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A review by sowalsky
War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy
5.0
"War and Peace" might just as well have been entitled "Hatred and Love," or "Wealth and Poverty," or "Realism and Idealism," or, as Tolstoy himself implies at the end of the book, "Necessity and Free Will." This is a book which is preoccupied, on multiple levels, with the synthesis of mutually exclusive elements. Even the novel's form emphasizes its content. "War and Peace" is divided into four books (plus two epilogues), each of which is divided into multiple sections, with each section being divided into many small chapters of three to four pages on average. Tolstoy weaves together numerous threads based on the stories of several prominent Russian families, balanced against the broader historical events surrounding the Napoleonic Wars, contrasting these microcosms with the larger macrocosm in which they are contained. Tolstoy works round-robin, focusing for several chapters on one family or character, then another, and then on the historical background, all of which are interspersed with occasional short forays into narrative philosophical commentary. Thus, the author mixes together the stories of individuals and families with the story of nations.
Although less explicit about his intent in this regard, Tolstoy also seems to assert that human events are cyclical in nature. Twice in the story Napoleon is seen invading Russia. Twice in the story Natasha finds herself romantically inclined towards different men -- and then a third time at the very conclusion of the book. To take another example, there are the numerous instances in which Pierre experiences conflicting epiphanies which result in the course of his life swinging radically from one direction to another. Of course, the backdrop of the cyclical change of seasons becomes pivotal during the conflict of 1812. And, in the broader scope, the procession of generations is reflected as well: at the end of the novel, the characters who were children and adolescents at the start of the story are now, themselves, parents, the progeny having taken the place of their own progenitors.
To be perfectly frank, I was prepared to dislike this novel. The older I get, the more difficult it is for me to dismiss the ignorance of the past: the patriarchy, the classism, the bigotry. But Tolstoy, as a privileged, empowered, white male does a reasonable job of maintaining a balanced perspective, given the age (the 1860s) in which he was writing. Some of his philosophical asides are particularly gratifying in this regard, particularly his message that the romantic veneer of warfare is a thin cover for a phenomenon which is disgusting and disgraceful. In this regard, he foreshadows Vonnegut more than Hemingway.
The Epilogues are, arguably, the most problematic parts of "War and Peace." The first of these follows the ultimate fate of about a half dozen of the novel's more prominent characters, to no obvious purpose, particularly since it ends so inconclusively. The reader is almost led to believe that it's the set-up for a sequel. But, as the introduction to this edition makes clear, Tolstoy had originally wanted to write a story about the Decembrist uprising of 1825. However, in mapping out his ideas, he realized that it was the quarter-century-long period preceding that uprising which planted its seeds. In order to tell the story of the Decembrists effectively, it would be necessary for him, first, to address the period of the Napoleonic Wars. And once Tolstoy started down that road he, evidently, felt that the subject of the Decembrists carried less weight. In the end, he simply hints at the end of the first Epilogue that two of the characters were likely to figure into the 1825 uprising in some unspecified manner.
Tolstoy's second, slightly shorter, Epilogue is a bit more frustrating, and consists of a philosophical treatise on the age-old subject of the dichotomy between necessity and free will, as expressed within circa-1860s historical scholarship. It's a bit like a comedian explaining his joke after it's been told, but Tolstoy, presumably, wanted to make certain that his underlying point was not lost on the reader. He asserts, in short, that the more we know about the subjects of history, the further in time those subjects are from us, and the greater our knowledge of their context (i.e., the circumstances which may have acted as mitigating forces), the less likely we are to ascribe history to the free will of individuals or groups, and the more likely we are to ascribe it to necessity. Tolstoy does, however, stop somewhat shy of pure determinism, in the end making recourse to metaphysics without further comment. This, again, is clearly reflected in the form of the novel, since the Decembrist uprising was that much closer in time to his day than the Napoleonic Wars; thus, Tolstoy seems to be sidestepping the issue of addressing who was responsible for the events of 1825 by focusing on the events of the generation preceding them, which, from his perspective, were easier to ascribe, convincingly, to necessity. In fact, he spends a good deal of the main body of the book minimizing Napoleon, refuting his role as a military genius or a great leader, and instead demonstrating again and again how those who were little remarked upon by history played much more central roles in the unfolding of events, as well as highlighting the manner in which individuals and groups were often acted upon by greater forces well beyond their control. This is reflected in the individual characters whose biographies Tolstoy presents, as well: the reader understand early on that Nikolai and Sonya will not -- cannot -- ever marry, and this because of forces which acted upon them even before their own births (i.e., family circumstances beyond their control). And so it continues throughout the book.
Tolstoy may not be as deep and broodingly thoughtful as Dostoyevsky -- and he is therefore easier to read, yet not as satisfying -- but he doesn't exactly play softball either. Despite its focus on the aristocracy, its patriarchal cultural context, the author's exasperating predilection for repetition, and his self-assured (if dubious) philosophical assertions, I found this classic a joy to read. I am, furthermore, grateful that no sequel was attempted, and I wholeheartedly hope that no one is foolish enough to try their hand at it now, some 150 years after the fact.
Although less explicit about his intent in this regard, Tolstoy also seems to assert that human events are cyclical in nature. Twice in the story Napoleon is seen invading Russia. Twice in the story Natasha finds herself romantically inclined towards different men -- and then a third time at the very conclusion of the book. To take another example, there are the numerous instances in which Pierre experiences conflicting epiphanies which result in the course of his life swinging radically from one direction to another. Of course, the backdrop of the cyclical change of seasons becomes pivotal during the conflict of 1812. And, in the broader scope, the procession of generations is reflected as well: at the end of the novel, the characters who were children and adolescents at the start of the story are now, themselves, parents, the progeny having taken the place of their own progenitors.
To be perfectly frank, I was prepared to dislike this novel. The older I get, the more difficult it is for me to dismiss the ignorance of the past: the patriarchy, the classism, the bigotry. But Tolstoy, as a privileged, empowered, white male does a reasonable job of maintaining a balanced perspective, given the age (the 1860s) in which he was writing. Some of his philosophical asides are particularly gratifying in this regard, particularly his message that the romantic veneer of warfare is a thin cover for a phenomenon which is disgusting and disgraceful. In this regard, he foreshadows Vonnegut more than Hemingway.
The Epilogues are, arguably, the most problematic parts of "War and Peace." The first of these follows the ultimate fate of about a half dozen of the novel's more prominent characters, to no obvious purpose, particularly since it ends so inconclusively. The reader is almost led to believe that it's the set-up for a sequel. But, as the introduction to this edition makes clear, Tolstoy had originally wanted to write a story about the Decembrist uprising of 1825. However, in mapping out his ideas, he realized that it was the quarter-century-long period preceding that uprising which planted its seeds. In order to tell the story of the Decembrists effectively, it would be necessary for him, first, to address the period of the Napoleonic Wars. And once Tolstoy started down that road he, evidently, felt that the subject of the Decembrists carried less weight. In the end, he simply hints at the end of the first Epilogue that two of the characters were likely to figure into the 1825 uprising in some unspecified manner.
Tolstoy's second, slightly shorter, Epilogue is a bit more frustrating, and consists of a philosophical treatise on the age-old subject of the dichotomy between necessity and free will, as expressed within circa-1860s historical scholarship. It's a bit like a comedian explaining his joke after it's been told, but Tolstoy, presumably, wanted to make certain that his underlying point was not lost on the reader. He asserts, in short, that the more we know about the subjects of history, the further in time those subjects are from us, and the greater our knowledge of their context (i.e., the circumstances which may have acted as mitigating forces), the less likely we are to ascribe history to the free will of individuals or groups, and the more likely we are to ascribe it to necessity. Tolstoy does, however, stop somewhat shy of pure determinism, in the end making recourse to metaphysics without further comment. This, again, is clearly reflected in the form of the novel, since the Decembrist uprising was that much closer in time to his day than the Napoleonic Wars; thus, Tolstoy seems to be sidestepping the issue of addressing who was responsible for the events of 1825 by focusing on the events of the generation preceding them, which, from his perspective, were easier to ascribe, convincingly, to necessity. In fact, he spends a good deal of the main body of the book minimizing Napoleon, refuting his role as a military genius or a great leader, and instead demonstrating again and again how those who were little remarked upon by history played much more central roles in the unfolding of events, as well as highlighting the manner in which individuals and groups were often acted upon by greater forces well beyond their control. This is reflected in the individual characters whose biographies Tolstoy presents, as well: the reader understand early on that Nikolai and Sonya will not -- cannot -- ever marry, and this because of forces which acted upon them even before their own births (i.e., family circumstances beyond their control). And so it continues throughout the book.
Tolstoy may not be as deep and broodingly thoughtful as Dostoyevsky -- and he is therefore easier to read, yet not as satisfying -- but he doesn't exactly play softball either. Despite its focus on the aristocracy, its patriarchal cultural context, the author's exasperating predilection for repetition, and his self-assured (if dubious) philosophical assertions, I found this classic a joy to read. I am, furthermore, grateful that no sequel was attempted, and I wholeheartedly hope that no one is foolish enough to try their hand at it now, some 150 years after the fact.