What if my entire nature, my entire conscious life, simply was not the real thing?

…Not the real thing. Everything you lived by and still live by is a lie, a deception that blinds you from the reality of life and death.

-Ivan Ilych

In 2001, I read Anna Karenina and consider it one of the worst books I’ve ever had the misfortune to come across. Despite that, I decided to give Tolstoy another chance with this much smaller book, and thankfully, he lived up to his fame. I’m using this review for the 9th task of the Take a Chance Challenge. It involves writing a review in three poems – a haiku, a limerick, and free form.

I’m not a poetry person. I warn you, this is awful. On the other hand, for someone with severe writer’s block, and who generally hates poetry, I actually had a lot of fun writing these up. They may be awful, but at least my brain was able to create something.

My limerick:

Anna Karenina failed
My brain felt it was impaled
But the shortness of this
Death of Ivan Ilych
Caused a relief that must be hailed.

My haiku:

Ivan: overlooked
His life: an island of grief
His death: clarity

My free form:

Over a century ago
when this book was written
life was quite unlike our own
Without electricity
or modern science
Without a reasonable chance to
survive injury

Ivan Ilych is driven
by his love of money and status
His job holds him back; he fights to move up.
His family is unhealthy:
dying children and bitter wife.
Life passes in a haze
of argument and avoidance.

Ivan works to gain what he swears he deserves
But a poorly made judgment–
in a vanity at that!–
causes an affliction no one understands
And as life falls away
poisoned and black
Ivan struggles to make sense of his life and his death.
***

My favorite is the haiku. Yours? I did warn you they were awful…

But seriously, this was a really good book. Beyond the first chapter or two, where I inevitably struggled with the Russian naming system, I fell right into the rhythm of the book and was captivated until the end. The discourses on the meaning of life, the truth of existence, and the purpose of death are well worth the read. Much more worth reading than my awful attempt at poetry.