All that he really showed,
to start with, was a slight, swift love-story, which might have ended
as easily as it began.
The method of the book, in short, does not arise out of the subject;
in treating it Tolstoy simply used the method that was congenial to
him, without regarding the story that he had to tell. He began it as
though Anna's break with her past was the climax to which the story
was to mount, whereas it is really the point from which the story sets
out for its true climax in her final catastrophe. And so the first
part of the book is neither one thing nor the other; it is not an
independent drama, for it cannot reach its height through all the
necessary sweep of development; and on the other hand it is not a
sufficient preparation for the great picture of inevitable disaster
which is to follow. Tolstoy doubtless counted on his power--and not
without reason, for it is amazing--to call people into life by means
of a few luminous episodes; he knew he could make a living creature of
Anna by bringing her into view in half a dozen scenes. She descends,
accordingly, upon her brother's agitated household like a beneficent
angel, she shines resplendent at some social function, she meets
Vronsky, she talks to her husband; and Tolstoy is right, she becomes a
real and exquisite being forthwith. But he did not see how much more
was needed than a simple personal impression of her, in view of all
that is to come.
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