Good books and good food accompany a long weekend quite nicely.  Do you have any books about food on your reading list? If not maybe you’ll like one of the books on this list. Good news is that you should be able to check most of these out at your local library.

The Omnivore’s Dilemma
This must read by Michael Pollan explores various food systems from conventional agricultural, to organic, to foraged. Pollan’s writing style keeps you engaged and when finished you’re sure to have a new education on what you’re eating. This book is available at the Liberty Lake Library and Spokane County Libraries.

Fast Food Nation
You may have heard about this book which inspired the movie Supersize Me. But you may not know some of the interesting things that go on behind the scenes of fast food. Available at Liberty Lake Library and Spokane County Libraries.

One of the meals that Michael Pollan ate in the book The Omnivore’s Dilemma was local sustainable, you too can eat a local sustainable meal. This is what it stands for:
“This is food grown on small farms that raise lots of different kinds of crops and animals. The food from the farm doesn’t need to be processed, and it travels a short distance – to a farmers’ market, for example- before it reaches your table.

Anna Karenina is one of those works that is not merely superfluous but near-blasphemous to review, as nothing could ever come close to conveying its greatness. War and Peace has historically been called Leo Tolstoy’s greatest novel – nay, the greatest of all-time -, but this is coming to be seen as his true masterpiece, and I agree; for example, a recent poll of over one hundred current writers ranked it number one. It is certainly very different from War; one might almost be surprised that one person could write such varying works, though both have Tolstoy’s undeniable genius. Aside from being a little over half the length, Anna also has a considerably more conventional structure; Tolstoy indeed considered it his first novel by the European definition, considering War more of a prose epic. This still means it is eight hundred pages, but Tolstoy’s fearsome reputation as unreadably intimidating is distinctly unfair. Incredible as it may seem, Anna is nothing less than concise; the event that most will assume is reserved for the conclusion comes about three hundred pages in and is described with a spareness almost unheard of before the last few decades. Tolstoy is in fact very precise, saying exactly what he needs to say straight-forwardly and – in the best sense – simply. His works are not lengthy because of excessive detail, overlong dialogue, or florid description but simply because they tackle so many issues and have so much depth. Nor is he hard to read in the usual literary way so feared by students; no Modernist, he avoids difficult language, is strikingly non-allusive, and otherwise writes in a way that anyone – or at least anyone willing to deal with length – can understand. I say all this because many are afraid to read him for false reasons and have no idea what they are missing. Also, those intimidated by War or perhaps disappointed by it should also not be scared. Great is War is, I found it somewhat overlong and at times boring, but this cannot be said of Anna; it is ever-interesting, and readers will if anything wish it were longer. Anna is very different subject-wise on top of everything else; war is hardly mentioned, and the focus is almost entirely domestic. I love many books with admittedly narrow appeal, but I find it simply impossible that anyone sensitive to great art could fail to appreciate this pure masterpiece; I unhesitatingly give it the highest recommendation for all.

The book works on several levels. Most obviously, it is a comedy of manners showing how courtship, marriage, domesticity, and related issues worked in upper-class nineteenth century Russia. Tolstoy’s realism is as striking here as elsewhere, portraying this world vividly and memorably. The many with strong interest in such fiction can hardly do better, while historians and others will also find the book valuable for this among other reasons. This is indeed a historical novel in the best sense; Tolstoy not only writes with stunning realism but had a very keen eye for what was worth recording about nearly every aspect of life, bringing nineteenth century Russia alive in near-documentary fashion. As for the upper class, we see plenty of the glitz and glamour that makes so many envy this circle, but Tolstoy leaves no doubt that there is plenty of darkness beneath the ostensibly perfect surface. Human nature is no less corrupt here than elsewhere and may even be magnified; there is enough lying, hypocrisy, deceit, manipulation, false pretense, backstabbing, and other vices to sicken even the most optimistic. The novel is especially notable for dramatizing the circle’s strict social code, focusing specifically on adultery’s ramifications; however much one thinks adultery should be punished, no one can admire the ensuing ostracism’s self-righteous hypocrisy or fail to sympathize with those more sinned against than sinning. Morals have of course changed drastically in the near century and a half since the novel, which makes this a fascinating peek into a far stricter, if hardly less hypocritical, time.

Shockingly, Anna initially got mixed reviews because critics failed to see that it had anything more than this. Even this alone would be engrossing, if hardly novel, so deft is the execution. However, there is of course far more. Characterization is probably the main strength and certainly the most famous aspect. Anna Karenina is one of literature’s most famous characters, so vibrantly and realistically drawn that we cannot help being fascinated regardless of how we view her, and it would take a hard heart indeed not to be moved by her famously tragic end. The power of her portrayal and its influence have been such that she soon became archetypal not only in Russian fiction but in all of world literature, as have other characters: Levin, the tortured intellectual idealist struggling with practicality; Oblonsky, the happy-go-lucky, pleasure lover who is aloof yet lovable; the beautiful, sensitive, and sympathetically naïve Kitty; the violently conflicted Dolly, torn between domestic loyalty and regret; Karenin, the dour and lifeless yet pitiable hard worker who prefigures Tolstoy’s Ivan Ilych, etc. As in War, and most long nineteenth century novels, there are so many characters that it is initially hard to keep track, but all are sketched with artistry that makes them almost unbelievably lifelike. The novel runs us through a gamut of emotions and thoughts through the characters, and we feel them profoundly because they recognizably touch our most deeply and universally human nerves. Only Charles Dickens even rivals Tolstoy in this area, which is enough to make the book great in itself.

One area where he certainly surpasses Dickens, not to mention nearly every other writer, is Russian novelists’ acknowledged specialty – psychological insight. As much verisimilitude as the characters’ actions have, thoughts are even more important; they are not only broadly representative but so stunningly conveyed that we almost feel as if we thought them ourselves. Long sections concentrate entirely on various characters’ thoughts, usually on distinctly human subjects though often on rather abstruse ones, but they are so vivid and otherwise well-done that they never even come close to boring. This goes a long way toward making the characters seem truly alive, and it is no wonder that many of them, especially Anna, have long seemed at least as real to many readers as actual people. Tolstoy uses a wide variety of techniques to get all this across, including many innovations; for example, though rarely credited for it, the book has one of the very first stream-of-consciousness monologues. This is all the more impressive considering the sheer number of characters, including many women; Tolstoy’s knowledge of people and life was awe-inspiringly wide, but more than this, he could convey it convincingly and movingly. His reach is such that he even narrates from a dog’s perspective without bathos. One would have to look very hard indeed for another writer with such ability.

Nearly as fundamental is the story’s sheer epic sweep. Few writers could not only craft such a grand, all-encompassing plot but execute it so well. It is not as sprawling as War but more precisely sculpted; Tolstoy clearly had a plan and pursued it with tightly controlled artistic greatness. The plot at once contains many seemingly disparate elements and focuses strongly on two interrelated stories. This dual plot, which eventually converges, is the chief stylistic feature and innovation. The Levin and Anna sections initially seem to have almost no crossover, and it almost seems as if we are reading two very different books spliced haphazardly together. Some early critics took exception, but Tolstoy knew he was onto something and stuck with it, famously commenting, “I am proud of the architecture – the arches have been constructed in such a way that it is impossible to see where the keystone is. And that is what I am striving for most of all. The structural link is not the plot or the relationships (friendships) between the characters, but an inner link.” This is it exactly; the link is subtle yet brilliant, and the plot progresses so naturally and yet in such a precisely controlled way that it has a logic all its own that is both very lifelike and very literary. Words like “episodic” and “epic” have little meaning in the wake of such mastery; it is sufficient to say that Anna is a superb story mesmerizingly told. The tale is beyond compelling in itself and though famous for pathos, has nearly every other element also – including a surprising amount of humor, that true rarity in Tolstoy and all Russian literature – all excellently done.

Yet this does not even begin to convey the extent of Anna’s greatness. The most important aspect for many is the sheer number of weighty issues; Anna dramatizes and comments on everything from love to social institutions to issues of religion, class, economics, ethics, and far, far more. Love is certainly the most emotional and immediate subject, and few works have displayed it more convincingly and thoroughly. Anna explores it in nearly every aspect, from the ecstatic uncertainty of adolescence to the cold practicality of matchmaking, from extended courtship to married life. We see how love is affected by everything from children and work to religion and ethics and also get an unflinching look at its dark side: infidelity, boredom, marital strife, and more. Characters’ attitudes toward love range from idealistic to apathetic to frivolous; seemingly every view is represented, and everything from bliss to misery is shown. Simply put, anyone who has loved will find much that is not only familiar but so minutely and intriguingly described that it is impossible to be unmoved. Anyone who likes romance of any variety in literature can hardly do better.

Social institutions stemming from love are also explored in great and stunning detail, which is valuable per se in a realist sense, but many will be more interested in Tolstoy’s comments and criticisms. Anna depicts courtship and marriage as distinctly imperfect but is far from dismissing them; the contrasting cases of Levin/Kitty and Anna/Karenin/Vronsky seem to suggest that while domestic happiness is unlikely, it is achievable, and the rare successes are worth trying for despite all the strife. Tolstoy later drastically changed his view of this and most related issues, dramatizing accordingly, but this is more level-headed and relatable – a nuanced depiction that most can appreciate and, for fans and critics, a highly interesting contrast.

Perhaps more substantial, and certainly more interesting to those not keen on fictional romance, is how well and fully the novel deals with conventionally weightier issues. The chief one is class along with associated factors like labor and economics. Tolstoy was aristocratic and wealthy but became increasingly radical, gaining great sympathy for the lower class; he came to believe the class system’s inherent inequality was brutally unjust and strived to find solutions. This catches him at about midpoint – well beyond youth’s idealistic impracticality but significantly before later radicalism. All this is dramatized primarily through Levin, an aristocratic landowner with many peasants who is to a large degree autobiographical. Levin truly feels for his serfs but cannot bring himself to give up the lifestyle they make possible for him and struggles to find a way to simultaneously ease their lot, shore up his conscience, and maintain at least the minimum luxury he feels necessary. He has various plans, none of which have much success; the serfs alternate between awe at his empathy and contempt at his ignorance and inability to fully commit, while he becomes increasingly frustrated and beguiled. These interactions raise many important questions about class relations and the economic system making class division possible. Sensitivity to such issues was – and indeed is – extraordinary rare, especially from someone in Tolstoy’s position. His portrayal is moving and thought-provoking, but he knew better than to give easy answers and perhaps was not willing yet willing to give answers of any kind. He was still thinking such issues out, and it shows. The lack of a definite conclusion may bother some, but most will see it as a virtue, primary because it avoids the heavy-handedness that so often weighs down – often fatally – art that tackles serious themes. Later Tolstoy fiction, to say nothing of his non-fiction, was far more didactic, but most will appreciate how he lets readers decide for themselves here, as fellow Russian great Anton Chekhov later famously did.

The novel also broaches many ethical questions, a good number of them theological. Tolstoy was violently wrestling with such questions, and Anna is in many ways his attempt to work them out and find some kind of pattern. The dark side of his thought shows up in the often bitter love depiction but is again given mostly through Levin. Like Tolstoy at the time, he struggles to find meaning and a just yet practical ethical system. These conflicts play out in various ways, and the conclusion hints at Tolstoy’s conversion soon afterward to radical – or perhaps “pure” is the best word – Christianity. Endless thought and hard experience lead Levin to go from agnosticism to a sort of uncertain Christianity that, as Tolstoy’s later did, focuses not on miracles and the afterlife but on the essential goodness exemplified in Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount. He comes to believe that, properly applied, this is the most just and true ethical system and that goodness and virtue, as personified by Jesus, is the apex to which all should aspire. This gives meaning and, though difficult to apply, is the only way to happiness. All this is summed up in the book’s unforgettable final paragraph, which is not only in itself one of the most immaculately written, thought-inducing, and simply memorable pieces of writing I have ever seen but also one of literature’s most effective and satisfying conclusions. Many will disagree, and the enthusiastic optimism even seems positively naïve in light of the later existentialist revolution, not to mention multiple world wars, genocides, weapons of mass destruction, and numerous other things that seem to prove human nature is far too lowly for such high-mindedness. However, no one can deny the profound power and emotion behind the paragraph – indeed, the whole book, especially this aspect. This is again a nice contrast to War, which many believe has a very disappointing end – further proof that Anna is almost beyond improvement in every respect.

The novel is often thought of as ending with Anna’s suicide, as was indeed the case in the original serial, but there is in fact another fifty-page section. Some have wished it were not included, but that would leave many plot threads dangling, exclude some of Tolstoy’s most important points as well as his final conclusions, and hold back some of his greatest prose, including the aforementioned paragraph. Only here do we see the aftermath of Anna’s drastic act, including Vronsky’s resolve. More importantly, Levin’s resolutions in regard to his peasants, his wife, and life generally come together, which is what Tolstoy really wanted us to see. Some have called Levin’s portrayal here autobiographical to a fault, and those who know the intimate connection will indeed have a hard time reading it as fiction. It truly seems as if we are getting a peek into Tolstoy’s innermost thoughts, feelings, and insecurities, which is in itself invaluable for the many interested in his life and thought. Many elements prefigure his later stances, not least the anti-war, anti-nationalist sentiment that led the publisher to refuse printing the final section on patriotic grounds; in an early instance of his famous later resolve, Tolstoy boldly had it printed at his own expense. In terms of the novel, though, the section brings the story to a truly effective conclusion, summing everything up not only plotwise but also thematically, philosophically, and otherwise. Tolstoy later took his conclusions further, but this is more than enough for most – is indeed arguably a more balanced, nuanced, and practical resolution than nearly any other thinker has conceived in thousands of years of thought. When we consider that it is conveyed in a work of fiction that is beyond great in itself we see the true magnitude of Tolstoy’s achievement. There is no higher praise that a novel – or any other work – can earn or even aspire to, which is the main reason among many that Anna is not only one of the greatest works of art but one of the foremost and most admirable achievements of the human mind and heart.

–Bill R. Moore

All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.” Thus begins Tolstoy’s classic tale of two extended families. I am not a fan of soap opera/romance as a genre, and the concept of reading an 800-page one only crossed my mind due to my classics year project. I knew I wanted to get some Tolstoy under my cultural belt, and when the choice came down to Anna Karenina vs. War and Peace, 800 pages won out over 1,200 pages. Yes, I’m that shallow.

But speaking as someone who would rather stare at a blank wall than watch a soap opera, Anna Karenina is a really, really good book. I can’t compare other translations, but in Pevear and Volokhonsky’s hands the prose shimmers. There are several wonderful sequences where we follow someone’s wandering thoughts, and how things they catch out of the corner of their eye affect the course of those wanderings. These passages capture well how our minds flit from topic to topic, while maintaining a thread, arriving back at a topic from different vectors. Another description that I quite liked was this one of frustrating ineffectuality:

“All this bustling, going about from place to place, talking with very kind, good people, who well understood the unpleasantness of the petitioner’s position but were unable to help him — all this tension, while producing no results, gave Levin a painful feeling similar to that vexing impotence one experiences in dreams when one tries to use physical force.”