Russian literature is hefty. Dostoyevsky, Tolstoy, Chekhov et al. are not for dappling. And they're most definitely not sexy beach reads. At this point I've lost count of how many times I've totted a giant Russian lit tome (they no longer qualify as just "books" when they weigh that much) with me to Greece, or Spain, or Mexico thinking this will be the time I read Crime and Punishment. I will sit on the beach and read Crime and Punishment. And it never happens...

But! I did manage to get through Anna Karenina. It may have taken me well over a year but it happened. And I was 15 years old at the time too. -That would not be the first time I'd prove to myself that my determination and will-power as a teenager far exceeds that of my twenties.

And I'm quite glad that I did. As much as I enjoy casual writing styles and contemporary content, there is something of grandeur to be found in nineteenth century European literature. Tolstoy crafted a beautiful narrative of aristocracy and high society that maintained human vulnerability. Despite reading about characters I could not relate to on many surface levels, I found they kept the same problems shielded behind their façades.

If you have the time and energy, I highly recommend tacking this masterpiece. It could take you a while but it's all worth it in the end.