in the night I read a small book I was shaken like a great book and continues to trouble me and com-move. This is The flight of Tolstoy Alberto Cavallari, published by Skira. Five skinny
chapters divided by a group of black and white photos and preceded by a map of the places, even in black and white.
The book is apparently a record-the record of four days in which Tolstoy is on the run from his home in Yasnaya Polyana and his wife Sofia, but it is also the story of a relationship and a reflection on the claim of self.
In the night between 27 and 28 October 1910 Sofia Tolstoy realizes that spurs us, like a thousand other times in his papers, including his diaries and his sketchbooks. It is only a acts of war that pits wearing Sofia and Lev after 48 years of a marriage gone through the passion, hatred, jealousy, desire for possession and annihilation. Lev is 82 years old, Sofia 66 and two poison each other's lives. Sofia is even more ruthless the poisoner is also the most determined to maintain their close bond. But that night Lev turns. It is said that the measure is full, and perhaps ask: If not now, when? So, secretly, in the middle of the night, he began his flight that will end after four days in the small station of Astapovo, where he died Nov. 7. His last words are: Escape, you must escape . The book
is a small jewel, but the effect it has had on me goes beyond its literary value. It has to do with me, because it touches on topics that stir me and move within me forever. Shook the child and the adolescent, the girl and the woman and never broke up or place: travel, escape, freedom, full self-possession, due to its interior space, the right to salvation and termination of the bonds; also selfishness and solitude as the only secure homeland.
why I read the book in a state increasingly anxious, feeling hounded by the pursuers, like my beloved Tolstoy while studying routes, tricks, strategies and diversions in order to hide the wife and the authorities of the country involved in the research of the writer, icon and myth of an entire people.
The old man who runs away, dreaming of the distance and spaces, which goes on trains like on a nervous horse, watching the immense landscapes ice sliding into the night, savoring the cool dawn air, and it rests and is neglected and still gets sick and goes on until the dying: everyone read in its own way this sudden flight. For some it will be a final attempt to escape to death, for others a race determined and convinced to death, others only one episode of a long marriage battle ended badly for the representation or recklessness that the artist gives final the parable of human life. Read each of the metaphor as they wish. But Tolstoy
you breathless and you look back, that suddenly changes its direction of travel, which clears behind traces of its passage and stops only when it is already numb with cold and fever and fatigue for me ' embodiment of a need to break free, I've never met but who until the last day of my life I will shake inside. I trembled for Tolstoy on the run, I have trepidation, fear and hope I had for him and with him I looked behind. When he cried, I cried. But I do not think no, this confused my aspiration to climb over my life and its structure is only mine. To this I recommend the book because, though not with my own and probably pathological vehemence, perhaps everyone can recognize in the revolt of Tolstoy's own impulse to revolt and to recognize that there is a need for freedom to the bottom of each of us can arise and make us act even at the end of our lives that need to mature and can be made also to 82 years.
Everyone can perhaps recognize that Tolstoy escape, you escape .
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