I'm currently reading Sof'ja Tolstaja's diaries; I started out of curiosity from radblr posts about writers' and artists' wives. I wanted to pay some sort of homage to Sof'ja Andreevna, to honour her forgotten genius.
I am almost halfway through the book and it is easily one of my saddest reads: you can see this bright, young girl full of enthusiasm and spirit growing into a bitter and depressed woman with too many children and too many failed aspirations. Despite her evident depression, she repeatedly declares her love for Lev Nikolaevič: did she love him? I believe she didn't want to admit her overwhelming sadness; is this what love should look like?
I can't help but mourn her wasted youth, her aspirations and her brightness, drowned in a sea of sorrow without an ounce of compassion from her selfish husband and children.
I hope she will never be forgotten.