... or at least the translation of Anna Karenina done by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky. I feel like I haven't been doing the book justice by reading it in bits and pieces when I get a moment - it's so hard to stop at the end of each chapter. And the chapters are short, so it makes it easy to say 'oh, just one more... ok, one more, that's all... last one...' and not feel too guilty about it - but I digress.
I feel like I'm finally reading a book that is phenomenal in both plot and composition, and it makes me want to sing. Oof - I know that sounds corny, but it's like every emotion that the characters feel is so accurately portrayed, so convincingly conveyed that I am right there, and it doesn't matter if I agree with what's happening or fail to be able to imagine my own self in this situation because when I read it, I'm not myself anymore. It's like - when I normally read, the story takes place in my head. I see visuals and am often unconscious of actually reading words, and it all happens in my brain - I can feel it there. When I read this, it's like someone has pried open my ribcage, opened a little window in my heart, and placed the story inside. It's like I'm comprehending the story with this emotional brain that's in my chest - like I'm reading with my heart.
On the other hand, I've only read about 200 pages, and I hear that it gets horribly depressing. In fact, a terribly sad thing just happened, and it might be rough going for me if the rest of the book is like that. But for now, I'm completely entranced!
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