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There's something so oddly intimate, even intrusive, about reading anyone's diaries - but with Tolstoy, especially. I love Vol 2, because it is based on the last years of his life, and you can see the way his relationship with Sofia (Kitty) deteriorates. Some of the entries at the end give the same jumbled impact as the pages in Anna Karenina, when Anna was walking to the station to commit suicide - these schizophrenic switches between the mundane and the profound invoke this chaotic, anxiety inducing quality. And so, its quite ironic how “Anna Karenina”, although meant to be autobiographical in the sense that Tolstoy represents Levin, towards the end, remains an autobiography, but in the sense that Tolstoy resembles Anna! Which is quite interesting, because I always found Tolstoy's ability to write about women so incredibly personal.
What would be fascinating is to go back and read Tolstoy's “Youth” trilogy straight after reading this.
