Besides the obvious anxiety I have over reading books translated from their original language, I'm quite excited to read Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy.
I sincerely chose this book before I even knew of a newly released movie.
In my first draft of 91 Books to Make Me Smarter, I had the list alphabetical by title. Anna, then, topped the list and burned itself into my conscious as being Book #1. (Yes, yes, I know I started with The Princess Bride, but that was really book .5 now, wasn't it.)
It's a Real Book. It's historical, it's epic, it's Tolstoy, and it's huge.
As V asked "Why does that book have so many pages?"
Me: It's a really long story.
V: It must have a LOT of stories.
Oh, what? You're still wondering about my "obvious anxiety" about translations? It's because I get a little too emotional thinking about the translator's job.
For example, I'm going to translate a CLASSIC WORK OF LITERATURE. A piece of art whose prose is so beloved in its own language that people in other countries want, no, neeeed, to read it and understand the beautiful imagery that the original author had portrayed. With all of the nuances and implicit meanings in one language, it must be a task to get that right in another language. And if you screw it up? You are RUINING it for those other people, man.
No pressure.
But in any case, let's read the book and check in later this month, okay?
Riot and Frolic 
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