India, July 19 -- Dear Reader,

I am angry. And disturbed. In my head, a million thoughts buzz. Ahead of me is a red traffic light. Buses, cars, autos. A food-delivery man squeezes his scooter through the gap between a car and a bus.

Inside the car with me is Prince Stepan Oblonsky. His affair with his children's governess has just been revealed through an incriminating letter. The household is in disarray because his wife has withdrawn. We see her in agony, terrified and bewildered. We see him have his toast and coffee, his calm existence disrupted a little as he has had to sleep in the library. She, by contrast, hasn't slept at all.

Just as I am giving Leo Tolstoy full marks for the skill with which he sets up this contrast, the man's...