Nothing makes me feel more at peace than having a book in my hand. I can’t remember a time when I couldn’t read and there aren’t a whole lot of things that I would rather be doing. But, having said that, I promise not to turn this blog into a list of books and reviews. I can only push my nerdiness onto other people so much before they start to think that they should tell me about their inane hobbies. Trust me, I probably don’t care.
I was an English major in college. I especially loved 19th Century British Literature. Give me a Bronte sister or some Wilkie Collins and I’m a happy camper. However, I’ve decided I should become more well rounded and branch out to other countries. My class in World Literature showed me that every other country tends to have books where everyone ends up dead. African literature: they starve to death. Asian literature: they commit ritual suicide. I can only take so much. So I thought I’d check out some Russian literature and hope that they weren’t filled with bread lines and terminal hypothermia.
Leo Tolstoy is wordy and I admittedly had a hard time keeping my mind focused. That’s where library audio books come in handy. Other people sit at their desks and listen to music, I have an audio book playing at any given time while at work. If I can’t actually read, let’s at least trick my brain into thinking that it is. This particular tome was 32 hours long.
OK, on to the actual review. I promise to keep it short.
Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy. This weighty novel is nearly 1,000 pages and it boils down to this: No matter what country, no matter what century, bitches always be crazy.