Dear Reader

Dear Reader,

In the end, I think that my project did (for the most part) what I intended.

My expository essay actually changed a lot while I was writing it. Going in, I wanted to write very generally about the psychological effects of the war, as I had said in my initial blog posts, and use a couple quotes from the novel to support key points. I knew one of my points would be about the development of the idea of PTSD, but I didn’t think that that would be the majority of the paper. In the end, I guess it ended up being a sort of tie-in of PTSD into the novel, explaining how the symptoms become themes and what repercussions those themes had in real life. I think that this is much better than my original idea, as it involves the novel much more and also allows me to bring in knowledge from one of my other favorite classes, AP Psych (without psych, I would not have known to look at the DSMs). My main issue with the change is that I'm not sure how well the other works I mentioned work with the rest of the essay. I would have continued to talk about Hemingway, but I felt that it was important to get other examples of wartime literature to give a more complete picture of the causes of the "symptoms" of the war I talked about in the rest of the essay.

When I first read the novel, I was still skeptical as to how well I would be able to connect it to World War I. As I said in my essay, the war is mentioned very rarely. I know that I gave a couple examples in my in-process posts, but I didn’t know if I could find specific quotes that would work perfectly with my points. Once I started writing the essay, it all came together. It wasn’t until I was looking at the DSMs that I noticed the thick web of the war’s effects that Hemingway weaves in the novel, with each symptom of PTSD as a gateway to understanding the subtleties of these effects. For this reason, several paragraphs of my essay deal with different aspects of PTSD.

For the genres, I wanted to capture the life of a World War I soldier with PTSD. Real examples of this are hard to find, of course, as “PTSD” did not exist at the time. So, I took my knowledge of psychology and my creative skills and tried to create an accurate example.

The “golden thread” of my genres is Joe Nelson. All four pieces tell different parts of his story through different lenses. I put the pieces on my blog in chronological order for this reason. They show a clear progression--going downhill--that I think is very important to understanding the experience of the war’s soldiers. From a plot standpoint, my first genre is a sort of exposition, my second the climax, my third the falling action, and my fourth a sort of denouement; from excitement to chaos to despair to a tentative hope. From my limited knowledge of what it’s like to live in a war (as every war-related novel we’ve read this year has proved, only a soldier can truly understand war), I think this is the closest I could have gotten to the truth.

Shell Shock and the Age of Anxiety

Shell Shock and the Age of Anxiety:

The Psychological Effects of World War I through Literature and a Modern Diagnostic Lens

What is known today as post-traumatic stress disorder, or PTSD, was not classified officially as a mental disorder by the American Psychological Association until 1980 in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders III, or DSM-III. However, PTSD was a side effect of combat trauma long before. The first DSM, DSM-I, had a similar disorder listed under “Gross stress reaction,” asserting that “under conditions of great or unusual stress, a normal personality may utilize established patterns of reaction to deal with overwhelming fear [...] If the reaction persists, this term is to be regarded as a temporary diagnosis to be used only until a more definitive diagnosis is established” (DSM-I 40). One of the two conditions under which this could be diagnosed was combat. The DSM-I, though, was not published until 1952. At the time of World War I, there was no such diagnosis. The vague term “shell shock” was expected to explain all of the psychological effects of war, but shell shock was not a diagnosis; it was a nickname. Psychology was still a young science, adhering mostly to the psychoanalytic style that made Sigmund Freud famous.

It is, of course, untrue to say that all World War I veterans could have been diagnosed with PTSD. Certainly many could, but many still showed dulled versions of the symptoms, a sign of a non-pathological stress reaction (i.e. one that would not be diagnosable as a serious disorder). For example, the DSM-V lists (persistent) negative thoughts, moods, or feelings as one of the symptoms of PTSD. To say that Jake Barnes, Hemingway’s protagonist in The Sun Also Rises, is a pessimist would be an understatement. At one point in the novel, reflecting on his relationship with a girl, Jake simply says, “To hell with people” (Hemingway 31). Hemingway was known for the negative tone of all his works, no doubt a result of his own war experience.

The DSM-V also lists avoidance of trauma-related thoughts or feelings or avoidance of trauma related thoughts or feelings as a symptom of PTSD. In a way, the entire novel is an example of this. Hemingway tiptoes around the topic of the war, rarely mentioning it, but the avoidance is still apparent. In one of the few mentions of Jake’s war experience, the narrator nonchalantly refers to “the old grievance,” presumably referencing his injury while fighting on the Italian front. This type of euphemism is used several times throughout the novel, and every war story told sounds detached and unemotional, despite the inherent emotional repercussions of experiencing war. Trauma-related avoidance is also visible in Jake’s relationship with his not-quite-friend, not-quite-lover, Brett. Because he met her immediately after the war, she is linked in his mind to his war experience, so he tries to avoid thinking about her--impossible, as he is in love with her. This avoidance (on Brett’s side, too), is what prevents them from defining their relationship.    

PTSD can also occur with dissociative symptoms, such as depersonalization and derealization. Though these as diagnosable phenomena are not a part of The Sun Also Rises, a milder version of them suffuses the whole book. The nihilistic attitude of many of the characters could be as a sort of derealization; the voluntary dissociation of actions from consequences. The characters’ actions at the beginning of the novel can seem alarming to modern readers. For instance, Robert Cohn’s sudden desire to go on a trip to South America with Jake, without any concern for his job, his relationship, or anything else, clashes with the sensibility of the 21st century (Hemingway 9).

Hemingway was not the only writer to tackle the issues of the Lost Generation. Sigmund Freud, though now doubted for his psychological theories, also wrote philosophically on the issue. In his essay “Thoughts for the Times on War and Death,” Freud contends that “we cannot help but feel that no event has ever destroyed so much that is precious in the common possessions of humanity, confused so many of the clearest intelligences, or so thoroughly debased what is highest,” referring to the early stages of the war; the essay was written in 1915, before some of the worst battles of the war and before the far-reaching psychological effects (Perry, Peden and Von Laue 330). He holds that the war “cuts all the common bonds between the contending peoples, and threatens to leave a legacy of embitterment that will make any renewal of those bonds impossible for a long time to come” (332). This is an apt description of what the Lost Generation was, though on a sociopolitical level. Like Hemingway and his characters, the members of the Lost Generation struggled to build lasting relationships and to trust, an effect that would stick with them for the rest of their lives.

Erich Maria Remarque was perhaps most accurate in his description of the Lost Generation in his novel All Quiet on the Western Front. In the war hospital, his narrator observes, “I am young, I am twenty years old; yet I know nothing of life but despair, death, fear, and fatuous superficiality cast over an abyss of sorrow [...] all my generation is experiencing these things with me [...] Our knowledge of life is limited to death. What will happen afterwards? And what shall become of us?” (Perry, Peden, and Von Laue 329). This was the legacy of the war.

Works Cited

Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders. 1st ed. Washington, D.C.: American

Psychiatric Association, 1952. Print.

Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders. 5th ed. Washington, D.C.: American

Psychiatric Association, 2013. Print.

Hemingway, Ernest. The Sun Also Rises. New York: Scribner's, 1926. Print.

Perry, Marvin, Joseph Peden, and Theodore Von Laue, eds. Sources of the Western 

Tradition. 5th ed. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 2003. Print.

Genre 4: By Dr. Johnston, Who Knows Him Best (January 1919)

SCHUYLKILL ASYLUM

Reading, Pennsylvania

REQUEST FOR DISCHARGE

PATIENT: Joseph Albert Nelson

DOCTOR: Dr. Francis Johnston

I first met Joe Nelson in the spring of 1919, after he had gotten out of the military hospital. Bullet in the leg. Has to walk with a cane now, at the age of 23. Went berserk in the hospital after a few weeks. Raving about the gas, the gas… That’s when they sent him here. The journey back across the ocean can’t have been pleasant with his leg injury. At first, Joe refused to talk with me. With anyone, really. He looked at the ceiling most of the time. I can’t imagine what he must have been seeing. Horrible things, no doubt. He finally spoke the fourth time they brought him to me. Didn’t say much, but he spoke. I could tell he was under conditions of immense stress due to war trauma. I noticed especially his reluctance to speak about his wife, Edith. I believe he felt guilt for leaving her to go off to the war. He couldn’t help it, of course. He was drafted. I believe this is a manifestation of his psychosis. He went into a state of severe emotional distress whenever I mentioned Edith. To illustrate this, I have included a transcript of my first conversation with the patient with this report.

Of the veterans we got after Armistice, Joe was one of the saner ones. After talking to him, I was initially surprised that they had sent him here. We usually don’t get his type. But after further conversation, I saw why they couldn’t send him home. As is obvious from our first interview, Joe had a deep mental connection between his home and the war. They were tied together. That is, of course, why we had to send him back to his father’s house instead of his own. I don’t know if he’ll ever reconcile with Edith. Last week, he received a letter from her. She mentioned divorce. He did not take it well.

In the weeks since he arrived here, Joe has made slow progress. Before we could get him to talk, he was constantly having flashbacks. Flashbacks trigger breakdowns, so we did the best we could to stop him. The few times he got violent, we had to tie him to the bed. Thankfully, he has not had a violent episode in three weeks or so.

He has been speaking more and more, and less and less about the war. Last week we had him talking for an hour about fishing, a good sign of increasing stability. So, this week I agreed to his request for discharge. We are getting a slow trickle of veteran patients, and Joe’s spot could be taken by someone with more need. I don’t think he will ever get over the war; no one can, not completely. He will probably continue having nightmares, perhaps his whole life. It’s tragic, but it’s not something we can change.

JOHNSTON: Hello, Joe, I’m Dr. Johnston. You can call me Frank. [No response.] Well, to start off, Joe, can you tell me about yourself? [No response.] Joe, I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.

NELSON: I don’t need help.

JOHNSTON: I think we both know that’s not true, Joe. You wouldn’t be here otherwise. [No response.] Can you tell me about where you grew up?

NELSON: I thought you were supposed to help me with the WAR! Goddammit, how is this gonna help?

JOHNSTON: Please, Joe, this will help you in the end. It says here you lived in Ohio. Near Cleveland.

NELSON: Yeah.

JOHNSTON: Tell me about Cleveland.

NELSON: Hell, it’s Cleveland... Big city with factories. The people never stop on the street. I worked at my father’s hardware store. At school I met… met...

JOHNSTON: Edith?

NELSON: Edy. Now don’t you go and ask me about Edy.

JOHNSTON: When was the last time you had contact with her?

NELSON: My last letter from the hospital.

JOHNSTON: How has she been getting along since you left?

NELSON: I don’t know, I don’t know… I don’t FUCKING KNOW, Frank. I TOLD you not to ask me about Edy, I don’t want to talk about it, I don’t…

JOHNSTON: Joe, if you don’t talk about it you’ll never get past it. I just want to get a full picture of your mental state right now. That’s what I’m here for. I’m not here to make you angry.

NELSON: Alright. Just don’t ask me about Edy, Frank, don’t, please.

JOHNSTON: Tell me about the war.

NELSON: Aw, no…

JOHNSTON: Joe, you’re here because of it.

NELSON: Don’t I know… Well, have you ever seen a friend killed in the trenches right by your side? Have you?

JOHNSTON: No, Joe, I haven’t.

NELSON: Yeah, well that’s clear enough.

JOHNSTON: What do you mean by that?

NELSON: If you had you wouldn’t be the one asking the questions.

JOHNSTON: And I understand that’s when you got the wound in your leg?

NELSON: Paul got it in the heart. Me in the leg.

JOHNSTON: And how do you feel about the cane?

NELSON: Shit, well, it isn’t great to be 23 years old and have a cane, I can tell you that much. And the pain… It hurts like hell, Frank. I’m all balled up, you know? I can’t go back like this. I can’t let her see me like this, oh God, I can’t let her see me like this.

JOHNSTON: Edy. [No response.]

Genre 3: Bad Days, Argonne (November 1918)

Far from the muddy trenches of north France,

he twists in pain; the bullet’s moved an inch.

It brings him from his bed back to the smoke...

The noxious gas is tearing at his throat.

He twists in pain; the bullet’s moved an inch;

he thinks he’ll never use his leg again.

The noxious gas is tearing at his throat,

just as it did months ago in Argonne.

He thinks he’ll never use his leg again.

He feels the bullet ripping at his skin

just as it did months ago in Argonne,

before this hell they call a hospital.

He feels the bullet ripping at his skin.

It brings him from his bed back to the smoke,

before this hell they call a hospital

far from the muddy trenches of north France.  

Genre 2: Firestorm (October 1918)

Genre 1: To Edy, with All My Love (August 1918)

August 23, 1918

My Dear Edy,

Thank you for your last letter. It’s sure great to hear that you’re keeping so busy at home, what with helping Pop with the store and with your garden. I got a letter from Dorothy, too, the last time the mail came in. I gotta say, Edy, that sister of mine is sure curious. Asking me about France, about the trenches, about the boat across the ocean. I answered what I thought was alright for a young girl to hear, to the best of my ability. I hope that I can answer your questions, too, with this letter.

We are on the front. The front! You hear about it, but it looks quite different. It’s messy. It rained yesterday, and now the trenches are full of puddles. I found out what a soldier needs most: dry socks. We have not been fighting, thankfully. The Germans seem to be planning something, however, so we are bracing for action. The French are quite friendly. We passed through a village a week or two ago, and an old French lady offered us some wine. Good wine, too. The French army men don’t really talk to us. Keep to themselves, for the most part. Some nights we can hear their drinking songs. Damn high spirits for people whose country is under attack. I guess that’s why they drink. To forget it. I guess that’s why we all drink. I’m sorry, Edy, about this. I know how much you hate all drink. But here, we have to. I swear, the moment I get back I’ll be dry again.

I have been keeping busy, too. Of course we’re not fighting yet, but as I said, we’re preparing. For someone of my rank, that means helping to unload the supply trains. Sure, it’s boring work, but the boys are swell and we make good conversation to pass the time. We work with a couple Frenchmen, and their English is good enough for them to make some good jokes (which I will not repeat in this letter for your sake, Edy).

I think I hear a new train coming in, so I have to stop writing now. I hope I’ve answered your questions alright. Send Pop and the girls my love. Goodbye for now to the only gal for me (as you know you are). With all my love,

Joe

Bullfights and the Soon-to-be-created Joe Nelson

At this point I think I’m about halfway through the novel. I’ll probably finish it in the next few days, as it’s a pretty fast read (Disclaimer: easy to read does not necessarily mean easy to understand). I’m starting to get a lot more material for my project. One important passage I’ve found explains the connection in his mind between the war and Brett, the woman he loves.

While reminiscing about being in a war hospital in Italy, he begins to think about how he met Brett soon after. He explains that “I try and play it along and just not make trouble for people. Probably I never would have had any trouble if I hadn’t run into Brett when they shipped me to England. I suppose she only wanted what she couldn’t have. Well, people were that way. To hell with people” (31). Although their relationship definitely has other dynamics, I feel like Jake doesn’t realize the extent to which his experience in the war affected his relationship with Brett. He met her just after the war, when he definitely must have been emotionally damaged. Brett must have been traumatized, too, as I’m pretty sure they met while Brett was working some sort of war job, as a nurse or something (I can’t find the exact passage at the moment, but I’ll keep looking). This shows one of the primary psychological effects of the war: it compromised many people’s abilities to form healthy relationships (thus, Hemingway’s string of unsuccessful marriages).  

I’m also very interested in the role of the bullfights in the story. Jake has a sort of obsession with them, going down to Spain to watch them every year and reading bullfighting papers. I think Hemingway is going to say more about them, but at this point I see them as a sort of coping mechanism. Not as if the war made people enjoy violence or anything like that, but war does rewire your brain in a way, and I think seeing the controlled violence of a bullfight might help Jake sort out his own psychological mess. Still, I’ll have to gather more evidence for this as I continue to read.

In other news, I’m starting to think seriously about my genres. I think I’ve come up with a pretty good idea, pre-made with a “golden thread” (if a common character counts). I’m creating a WWI veteran named Joe Nelson, complete with his own story (the name is very generic for a reason). He went to a mental hospital after the war for PTSD (though of course it was known as such at the time), and my first genre will be his final psychological evaluation from the hospital, complete with an interview from when he first arrived. My second genre, I think, will be a painting (abstract-ish, 20s style; think Picasso) of Joe to represent his mind. The third genre I’m not sure about, but I might do a letter from Joe to his wife, Edith. The fourth I haven't decided either. Maybe a eulogy to one of his comrades who died in the war? I'll figure it out later this week. I’m actually really excited to do the genres!

The Great War, the Jazz Age, and Rampant Recklessness

So I'll admit that I'm not super far into The Sun Also Rises yet, as it took me forever to find a book to read. But I can definitely see the character dynamics forming, and it's giving me an idea.
So far in the novel, most of the characters have demonstrated a sort of nonchalance and recklessness that I am taken aback by, but that is consistent with other depictions of the 20s I have seen. No surprise. But a few examples:
At the beginning of Chapter III, the narrator, Jake, is sitting alone outside a café. He spies a pretty girl, catches her eye, and they strike up a conversation. They flirt a bit, drink some liquor, and she asks, "Well, are you going to buy me a dinner?" Keep in mind that neither knows the other's name yet. But they do go to a restaurant, he learns that her name is Georgette, and then he promptly runs into his friends. But what really got me is that here he introduces Georgette as his fiancée, and she just goes along with it. Obviously it's not true, but I admit I went back and searched the chapter for a proposal. I would say it was a joke to everyone, but his friend Braddocks's wife seems to be under the impression that they are indeed engaged. Jake allows his "fiancée" to dance with several men, all while pining after the beautiful Brett, and then he leaves her there (14-23). The ensuing conversation between Jake and Brett:

"What possessed you to bring her?" 
"I don't know, I just brought her."
"You're getting damned romantic.
"No, bored" (23).

Bored.
Similarly, Jake's friend Robert Cohn asks him out of the blue whether he will go to South America with him. No real reason, he just wants to go to South America.

So that gave me an idea. I can't understand how they can just act like that, completely impulsive but at the same time detached, but it's a hundred percent due to the historical context. It's the same reason Gatsby threw his huge parties but was so aloof. The Great War--World War I--fucked up an entire generation (forgive my language). I think of it mostly as psychological damage, though it is impossible to ignore the massive death toll, upwards of 8.5 million. World War II, of course, had more deaths, but the Great War introduced a new style of warfare, and so had a novelty factor that made it, if anything, more traumatizing. Many of the casualties were young men just like Jake or Hemingway himself.
Those who survived were deeply affected by it, as is inescapable in Hemingway's writing. The war created the reckless nihilism that Hemingway and his characters are famous for, as they struggled to cope with the reality of what they experienced. It's no wonder, then, that the longest relationship Hemingway could keep in his lifetime was with alcohol.
In my Euro class last quarter, we read an excerpt from an essay by Freud called "Thoughts for the Times on War and Death." He opines that "we cannot but feel that no event has ever destroyed so much that is precious in the common possessions of humanity, confused so many of the clearest intelligences, or so thoroughly debased what is highest." This is, then, what I think I want to do my project on: the psychological repercussions of World War I, as seen through Hemingway's writing.

 

And After Eight Hundred Seventeen Pages...

Anna Karenina, by Leo Tolstoy, has many minor themes—for example, there seems to be enough about the inefficiency of Russian agriculture to qualify. In my opinion, though, the main theme is overwhelmingly the stifling effect of Russian society, and how it isn’t really beneficial for anyone.

       The structure and arbitrary rules of high society cause most of the problems in the novel. For example, it is because of those rules, because of the expectation of an advantageous marriage, that Anna agreed to marry Karenin, a man she did not love. It is clear from the various situations in the novel that society’s views on marriage trap people. I know I can’t consider Tolstoy a feminist, but he writes a few situations where, if the woman had more power in the relationship, life would be better for everyone—for example, Dolly’s predicament when Stiva cheats on her. Even if she didn’t choose to leave him outright, she could have created a better situation for herself than the one she is put in.

       It is the same stupid societal rules that trap Anna after she chooses to leave her husband. I’m not saying here that I approve of everything she did, but it still seems unfair what happens to her. Because of her status as a “ruined woman,” no one but her closest friends (like Dolly) in society will see her. She knows entering into the arrangement that she might never again be welcome in society, but it’s clearly painful for her. When she goes to the opera with friends a couple months after she leaves her husband, a rude woman loudly refuses to sit near Anna and insults her, causing a scene and a lot of distress for Anna.

       Dolly’s situation, which I explained in the second post, is one of the examples of this theme that I felt the most, notwithstanding the huge drama from Anna’s side. Dolly is not just anyone, she is Princess Darya Alexandrovna Oblonsky, and as such she must comport herself like a noble lady at all times or face the disdain of the society that suffocates them all. When Stiva cheats on her, society says that he did nothing wrong (and so do all the servants). God forbid she reacts negatively, because why would she ever do that? As much as she loves her husband, Dolly wants to leave him. She wants it even more when she sees that Anna is happy with Vronsky, and fantasizes about living as her own woman. But she can’t. She has to be an obedient wife, even with Stiva’s horrible treatment of her, or everyone she knows will shun her. She is just as trapped by society as Anna, and she clearly feels it.

       The last major evidence for this theme comes from Konstantin Levin. Levin, from countless examples, is almost a recluse, clearly most content when he’s at home, working on his book or dealing with the matters of the estate. But, because of his position, he has societal obligations. Now, he’s not a noble like Kitty’s family or Anna’s, but he’s a prominent landowner and that puts him with them in the highest echelon of society. But he clearly doesn’t belong. He goes to parties where he doesn’t enjoy himself, is forced to take part in events where he obviously feels out of place—for example, the election for provincial marshal of the nobility, where he has no idea what is going on and has no wish to—and is put into countless awkward situations because of these same “obligations.” This contributes more subtly to the theme than Anna’s situation, but the reader still feels the weight of all the rules and barriers whenever Levin is put into a “society” situation.

       Anna Karenina is not very symbol-driven (that being the focus of most of our discussions on close reading), but I still think close reading gave me a lot while reading this. I paid special attention to character development, as that is the driving force of the novel. I noticed quirks and characteristics I might not have noticed otherwise; for example, Levin’s habit of blushing only when he is with members of high society. It has definitely helped me understand the characters better, and I think I can make a fairer evaluation of them as people as a result.

       I would definitely recommend Anna Karenina. It is a fantastic novel for character and plot, and is written in a style unlike any other book I’ve read. The characters, despite their removal in place and time from a modern American reader, are relatable, and it’s easy to love them, to hate them, to pity and to empathize with any of them. I do have to say, though, that it’s not a book to trifle with. If you want to read it, commit. It’s difficult, especially with all of Tolstoy’s philosophical rants, but that makes it all the more satisfying—if you’re willing to put a lot of time into it. I was (and believe me, when I say a lot of time, I mean a lot of time), and I have definitely profited from reading one of the greatest literary masterpieces of the 19^th century.

I'm Still Angry About the Horse, or That Time Everything Fell Apart

One of the most important moments in Anna Karenina (by Leo Tolstoy) occurs fairly early, in Part II. Looking back from Part VII now, I think I can safely say that this is where Anna’s life really fell apart.

       When I first read Part II, Chapter XXV, it seemed to me like it was another one of Tolstoy’s rants. Interesting, but dragging on too long. Essentially, this sequence describes Vronsky’s participation in a horse race. Tolstoy describes in loving detail all the obstacles, the movement of the horse, and Vronsky’s drive to win. Not much different from the snipe hunting, right? Well, it is pretty pointless until you read the next few chapters, which reexamine the same scene from the points of view of two of the spectators—Anna and her husband.

       Until this point, Anna has been able to keep her relationship with Vronsky fairly under the radar, although to say that nobody had noticed would be a lie. But her husband has not spoken to her yet, so it isn’t quite out of hand. Anna lets go of all social convention during the race. She makes no effort to hide that she is watching Vronsky and that she is rooting for him and him alone. Her most egregious error, though, is her response when Vronsky falls (and here’s where the horse comes in—when he falls, the horse breaks her back and must be shot). Everyone is horrified, but Anna openly weeps and is obviously personally involved.

       As a result of all this impropriety, her husband Alexei confronts her on the way home. He shares his suspicions with her, and she replies, “I was and could not help being in despair. I listen to you and think about him. I love him, I am his mistress, I cannot stand you, I’m afraid of you, I hate you… Do what you like with me’ ” (213).

       This is the point of no return for all of them. After Anna’s shockingly blunt confession, she can’t save her marriage. Not that she really wants to—she wants to escape, but feels trapped. She’d love nothing more than to leave her husband and join with Vronsky, but she does not have the courage to do it yet.

       What’s most interesting about this event is its effect on Alexei Alexandrovich, Anna’s husband. From the beginning, it’s clear he is driven by his sense of integrity, his adherence to his own and to society’s rules. He’s obviously appalled by her confession and is strongly affected by it, but his response is too practical, not nearly as emotionally driven as one would expect of a cuckolded husband. He says she can keep seeing Vronsky as long as she keeps it secret and doesn’t bring him to the house. What?

       Is it noble? Maybe. He’s being generous by the standards of the day. In Anna’s eyes, it’s much more painful than a divorce. What makes Alexei Alexandrovich’s response so important is that it forces Anna to balance her two worlds, which was never really her plan. How can she balance two worlds that are so clearly unequal? A stifling marriage to a man she doesn’t love, or a happy romance with a dashing young man who loves her…It just doesn’t work. And that’s what she has to struggle with for the rest of the novel.