Leo Tolstoy's 'Anna Karenina' is one of my favourite books of all time, I spent last summer ploughing away at it on holiday. Who can't resist reading about the tragedies of Anna's doomed love affair and Lenin's failing attempts to win over his bride to be? I remember the exact time I finished reading it; I was on a beach in Corfu with my family and the air was getting colder as the sun began to set. I was sitting on my sun lounger, covered in a blanket, tears flowing down my face at the tragedy of the tale, getting the usual 'what do I do with myself now' feeling as I shut the book.
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