all this but is nevertheless unable to force the moment to its crisis. Varenka is in a way an unwitting saboteur, for when Koznyshev approaches, she out of nervousness fills an awkward silence with a remark about where mushrooms are apt to grow. That is all it takes to put off Koznyshev. The conversation slides back into the trivial and he lacks the willl to force the matter both know is at hand. When the moment has passed Varenka, simultaneously relieved and disappointed, realizes that she and Koznyshev will never marry. Perhaps the scene was meant to be contrasted to the happy one in which Levin, the Tolstoy figure in the novel, succeeds with Kitty, but I cannot read it without feeling that a certain implausibility is being corrected. One doesn't want to see two decent, attractive people fail to fall satisfactorily into each others' arms on account of a nervous remark uttered by one of them at the wrong moment. Yet there it is.
I've been thinking of Anna Karenina since our daughter was born last Sunday. The novel is largely about marriage and the family and includes another set of paired scenes, related to parenthood, that will be the subject of my next post.
Comments