Scan barcode
A review by beritt
War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy
4.0
How do you write a review of War and Peace? It’s like writing a review of one of Shakespeare’s plays or poems - you can still have an opinion, of course, but the brilliance of the piece is never in question.
And it wasn’t, not for a second. This book is unbelievably good. I kept a list of characters at first, because I had difficulty keeping track of all the double last names, Russian nicknames, and adopted French names (to give you an idea, Pierre is actually called Pyotr, but is often referred to by his last name Bezukhov, but his full last name is actually Kirilych Bezukhov, so occasionally someone would refer to Count Kirilych and I had to double-check my list to see who (s)he was talking about) but about 200 pages in I could keep everyone apart.
According to the introduction to this edition of the novel, readers and critics were initially confused and annoyed by this novel because it wasn’t clear who the protagonists were, nor whether this was a novel, or something else.
Neither of these things bothered me. Sure, the long reflections on history and war could not always sustain my attention, especially not if they lasted several chapters (hence my giving four stars instead of five). Yet, they did not disrupt the narrative for me, but were intertwined with it, especially with Pierre’s and Nikolai’s stories (they’re almost polar opposites to me, those two, much like Alexander and Napoleon).
I could care less about Nikolai, honestly, and by the end of the novel I found him stubborn and silly; so rigid in his commitment to the army and the country. Considering his character development over the course of the novel, though, it’s the perfect culmination of all his experiences, especially those in the war (but also those with Sonya - does he become so unemotional near the end because
Pierre, on the other hand, was my favorite. Like Levin in Anna Karenina, I felt like he was most like Tolstoy himself. I’m sure much has been written about that, I don’t know - I just noticed the similarities with Levin (his spiritual quest, his happiness in rural family life) and I LOVED THEM. Pierre’s spiritual searching was at the heart of the novel for me.
But what I love most about this novel is what I loved most about Anna Karenina as well: I know no other author, except maybe Nabokov (although in an entirely different way) who is able to capture everything about life, and being alive, and the human experience so perfectly. I know that’s a a trite thing to say, but I don’t know how else to phrase it: he captures life. “If life could write, it would write like Tolstoy," Isaac Babel is quoted to have set on the back flap of this edition, and so it is.
The things I remember most from this novel are things that almost feel like my own memories. Which is crazy considering this is an 1869 novel about life at the beginning of the 19th century (around 1812). And yet, I feel like I “remember” how Natasha was sitting at the window sill at their country house and sighing to Sonya about not being able to go to bed because everything was so beautiful. I feel like I “remember” the excitement Nikolai experienced when hunting with the borzois and his uncle on a particularly freezing day. I “remember” Andrei’s poetic reflections on life on the eve before battle, and I “remember” Pierre’s experiences, especially his marveling at the beautiful hills in the early morning:
“When on the first day he got up early, went out of the shed at dawn, and saw the cupolas and crosses of the New Convent of the Virgin still dark at first, the hoar frost on the dusty grass, the Sparrow Hills, and the wooded banks above the winding river vanishing in the purple distance, when he felt the contact of the fresh air, and heard the noise of the crows flying from Moscow across the field, and when afterwards light gleamed from the east and the sun’s rim appeared solemnly from behind a cloud, and the cupolas and crosses, the hoar frost, the distance and the river, all began to sparkle in the glad light - Pierre felt a new joy and strength in life such as he had never before known” (1090).
I wasn’t there, and yet, I was.
Sure, all good writers make you feel that way (I hope). But there is something about Tolstoy’s writing that’s different. It’s as if you are really, truly there, even noticing the things he isn’t writing down. It's as if you are watching a scene play out on stage and notice a look pass between two of the players. I “see” it, even when it’s not explicitly mentioned. That’s how alive the novel is.
To finish, this section from another “remembered” moment; Pierre’s conversation with Marya and Natasha near the end of the novel (hidden for spoilers):
“‘They say, misfortunes and sufferings,’ remarked Pierre, ‘yes, but if right now, right this minute they asked me: “Would you rather be what you were before you were taken prisoner, or go through this all again?’ For God’s sake let me again have captivity and horse flesh! We imagine that when we are thrown out of our familiar rut all is lost, but that is only when something new and good can begin. While there is life there is happiness. There is much, much before us. I say this to you,’ he added, turning to Natasha” (1204).
There is much, much before us indeed.
This has been an incredible novel, and I will remember Pierre, Natasha, and Marya just as I remember Levin and Kitty.
And it wasn’t, not for a second. This book is unbelievably good. I kept a list of characters at first, because I had difficulty keeping track of all the double last names, Russian nicknames, and adopted French names (to give you an idea, Pierre is actually called Pyotr, but is often referred to by his last name Bezukhov, but his full last name is actually Kirilych Bezukhov, so occasionally someone would refer to Count Kirilych and I had to double-check my list to see who (s)he was talking about) but about 200 pages in I could keep everyone apart.
According to the introduction to this edition of the novel, readers and critics were initially confused and annoyed by this novel because it wasn’t clear who the protagonists were, nor whether this was a novel, or something else.
Neither of these things bothered me. Sure, the long reflections on history and war could not always sustain my attention, especially not if they lasted several chapters (hence my giving four stars instead of five). Yet, they did not disrupt the narrative for me, but were intertwined with it, especially with Pierre’s and Nikolai’s stories (they’re almost polar opposites to me, those two, much like Alexander and Napoleon).
I could care less about Nikolai, honestly, and by the end of the novel I found him stubborn and silly; so rigid in his commitment to the army and the country. Considering his character development over the course of the novel, though, it’s the perfect culmination of all his experiences, especially those in the war (but also those with Sonya - does he become so unemotional near the end because
Spoiler
he had to distance himself from her?Pierre, on the other hand, was my favorite. Like Levin in Anna Karenina, I felt like he was most like Tolstoy himself. I’m sure much has been written about that, I don’t know - I just noticed the similarities with Levin (his spiritual quest, his happiness in rural family life) and I LOVED THEM. Pierre’s spiritual searching was at the heart of the novel for me.
But what I love most about this novel is what I loved most about Anna Karenina as well: I know no other author, except maybe Nabokov (although in an entirely different way) who is able to capture everything about life, and being alive, and the human experience so perfectly. I know that’s a a trite thing to say, but I don’t know how else to phrase it: he captures life. “If life could write, it would write like Tolstoy," Isaac Babel is quoted to have set on the back flap of this edition, and so it is.
The things I remember most from this novel are things that almost feel like my own memories. Which is crazy considering this is an 1869 novel about life at the beginning of the 19th century (around 1812). And yet, I feel like I “remember” how Natasha was sitting at the window sill at their country house and sighing to Sonya about not being able to go to bed because everything was so beautiful. I feel like I “remember” the excitement Nikolai experienced when hunting with the borzois and his uncle on a particularly freezing day. I “remember” Andrei’s poetic reflections on life on the eve before battle, and I “remember” Pierre’s experiences
Spoiler
in captivity“When on the first day he got up early, went out of the shed at dawn, and saw the cupolas and crosses of the New Convent of the Virgin still dark at first, the hoar frost on the dusty grass, the Sparrow Hills, and the wooded banks above the winding river vanishing in the purple distance, when he felt the contact of the fresh air, and heard the noise of the crows flying from Moscow across the field, and when afterwards light gleamed from the east and the sun’s rim appeared solemnly from behind a cloud, and the cupolas and crosses, the hoar frost, the distance and the river, all began to sparkle in the glad light - Pierre felt a new joy and strength in life such as he had never before known” (1090).
I wasn’t there, and yet, I was.
Sure, all good writers make you feel that way (I hope). But there is something about Tolstoy’s writing that’s different. It’s as if you are really, truly there, even noticing the things he isn’t writing down. It's as if you are watching a scene play out on stage and notice a look pass between two of the players. I “see” it, even when it’s not explicitly mentioned. That’s how alive the novel is.
To finish, this section from another “remembered” moment; Pierre’s conversation with Marya and Natasha near the end of the novel (hidden for spoilers):
Spoiler
“‘They say, misfortunes and sufferings,’ remarked Pierre, ‘yes, but if right now, right this minute they asked me: “Would you rather be what you were before you were taken prisoner, or go through this all again?’ For God’s sake let me again have captivity and horse flesh! We imagine that when we are thrown out of our familiar rut all is lost, but that is only when something new and good can begin. While there is life there is happiness. There is much, much before us. I say this to you,’ he added, turning to Natasha” (1204).
There is much, much before us indeed.
This has been an incredible novel, and I will remember Pierre, Natasha, and Marya just as I remember Levin and Kitty.