I was sitting in my upstairs room with the Paperback on my lap. I could not believe that all the tumultuous, heart-rending, and unforgettable events I encountered were finally behind me, though safely residing in my memory lane. I closed my eyes and sat pensively without actually thinking anything. A soothing feeling of tranquility gradually possessed me I am calm like a placid sea.

Suddenly I heard a bizarre sound: it was like a hoof sound, something galloping in my yard; A horse? .I didn’t open my eyes and tried to envision the cause of these outlandish ,befuddling sounds with my blank, lethargic mind . I followed the sound of footsteps from the yard to the staircase in my mind’s eye; definitely more than 2 people with a lady of-course ( I could hear the faint rustle of silk and light steps) . My calm, saturated mind suddenly seized an imminent prospect of terror! ‘They…’? I mused. I thought I was sleeping and tried not to heed these unremitting chain of events by mentally deeming it as ‘dream’. But I wasn’t even certain if I was dreaming. I was tired in a calm way.I was tired even to think. I was puzzled as to not able to comprehend what was happening around me; I was enfeebled by the huge, overpowering waves of events that had been throbbing against my whole being for over a month.

knocks on the door!!! The sound of heaving, coughs, rustles were all distinct now. I tried not to yield to the dream (I seriously thought it was a dream) . No! It can’t be a dream! I started playing a duel with my failing mind and remnant energy. The clicking sound of clock had a portentous import, and the door suddenly clicked open. Two gentlemen and a lady emerged into the room with beaming faces . The Men were in full uniform (I have seen the Russian uniforms in google) and the lady was in a pink silk dress (charming , full of energy) . My heart pounded like a mad man playing drums. My hands froze and my eyes were dazed. Prince Andrei Bolkonski , Count Pierre Bezukov , and Natasha Rostova - they could be no one else as I can spot them even in a crowded street; they were indelible images in my heart. Am I dreaming? Of-course, I am !! But wait! I am not! I see them, right before my eyes. Believe me folks!!!!

Pierre: We harnessed our horses to a pole in the backyard. A lady was looking us as if we were demons! *laughs*

Me: That’s our maid. (Still unable to recover from the shock)

Pierre: You still keep maids? I freed them as soon as I joined free masons. *smiles questioningly*

Me: They are not slaves. They can quit whenever they want. They get more income than clerks nowadays. Why were you so confused with your life Pierre? Your aimless wanderings in search of the ‘meaning of life’ had consumed the better part of your life. You have even resorted to free masons for spiritual enlightenment. *cheeks turned crimson at making the unseemly abrupt question* ( I considered these people in front of me as my close relations. I knew everything about them, and I traveled with them in the crests and troughs of their lives).

Pierre: *smiles affably* I had been engrossed and appalled by the mystery of life.” What is bad? What is good? What should one love and what hate? What does one live for? And what am I? What is life, and what is death? What power governs it all? “ and the contrived answer my conscience furnished was this :”you’ll die and all will end. You’ll die and know all, or cease asking.”
Then one day, on a journey, I happened to meet an Old mason and he imparted me the first shimmering vial of wisdom to my dark, turbid mind.
He said: “The highest wisdom and truth are like the purest wisdom we may wish to imbibe. Can I receive that pure liquid into an impure vessel and judge of its purity? Only by inner purification of myself can I retain in some degree of purity the liquid I receive.”
And I knew I had to perfect myself to retain the purity of the truths that are revealed to me.

Me: And you joined the Old man and free masons inorder to streamline all your faculties and ideas. What if I say-though you considered their teachings and rule with ardent spirit, you later on donned your actual disposition, and you were rebounded back to your brooding, disquieting, absent-minded life.

Pierre: That is not so. Living for others is a principle I carried……

Andrei: *interrupts* Everyone lives in his own way .You live for others; I lived for glory. And after all what is glory? The same love for others, a desire to do something for them, a desire for their approval- so I lived for others, and not almost, but had quite ruined my life. And I became calmer ever since I began to live for myself ….until… I met her.* glances at Natasha* I am happy when I can do good, but to remedy injustice is the greatest happiness.

Me: Your first meeting with Natasha was very moving. I was so carried away by the blissful, picturesque quality with which you experienced it.

girl at the window…….

Natasha : *eyes fixed at a random tile* why u had to die Andrew? I know I had vexed you once with my breaking your trust. I was an imbecile back then, and knew nothing but folly. He (Anatole Kuragine) took advantage of my weakness; and when I lost everything (you), I felt I was dead. Everything that once shone before my eyes seemed lackluster after your breaking up with me. For the very first time, I started dreading my life. I thought my existence was abominable. And, finally, fate brought you near me only to witness your death. *sobs*

Andrei: And it united us too , momentarily yet eternally. When Pierre first said one must believe in the possibility of love, I denied it. But I started believing it once I saw you. And Pierre is the best husband you may ever get. Aren’t you happy with him?

Natasha: *nods with a melancholic smile*

Me: (interrupts, feeling things are going too sentimental) Is Napoleon really that abject?

Andrei: Our Creator has reiterated the answer for your question in innumerable ways. I think you have forgotten it. It is not the question whether he is abject or not, or whether he is genius or not. Napoleon, like Tsar Alexander, had been just a tool, a mere cog- wheel, in the machine of history.

“Man lives consciously for himself, but is an unconscious instrument in the attainment of the historic, universal aims of humanity. A deed done is irrevocable, and its result coinciding in time with the actions (and spirit) of millions of other men assumes an historic significance. The Higher a man stands o the social ladder, the more people he is connected with and the more power he has over others, the more evident is the predestination and inevitability of his every action.

The king’s heart is in the hands of the lord; A king is history’s slave; History use every moment of life of kings as a tool for its own purposes “

'War and death' has taught me the meaning of ‘divine love’. It was when I saw him (Anatole) dying as he lay prostrate near my bed, my heart kindled with the blazing fire of unconditional love. At that time I felt no animosity toward him, just love. Love in its unadulterated form.

“love one’s neighbors, love one’s enemies, love everything, love God in all his manifestations. It is possible to love someone dear to you with human love, but an enemy can only be loved by divine love. When loving with human love, one may pass from love to hatred. But divine love does not change. Neither death nor anything can destroy it. It is the very essence of the soul.”

Me : The mystery of love and life , their combination , their complete solubility in the solvent of Faith, which has been revealed to you in your death bed, is one of the most profound of life’s teachings my eyes has ever chanced to see.

“Love hinders death. Love is life. All, everything that I understand, I understand only because I love. Everything is united by it alone. Love is god, and to die means that, I, a part of love shall return to the eternal general source”

The Title, “ War and Love” , instead of the present one would have been more appropriate as to the essence and soul of the novel, as Peace, in the unremitting turmoil that pervades throughout the story and individuals alike, seems to be only an unfulfilled wish.

Pierre : That’s not true. The absence of suffering, the satisfaction of one’s needs, and consequent freedom in the choice of one’s occupation is indubitably man’s highest happiness , thereby attaining peace. So whatever the context of the story may be, attaining Peace after unrest (war) is the highest form of happiness. The Creator leads the readers to that pinnacle of happiness (peace); to guide you find the light of happiness amid the ghastly darkness of inner turmoil.

Me: You have been alluding to this ‘Creator’ for several times now. Do you refer to God?

Andrei: I don’t know if u can call him that. We call him ‘Lev Nikolayevich Tolstoy’

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All three of them smiled at me radiantly, like stars in the calm sky. Their smile, their happiness imparted a luminous quality in their eyes. The highest form of happiness, peace, evident in their smooth countenances, shimmered in their faces. I felt a sense of joy brimming in my heart. The remnant dark clouds that reigned over my whole being diffused away to reveal the sunshine of hope and happiness.

They smiled radiantly, and knowingly. Their radiance evolved into a blob of bright light.My eyes became dazed or was it the entire room getting filled with pale light? The pale, white light grew as the faces of my friends faded in the overwhelming colorless light that seethed in the room (or my eyes?).
The door-knocks resounded in my ears with indomitable ferocity and it grew louder and louder.
I got up, lurched forward, staggered to the door, and managed to open it. The pale light abruptly ceased and the maid was standing at the threshold evidently perplexed, with my evening Coffee nestled in her little hands. I looked at her, but my gaze was not fixed at her or anywhere. Wiping my damp forehead mechanically, I half turned to see my brightly-lit room, with golden yellowish light blazing forth through the billowing net curtains, all silent and placid, except for the sound of the fluttering pages of the wide-opened War and Peace which lay on the bed majestically. “truk tuk tuk*

The Creator of this Saga, Leo Tolstoy, with his unparalleled brilliance sketched a vast panorama of Love, hatred, war, and existence; and all we have to do, as a reader, is to bask in all the mind- enriching things he had proffered in his magnum opus.

5 stars on 5 !

-gautam

(Note : the whole scenario above is purely imaginative)

P.S : Best moments :

1.tPrince Andrei during Battle at Austerlitz :

“Above him there was now nothing but the sky- the lofty sky, not clear yet immeasurably lofty, with grey clouds gliding slowly across it. ‘How peaceful, quiet and solemn not at all as I ran’, thought Prince Andrew-‘not as we ran, shouting and fighting ,not at all the gunner and the Frenchman with frightened and angry faces struggled for the mop ; how differently do those clouds glide across that lofty infinite sky! How was it I did not see that lofty sky before? And how happy I am to have found it at last! Yes! All is vanity, all falsehood, except that infinite sky. There is nothing, nothing, but that. But even it does not exist, there is nothing but quiet and peace. ‘Thank God!’”

2.tPrince Andrew and the Old Oak Tree :

“Yes, here in this forest was that oak which I agreed. He started gazing at the left side of the road, and without recognizing it he looked with admiration he sought. The Old oak, quite transfigured, spreading out a canopy of sappy dark- green foliage,stood rapt and slightly trembling in the rays of evening sun. Neither gnarled fingers nor old scars nor old doubts and sorrows were any of them in evidence now. Through the hard century old-bark, even where there were no twigs, leaves had sprouted such as one could hardly believe the old veteran could have produced. All at once Prince Andrew was seized by an unreasoning spring-time feeling of joy and renewal. All the best moments of his life rose to his memory. ‘ No ! life is not over at thirty-one. It is not enough for me to know what I have in me! ‘“

3.tGermination of love in Pierre for Natasha:

“On the contrary he gazed joyfully, his eyes moist with tears, at this bright comet ( comet of the year 1812) which, having traveled in its orbit with inconceivable velocity through immeasurable space, seemed suddenly- like an arrow piercing the earth- to remain fixed in a chosen spot, vigorously holding its tail erect, shining and displaying its white light amid countless other scintillating stars. It seemed to Pierre that this comet fully responded to what was passing in his own softened and uplifted soul, now blossoming into a new life.”

Personal Advice if you are planning to read War and Peace:

1.Buy a paperback (refrain from using kindle atleast for one time) so as to enjoy the physical presence of the book along with the comfort rendered by the novel.

2.You don’t have to write down the character names. (if you read wholeheartedly and not merely as a challenge). There are only a dozen prominent characters and you will be well acquainted with them with the progress of the story.

3.I found the theories interesting. If you are not a big fan of theories and their detailed explanation, skip some parts along the road. (Especially of history, Napoleon’s folly etc). I guarantee it won’t meddle too much with the soul of the novel.

(edited 4 times)

I have finished War and Peace, and it should feels like I have crossed the Rubicon of literature. It doesn't. I found it strangely easy reading, with even the war chapters and the explanations of the strategy of Kutuzof being concise and readable. The major complaint I would have for Mr. Tolstoy, is that he kept writing when the story was over. I hated plodding through the final section after I had enjoyed the story so much up to that point.

No need for me to attempt any dissection of this novel in a review. Greater minds than mine had exhausted it already. I am very pleased to have read it at last. It was a prick on me every time I passed the TBR bookshelf. My timing was superb, since there is a mini-series beginning tonight and I can now watch it after having read the book.

I gave it a 4-star rating mainly because it does not measure up to Anna Karenina, which is an absolute wonder and would get more than 5-stars from me if it were possible. That it is a spectacular achievement is hardly debatable.

On a personal note, I confess that I had never quite connected the year of Napoleon's defeat in Russia with the year of Dolly Madison's saving of treasures of the White House and the writing of our National Anthem...but both wars are the War of 1812. Seems strange that we were such a young country when these events in Russia unfolded.

Pazienza e tempo.. e poi arriva l’ora

Ho appena letto le pagine migliori di tutto il libro, ma le ha scritte un altro Leone (Ginzburg) costretto ad asteriscarsi a causa delle leggi razziali in vigore quando le assemblò per la prefazione alla traduzione italiana del 1928.

È fondamentale, in Guerra e pace, la differenza fra personaggi storici e personaggi umani. I personaggi umani – si tratti di Natàša, di Pierre, del principe Andréj o anche dei piú insignificanti – amano, soffrono, sbagliano, si ricredono, cioè, in una parola, vivono; mentre gli altri sono condannati a recitare una parte che non è scritta da loro, anche se tutti – tranne forse Kutúzov – s’immaginano d’improvvisarla.

Trovo questa distinzione esplicativa e riconciliante, trovo che sia l’epilogo che avrebbe dovuto scrivere il Leone più famoso invece di comporne uno da 28 capitoli zeppo di ripetizioni, quello che non ti aspetteresti alla fine di un viaggio in carrozza di 2000 verste da Frittole a San Pietroburgo passando per Mosca.
La domanda che mi sono fatto più volte e che credo si ponga chiunque valuti l’approccio a Guerra e Pace è: ne vale la pena? Duemila pagine, 4 tomi ciascuno diviso in 4 parti. I capitoli sono brevi, la lettura è semplice ma son pur sempre 2000 verste in carrozza, nel pantano, al gelo dell’inverno russo (quello del racconto), alternate a soste in residenze sfarzose dove si partecipa a ricevimenti sontuosi. È peggiore la noia dei pettegolezzi di corte o la crudeltà della guerra? Entrambe riguardano solo i nobili, per i poveri in questo romanzo c’è poco spazio, non vi aspettate di leggere Hugo o Steinbeck, gli ultimi qui sono manovalanza, carne da macello di cui si fa a malapena menzione. Nel lungo epilogo finale di cui Ginzburg è riuscito a tirare le fila mirabilmente, Tolstoj scrive:

E cosí, senza dividere artificialmente i punti del cono che formano un tutto unico, cioè i gradi dell’esercito o i ranghi e le posizioni di qualsiasi amministrazione o impresa comune, dai piú bassi ai piú alti, vediamo delinearsi una legge secondo la quale gli uomini per compiere azioni congiunte si pongono sempre fra loro in un rapporto tale che, quanto piú direttamente partecipano al compimento dell’azione, tanto meno possono dare ordini e tanto maggiore è il loro numero; e quanto minore è la loro partecipazione diretta all’azione stessa, tanto piú danno ordini e tanto minore è il loro numero; finché in tal modo, salendo dagli strati inferiori, arriviamo a quell’ultimo uomo che partecipa nel modo meno diretto all’avvenimento e piú di tutti orienta la propria attività a impartire ordini. Proprio questo rapporto fra le persone che danno e quelle che ricevono gli ordini costituisce l’essenza del concetto chiamato potere.

Questo è il romanzo di coloro che danno ordini, di coloro che vengono percepiti (a torto secondo Tolstoj) i fautori della Storia. La Storia secondo Lev è un connubio di necessità, casualità e libertà nella quale i grandi condottieri recitano una parte che non hanno scritto, una parte imposta dalle condizioni esterne. A parlar di condottieri non si può omettere la stima di Tolstoj nei confronti di Napoleone

Un uomo senza convinzioni, senza abitudini, senza tradizioni, senza un nome, neppure francese, grazie ai casi apparentemente piú strani si fa strada fra tutti i partiti che agitano la Francia e, senza aderire a nessuno di essi, raggiunge una posizione di rilievo. L’ignoranza dei compagni, la debolezza e nullità degli avversari, la sincerità nella menzogna e la brillante e presuntuosa limitatezza di quest’uomo lo portano al comando dell’esercito… (questo è solo l’inizio, nel riassumere il resto della sua vita sarà ancora più duro)

Contrapposta al rispetto per il vero eroe di questo romanzo: Michail Illarionovič Goleniščev-Kutuzov

Conquistare una fortezza non è difficile, difficile è vincere una campagna. E per questo non bisogna prendere d’assalto e attaccare, ma ci vogliono pazienza e tempo. Kamenskij ha mandato soldati a Rustschuk, io invece usavo solo quelli, pazienza e tempo, e ho conquistato piú fortezze di Kamenskij, e ho costretto i turchi a mangiare carne di cavallo –. Scosse la testa. – E anche i francesi lo faranno! Credi alla mia parola, – disse Kutuzov animandosi e battendosi il petto, – mangeranno carne di cavallo! –

Sballottato in carrozza guardavo fuori sperando inutilmente di esaltarmi e invece sono arrivato a destinazione senza affezionarmi a nessuno dei personaggi del libro. Ora tornerò a casa e certamente non lo farò in carrozza.

https://snipboard.io/JOMSBt.jpg

La recensione finisce qui, quelle di seguito sono considerazioni accessorie

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Nel 2013 ero pronto a partire per Pietroburgo, avevo individuato anche l'edizione da leggere, ma infine rinunciai. Credo che più di qualsiasi cosa, sulla volontà di leggere il libro, abbiano influito queste parole trafugate da un'intervista
La sua bestia nera è proprio Irving Shaw.
Del collega, che ha scritto un libro che ha per scenario la seconda guerra mondiale, dice:
“E’ uno che non ha mai sentito un colpo d’arma da fuoco, né ha mai sparato. Eppure si crede migliore di Tolstoj, che invece era un vero ufficiale di artiglieria, uno che aveva combattuto a Sebastopoli, speciale in qualsiasi cosa facesse: bravo a letto, gran bevitore, ma anche capace di chiudersi una stanza a pensare”.
Di se stesso, abituato com’era ai riferimenti pugilistici, Hemingway diceva:
“Per quanto mi riguarda, ho iniziato piano piano ed ho superato Turgenev, ho lavorato duro e ho superato anche Mr. de Maupassant. Per ben due volte ho affrontato Stendhal, e l’ultima volta forse l’ho battuto ai punti. Ma non entrerei mai nel ring contro Tolstoj, sarebbe una follia”.

Sono partito il 23 agosto e sono arrivato il 20 settembre, novello Balaga

Balaga rischiava la vita e la pelle… gli piacevano quei due, gli piacevano quelle corse folli a diciotto verste all’ora, gli piaceva far ribaltare una vettura di piazza e schiacciare un passante in giro per la città, e volare di gran carriera per le vie di Mosca. Gli piaceva sentire dietro di sé quel grido selvaggio di voci ubriache: «Vai! Vai!», quando era già impossibile correre piú veloci di cosí…

Niente di più distante da me dello spirito di Balaga, non mi piace assolutamente guidare, tanto meno farlo a rotta di collo, eppure in 28 giorni mi son ritrovato a Pietroburgo. Ho alternato audiolibro ed e-book; mi rimarrà impresso l'episodio della caccia al lupo ascoltato passeggiando in battigia, completamente dimentico del mare e degli altri bagnanti. Mi rimarrà impresso la mia personale caccia alla similitudine migliore, risoltasi in favore di

La nostra felicità è come l’acqua nella rete: la butti si riempie la tiri su ed è vuota

Nella mia esperienza di lettore c’è un AM e un DM, dove M sta per Miserabili. Dopo di essi ho ridimensionato tutti i classici che avevo letto prima e non ho trovato niente di altrettanto potente in seguito. Warren Peace esce anch’esso sconfitto dal confronto, pur essendo un'opera mastodontica, pur essendo un contributo storico rilevante. Nelle 1400 pagine de “I miserabili" non ne mancano di pesanti, la differenza però la fanno quelle di genio che qui sono assenti. Niente genio, niente thriller, rare sorprese, solo l'ostinazione può consentirvi di portare avanti la lettura di Guerra e Pace. Il trattato di filosofia della storia dopo 1900 pagine è una crudeltà nei confronti del lettore e devo ringraziare Leone Ginzburg per avermene spiegato il senso. È stato come se un relatore avesse inserito l’argomento che più gli stava a cuore in calce a tre ore di conferenza capaci di sfinire anche il più tenace dei suoi sostenitori. Se scrivi un epilogo del genere ad un romanzo di 2000 pagine, hai escogitato il modo per farti stare a sentire ma difficilmente qualcuno giudicherà memorabili le tue ultime parole.
Da qualche parte ho scritto che sono 3 i romanzi che una volta terminati mi hanno fatto pensare “e ora..?” Arrivato in fondo a Guerra e Pace ho pensato “era l'ora!”

One commentator of War and Peace wryly remarked,” war and peace … that about covers everything.”

That is as succinct a book report as can be given to a work of this magnitude. This novel does contain just about everything; war and peace, battles, hospitals, military strategy, love and romance, marriage, estrangement and divorce, death, birth, families, relationships, friends, enemies, hatred, jealousy, fear, gambling, dueling, hunting, dances, music, religion and politics, mysticism, philosophy, economics, aristocracy, nobility, peasantry and farming, merchants, horses and cavalry, traveling and most all things Russian, European and universal.

A critic could cynically remark, with some truth, that if you put enough words on enough pages, you can talk about everything, but to do so in this epic, historic narrative is an extraordinary accomplishment. About a third of the way through it occurred to me that I had never read a book like this, at once on an epic, grand scale and yet at the same time personal and with great attention to detail. Of course the truth is that I never have read another book like this because there probably is not another book like this, it is unique, even among other literary masterpieces.

Tolstoy may indeed have created the greatest novel ever, because I’ve never before read such a complete work on such a grand scale. Tolstoy uses an abundance of literary devices and techniques, from irony to metaphor and simile, analogy, imagery and symbolism, foreshadowing, epiphany, characterization and all under the very approachable omnipresent, omniscient realism of the author’s voice. There are even elements of surrealism, absurdism and humor. Himself a veteran of the Crimean War, Tolstoy has an adept ability to describe life in the army and to detail military scenes. And it’s a good story.

What is it about? Four families living in the time of the Napoleonic Wars and the invasions of Russia. Just as many people today regard the WWII generation, my grandparents’ generation, as our greatest, Tolstoy wrote about these events as Russia’s greatest generation, his grandparents’ generation. These were the people, after all, that had defeated Napoleon.

Many historic personages are present in the story, including Napoleon and Alexander, and also a whole populace of counts and countesses, princes and princesses, generals, officers, sergeants and soldiers, statesmen, freemasons, servants and serfs. Tolstoy has a rare gift, akin to Dickens, at characterization, painting most all characters in a realistic, multi-dimensional brush. The leading protagonists are almost all dynamic, evolving and complex and the inter-relationships are rich.

Finally, this is a vehicle for Tolstoy to expound on his philosophic and theological views, commenting on the inherent irrationality of man and at the same time man’s small place, even as an emperor, in history.

Parafraseando al marqués de Calaincourt: "esos apellidos rusos son imposibles". En serio pienso que toda edición de "Guerra y Paz" debería tener un prólogo con los complicados nombres de los personajes. Tenemos por un lado a la familia de los condes Rostov, con sus hijos varones Nikolai y Petia y su hija, la infantil Natasha, además de su sobrina Sonia. Por otro lado al príncipe Nikolai Bolkonski y a sus hijos el príncipe Andrei y la princesa María. Además tenemos a Pierre futuro Conde Bezujov, al príncipe Vasili y sus hijos Anatole y Helene, y a muchos personajes secundarios ficticios como reales.
"Guerra y Paz" es una obra monumental de Tolstoi en la cual se puede apreciar un discurso opuesto y sarcástico sobre la guerra en muchos momentos pero a la vez está impregnado del sentimiento nacionalista y heroico de la sagrada Rusia del zar Alejandro.
Es tiempo de esplendor y boato en las cortes de las ciudades más importantes de Rusia, Moscú y San Petesburgo, y de esta manera se narra las vivencias de estas dos familias en un ambiente cortesano y mundano, en los que Tolstoi describe de manera exhaustiva las diferentes personalidades, ideología y ambiente histórico de los personajes. Pero luego acaece la guerra traída por Napoleón, el emperador francés que será omnipresente a lo largo de la novela. La acción sobre todo va a estar concentrada en el príncipe Andrei y en Nikolai Rostov, ambos con cargos diferentes en el ejército ruso.
Debo decir que es una novela que me gusto bastante aunque sin embargo la lectura se me hizo pesada, más que con "Ana Karenina" incluso, hay muchos pasajes en que Tolstoi narra detalles que a veces no encuentro el por qué, datos no relevantes en la historia en sí o disertaciones filosóficas o morales que hunden bastante la historia, así mismo el ritmo por momentos es muy impredecible y parece el relato a veces desordenado,algunos eventos toman mucho tiempo en describir y otros importantes en apenas unas líneas. Pero sin embargo es siempre un placer leer a Tolstoi por la manera tan fina y profunda de su relato, la caracterización de una gama amplia de personalidades y la manera tan peculiar e íntima que tiene para dibujar un gesto o un estado de ánimo que te hace sentirte cerca de los acontecimientos. Es una novela histórica, Tolstoi hace hablar muchas veces o rememora escritos reales para retratar a personajes reales como Napoleón, Kutuzov, Bagration, Murat y una infinidad de personalidades y los combina con sus personajes ficticios, hay obviamente una parcialidad con los rusos que no es de mi gusto y que lo contraste con "Las campañas de Napoleon" de Chandler que tuve que releer para ubicarme mejor en las batallas que se mencionan.
De los personajes me simpatizo más Pierre que los demás pero debo decir que la profundidad de muchos de ellos te permite conocer muchas cosas de las costumbres, modas, vida de cuartel y detalles de la Rusia del siglo XIX.
Una novela intensa en gran parte, muy bien escrita, compleja, épica y con muy poco o nulo sentido del humor.

An oak tree that I passed on the way into a town reminded me of the scene in War and Peace in which Andrei Volkonsky passes an oak in late spring and sees himself as that tree - its branches bare even while other trees already are showing bright green leaves. He feels, after his experiences in the novel up to that point, old before his time and looking forward only towards the grave the grave of course, a fine and private place, but none I think do there embrace as might a weary reader, worn out by the prospect of the book's length. On his return journey he sees that the oak tree too has finally burst into life and Andrei realises that he has fallen in love with Natasha Rostova.

This is the way in which War and Peace works well. It is the saga of the journey of a few people, all closely connected if not always related, through life, looking for, or in particular moments feeling, its meaning. The problem comes with the nationalistic meaning that Tolstoy finds. Life at its truest and most vital, as embodied by Natasha Rostova's instinctive folk dancing to her uncle's balalaika playing, comes across as unity with a national spirit that can be known through feeling and not thought. As a result the intellectual approaches taken on the quest for the meaning of life taken by Pierre and Andrei can only lead to partial success in moments when they experience a moment of transcendence, as Andrei does on the battlefield, or by exposure to an authentic, genuine (as imagined by the nobleman Tolstoy) peasant who is by nature filled to the brim with folk wisdom uncontaminated by any alien nurture by foreign teachers as happens to Pierre (spoiler alert )after the French capture Moscow in the form of Platon (the Russian form of Plato) a name which serves of course to show us that he is wise Karateyev.

By implication, and this opinion continues over into Anna Karenina, woman, the entire female gender, at least the Russian ones, are superior to the men in so far as they are closer to the national spirit, but this is because they are not intellectual and don't have the intellectual faculties to interfere with their reception of the national will. This allows Tolstoy to assert both the centrality and importance of women at the same time as kicking them upstairs as it were and removing them from any political role. Their purpose is to feel and thus to be the centre of the family, and by extension, the nation.

Tolstoy's answer to what is the meaning of life is then tied up in his feelings about what it means to be Russian. This was emphasised by the use of French giving way to Russian in dialogue which was progressively dropped in subsequent editions of War and Peace in Tolstoy's lifetime (although in part this may have been due to the lack of copyright law and the Tolstoys trying to outmanoeuvre pirated editions by releasing genuine new editions with authorial changes and the slow development during the nineteenth century of a Russian reading population which was not French speaking). His idea of the nation is immutable while the people that together form the nation are changeable. This could be a contradiction but Tolstoy was above all a man of feeling. It is a solution that feels right, and Tolstoy's skill as a writer is in creating a wave of feeling that carries you over any awkwardness or mere inconsistencies in his views.

In the background of the family saga of War and Peace is the course of relations with France which leads to war and a marked shift by the elite of Russian society towards that universal core of Russian value and meaningfulness and the ascendency of those, like Kutuzov and unlike the German officers, who are closer to that core.

This universal core of value and meaning is best represented by the character of Natasha. Natasha's ability to achieve a oneness at an emotional and instinctual level with the core of 'true' Russian culture or the Russian nation is contrasted with alienation from their own nation of Russia's French speaking elite. Other non-peasant characters approach, or briefly pass through that core on their journey through the novel, peasants of course live entirely within it, but only Natasha at times inhabits it entirely.

True meaning for Tolstoy can only be felt and not thought and may not even be accessible at all for certain nations such as the French.

Tolstoy was writing at a period of the definition of modern Russian nationalism and like many of the other well known Russian novels of the middle of the nineteenth century has come to define both for Russians and non-Russians not just an ideal of Russianness but what it means to be Russian. It is striking then what is left out, you wouldn't guess from reading War and Peace that Russians were simply the most numerous but not a majority of the population of the Russian Empire at the time - non-Russians are largely invisible here. Equally revealing of Tolstoy's own attitudes (and he did write his own 'improved' versions of the Gospels) his picture of Russia epitomises a 'spiritual but not religious' attitude: we see the Enlightenment thinking of the previous generation, spiritual questing, Freemasonry but not much in the way of Orthodoxy.

Tolstoy drew extensively from the lives of his own family and his own experiences in creating this ambitious and nationalistic novel. It ranges from the first years of the 19th century to the war of 1812 and the period immediately after. The battle scenes, and his account of Borodino is a classic, and Austerlitz draw on Tolstoy's first hand experience of war at the siege of Sevestopol described in Sevastopol Sketches , indeed this is novel in reaction to the Crimean War, and not the war with Napoleon. Much of the set up is also taken from Tolstoy's own family history, for instance the Volkonskys in the novel are a fictionalised version of his own Bolkonsky relatives (B and V are neighbouring letters in the Russian alphabet so this wasn't a particularly subtle disguise!).

This is a long, densely populated, but very simple novel. The exterior course of political events is coupled with the interior course of the characters searching for the meaning and value in life, the parallels between characters give the impression that this isn't a group of individuals searching for their own personal meaning but that there is an objective universal meaning and value to be found that Natasha, or Platon Karataev  peasants in Tolstoy's world are like women, incapable of being intellectuals and therefore good, I can't help feeling that there is a certain Maoist quality to Tolstoy, are in touch with instinctively. The question for meaning and a structure of values arising from that was a constant feature of Tolstoy's life from his fictionalised account based loosely on his own younger years in Childhood Boyhood Youth to his eventual rejection of the bicycle under the influence of a spiritual mentor (rather like the steam train this insidious non-Russian technology encouraged the movement of people out of their traditional communities and was thus a very bad thing  this reminds me of John Harvey Kellogg who believed that people would achieve long term health through regular enemas, sexual abstinence and eating lots of his own Kellogg's cornflakes. Ideas have their lifecycles and their former power over the minds of the forebears can seem simply bizarre to the following generations. Tolstoy wanting to limit the possibilities of travel and people mingling is a logical consequence of his feelings on national identity and similar to the fearfulness that many in western Europe seem to feel today. If your sense of your Imagined Communities is of something fragile and at risk of polluting change from outsiders then the end result has to be segregation and retreat into smaller and less diverse communities. As many books on Russia will point out, the word Mir in Russian means world, peace and peasant commune, Tolstoy I suspect would have seen that as a profoundly meaningful combination. He wasn't alone in his opinion but part of a tide in the nineteenth century which was also to see a fetishisation of the seventeenth century as a Golden age before Western influences

Tolstoy attempts to both show individual volition and that events are shaped in such a way that one person's decision cannot change the course of events. It could be that he wanted to imply that the nature and extent of the choices we can take are shaped by events and factors beyond our control (and often our understanding) but I suspect he is having his cake and eating it: if he can't reconcile in his own mind free will and determinism he'll just have both instead. And since it is his novel I suppose that's his prerogative.

The lasting impression is though of a simple family saga. Very long and very strong with striking set pieces. It has I feel a kind of a cache, and pure physical bulk  judging purely by shelf width Russian books translation into English seem to gain about a third in length as do English books translated into Russian, this I imagine the effect of the different grammars of the two languages requiring complex ways of explaining what is simple to themselves in western Europe which I fear may put readers off, which is a pity because it is quite a self contained book, it is quite careful to tell you what to think of the historical characters and events introduced, and also an enveloping warm bath of a book that has a strong theme of diverse characters searching for meaning and contentment in their lives.

I read this in the translation by the Maudes republished by Everyman in a three volume edition. I have no opinion on the qualities of the translation  I think these old translations are basically fine and probably have an advantage over more recent ones in being slightly old-fashioned in their diction and tone, Tolstoy was a 19th century writer but I do recommend strongly not trying to read this in a single volume edition unless you have a handy lectern or a desire to build up the muscles in your lower arms and hands.

ادم نمی تونه حس فوق العاده خودشو بعد از مطالعه این کتاب توصیف کنه .فقط میتونم بگم روزها فارغ از مشقت زندگی و شغلی که دوسش ندارم به این کتاب پناه اوردم و انگار توی دنیای دیگه ای زندگی کردم..شخصیت سازی انقدر خوب و متنوع بود که میتونستم تکه ای از خصوصیات نیکلای ..اندره ..پی یر درون خودمم ببینمم و مطمئنم هر کسی میتونه با شخصیت های بیشمار این کتاب همزاد پنداری کنه

War and Peace is a complex, composite, multi-layered, messy, lumpy novel. It is a multilingual book, 90% Russian, 10% French, with traces of German. It is an epic-scale chronicle covering the history of Russia from 1805 to 1820 and, more specifically, the Napoleonic invasion of 1812. It is a panoramic picture of a whole society with its cities, dvoryanstvo, muzhiks, political leaders and military campaigns. It is an enormous volume that focuses on massive historical events and a myriad of tiny, intimate moments. It is a treatise on the philosophy of history and the problem of determinism. It is a vast prose symphony that oscillates between moments of Beethovenian majesty and passages of soap-opera cheesiness.

Some characters are historical figures, slightly satirised: French Emperor Bonaparte, a plump arrogant buffoon with ambitions of world domination; Russian Tsar Alexander, a fretful biscuit eater; field marshal Kutuzov, a sleepy, heavy, one-eyed underrated military genius. Others are fictional but based on Tolstoy’s own family and friends and indeed feel more human, more real than the aforementioned “great men”: the cynical Andrei Bolkonsky, the starry-eyed man magnet Natasha Rostova, the revolutionary, idealist and socially awkward Pierre Bezukhov (the Tolstoyian heart of the novel), et al.

These main characters are, however, but the tip of the iceberg. War and Peace deploys an incredible ensemble of secondary figures; some of them are perhaps more memorable even than the protagonists. The wise captive Platon Karataev and the exuberant and sleazy French officer Ramballe, although appearing briefly and late in the novel (around the turn of Book IV), are utterly unforgettable.

Similarly, among all the chapters and scenes in the novel, some are absolutely remarkable: Andrei’s Ecclesiastes-type epiphany while staring at the eternal blue sky above the battlefield (I, 3, 16), the wolf hunt and the delicious troika ride on Christmas night (II, 4, 4-5 and 12), and of course, the Stendhalian plat de resistance of the novel, the Battle of Borodino, as seen through the eyes of Pierre Bezukhov, an improvised embedded journalist avant la lettre (III, 2, 24-37)—probably reminiscent of Tolstoy’s experience during the Crimean War.

And so, a substantial part of the novel focuses on three or four families, who periodically meet at Anna Pavlovna Sherer’s unshakable salon mondain in the course of the book: the Rostovs, the Bolkonskys, the Kuragins and the Bezukhovs. The lives of their members intersect on different levels, under two prominent influences:

Firstly, the influence of love: Pierre marries La Belle Hélène, but she cheats on him; Natasha loves Andrei, but Andrei goes away; Nikolai loves Sonya, but Sonya has no dowry; then Natasha loves the wastrel Anatole, but it goes badly; and then Nikolai meets Princess Maria; and then Natasha realises Pierre is charming… In short, much simping and ditching and friend-zoned bffs, and endless suchlike humbug. A significant slice of Tolstoy’s novel goes like that: Jane Austen style.

Secondly, the narrative progresses according to the influence of historical events and warfare: Andrei wounded at Austerlitz and glancing Napoleon; Nikolai seeing Alexander; Pierre at Borodino and Andrei injured a second time… This is a wholly different slice of Tolstoy’s novel, a sort of modern Iliad or Mahabharata or Henry VI, where the epic, brutal, warlike aspect of Tolstoy’s writing holds sway.

Underneath these two forces of love and war, a third undercurrent, philosophical this time, starts to rear its head every few chapters from the start of Book III and becomes an iterative soapbox interruption as the novel progresses towards its ending. The Second Epilogue is a downright philosophical enquiry on the nature of historical events, national movements, the origin of war, the laws presiding over “interconnected infinitesimal elements of freewill”, and the mistakes and fallacies of historiography. This last prominent slice of Tolstoy’s novel is indeed a theoretical, disembodied discussion with historians such as Adolphe Thiers or Joseph de Maistre and philosophers like Hegel, Schopenhauer and Carlyle; a conversation that heralds 20th-century history theory and economics.

Ultimately, War and Peace, with all its disjointed slices, cross-cutting layers, fragmented pieces, is a masterful example of what the novel is capable of—to move and fly swiftly, Hermes-like, between history and fiction, immensity and intimacy, macro and micro, aristocrats and enslaved people, emperors and privates, battlefields and drawing rooms, French and Russian, sky and mud, deep and shallow, feminine and masculine, romance and epic, comedy and tragedy, facts and theory, history and philosophy, war and peace. In short, what Tolstoy demonstrates is that the novel, elevated at this level of world-building chutzpah and demiurgic virtuosity, is as rich and complex as life itself, messy, virtually limitless and all-encompassing.

Nuff said, I need a shot of vodka now…

Read as part of The Infinite Variety Reading Challenge, based on the BBC's Big Read Poll of 2003.

I read this in tandem with the spectacular BBC adaptation and I will say now that my enjoyment of this piece of literature has been heavily influenced by that wonderful piece of televisual art. It just has. It's the same story, just told a different way. I will refrain from telling you to get over it.

Now, the book. It was written well, very well, in terms of all the stuff that should be done well: punctuation, spelling, grammar, and all that. There were some typos but that will be down to the publisher and not the writer.

However, we'll deal with the negatives first: it had some of the most tedious moments in a book I've ever come across. I realise the war was a very important thing, but my gosh Tolstoy was dire at writing of soldiers and fighting. I didn't enjoy those sections nearly half as much as I could have, which directly contributes to it not being-and never becoming-a perfect story. He was also well versed in tangents: I understand his intention of the book was exactly what he produced, but we can say that every writer produces their intention when they write a book so in this case I will say that I don't care about the authors intentions at all here.
There were also far too many characters. It's a nice idea to give everyone-including someone randomly delivering a letter-a name and a story, a background and a face, but for the reader it is too much.

But, that ending. I loved the ending (I preferred the BBC ending, but that's just me being all romantic) and I thought it was so fitting. I was happy-in a very understanding and moral way-with all of the deaths and thought they were all completely relevant to the whole piece. Perhaps they all came a little too at once and suddenly, but altogether they settled the whole affair so nicely. I found the romance of Princess Mary and the one of Pierre to both be very pleasing.

And I shall speak of Pierre now. How I love Pierre. He was, forgive me for saying this, quite English in his manner and that was delightful. I will refrain from going on about him, but I thought every description of him was just so wonderful: I very rarely get so clear a picture of a character in my mind (whilst I thought Paul Dano played him well, he did not embody the exact physical nature of Pierre that was conjured from the reading) and my favourite moment will always be when Prince Andrew looks out and sees Pierre trip and stumble.

I also loved it for teaching me more of history than I ever knew. To be very frank, I never even knew that Napoleon had invaded or even fought Russia: I suppose that is the curse of being English. We learn of our splendid Nelson but not much else. I find that literature fills in the gaps that education leaves, gaping wide and hollow.

If you've ever had any misgivings about this book purely based on length, please refrain from those thoughts. It is divided nicely in to chapters, books and parts that you can easily place it down for a while, leave it and come back very happily. It doesn't take all that long to get through, either. It is one of those myths that precedes, unfairly, on the work.

War and bloody Peace eh? Started June 12, 2013, finished August 26, 2013! How am I supposed to review this?! I will apply my usual rambling slapdash technique I think.

War and Peace looks like a formidable challenge for the average reader, in term of length and legendary status, this is not "just another book" you can just read and forget. Personally, I read fiction mainly for entertainment purposes ( the best past time I know), some books I read purely out of curiosity, some books like Moby Dick I even read for bragging right (that did not turn out well!). Anyway, as far as War and Peace is concerned it is a combo of all three, I am glad to report (not brag) that the result turned out to be more than satisfactory as far as I am concerned. The most daunting part of reading this book is when you tentatively start on the first page and constantly feel aware of the remaining thousand or so pages, I think the trick is just to ignore the remaining page weighing down your right hand and just follow the characters along and see what they get up to. After all, you don't need to read the entire book if you don't find the first few chapters to your liking. For myself, I kind of cheated and went the audiobook route which adds up to more than 60 hours in total (read with consummate skill and probably gallons of coffee by Alexander Scourby). I pity the poor chap who read it but then I remembered he probably took well over a month to finish the reading it.

In term of entertainment and readability War and Peace easily met these basic requirements for me. It starts off lightly enough with a "soiree", there are several soirees in this book, they seem like high society dinner parties which I avoid like the plague at every opportunity. The reader is gently introduced to the current situation of the day and some central characters also make their first entrances. The narrative then moves from house to house and we soon meet all the central characters, which are surprisingly few in number. Yes, it is a whale of a book with a large cast of characters but there are only a few protagonists for you to concern yourself with. This book is more about the characters than about two countries at war. Looking at the title I believe it is more about peace than about war if anything it seems like an anti-war book to me, the message is not communicated through humor and satire like Heller's Catch-22 but through Tolstoy's profound psychological insight and humanity. This makes it more serious and dryer than Heller's book - and I did doze through the odd passages - but over all, I found it much more rewarding.

The main source of pleasure for me are the beautifully developed main characters, they really came alive once I settled into the groove of the book. My favorite character is certainly Pierre Bezukhov, a chubby, sensitive, thoughtful and compassionate gentleman, not your archetypal heroic figure but certainly not an anti-hero. The best part of reading the book for me was to share Pierre's thought processes. He does tend to overthink things and is prone to changing his mind about what the meaning of life really is (a bit like me but with high IQ); following his thoughts is akin to some kind of telepathy. The other central characters are also very nicely fleshed out and believable, particularly the main female character Natasha Rostova who practically grows up before the reader's eyes. A few real-life individuals such as Mikhail Kutuzov and Napoleon Bonaparte are presented to us as part of the novel's cast of characters, whether their fictional representation is true to the real people I can not say but to live inside their heads is a fascinating experience.

The prose style (from the English translated version of it) is just stupendous, Tolstoy seems to casually toss in phrases like "sorrowful pleasure" and put it in just the right context. People who like to pick quotations from a book will have a field day with this one. Nary a page goes by without finding something quotable. Here is a couple I picked almost at random:

n  “Here I am alive, and it's not my fault, so I have to try and get by as best I can without hurting anybody until death takes over.”

“Because of the self-confidence with which he had spoken, no one could tell whether what he said was very clever or very stupid.”
n

There are dull chapters and passages in several places of the book, the practical side of warfare is of little interest to me, but those are far outweighed by wondrous materials that feed the brain and the heart. At least I picked up some knowledge about "scorched earth principle" and Kutuzov's military genius. Special mention should be made about the epilogues, the two epilogues total moire than 100 pages, the first one wraps up the story of the protagonists and their settled down lives after the war. The second epilogue is something like a treatise on the nature of power, the real causes and meanings of war and so forth. This part of the book is so dry you may want to read it while in a bath. Still, if you have the capacity to patiently absorb what Tolstoy has to say about these weighty matters you will probably be the wiser for it.

Basically, the best way to read this book in whatever format is to immerse yourself in the story, the length becomes fairly insignificant once you are along for the ride, of course, you need to have a lot of patience and don't expect to race to the end of the book. Come to think of it reading it just for the bragging right is probably a waste of time. I personally like this book more than Tolstoy's equally legendary Anna Karenina which I also like, but I find War and Peace more emotionally resonant. Certainly, I am glad I read it, and some day (a few years from now) I would be quite happy to read it again.

There are scenes in War and Peace–the unforgettable battle of Auterlitz, for example, or the ball where Natasha dances with Prince Andrei–in which Tolstoy manages, in a few words, to not only allow us to picture ourselves at the scene, but to truly immerse ourselves in the emotions & fears of the protagonists. After 1,350 pages, it’d be hard not to get attached to the cast, but Pierre, Natasha, Marya, Nikolai & Andrei are now some of my favourite characters ever–they’re so dear to me, I almost can’t believe they’re not real.

Though I was a bit more captivated by the glittering world of Moscow and St Petersburg, I actually enjoyed the “war” sections slightly more than I thought I would. After all, one of the book’s most famous attributes is its sprawling portrayal of 1810s Russia amid the backdrop of the Napoleonic Wars. I found Tolstoy’s observations on the nature of war very moving, however, I will stress that certain parts are cloaked in lengthy and somewhat inaccessible military jargon.

Especially towards the end of the novel, it felt like Tolstoy was purposely trying to make each page more unreadable than the last. You're busy falling in love with Prince Andrei (as one does), then suddenly he pulls you away and hammers in a 30-page rant on historiography that let's be honest, you didn’t need to know about. This is one of the few books where I think an abridged edition would work well–but nobody is going to arrest you for skimming the dull parts! It would be a flat-out lie if I told you I was never bored.

And let’s face it, the epilogue is garbage and throws an axe in the absolute beauty that is the rest of the novel. I’m going to pretend it didn’t exist for my own sanity, because frankly, Natasha deserves better. The sexism, ugh! It’s also no big secret that War and Peace is in desperate need of an editor. However, the parts I loved, I really, really loved. This was my most anticipated book of the year, and probably my favourite too. I'm emotionally attached to Prince Andrei and don't ever want to let go.

A better title for War and Peace would unironically just be “Life”–because while there’s plenty here on the topic of war, and likewise, on peace, there are few topics that Tolstoy doesn’t touch upon. War and Peace is utterly all-encompassing; I cannot think of anybody, who in some way, wouldn’t benefit from reading it. It will remind you of both the great sorrow and the great joy of simply being alive. Love and hatred, passion and delusion, doubt and belief, agony and ecstasy, birth and death–it’s all here, in brilliant clarity. Every page in this novel bristles with life, and all of life is contained.

The holidays always remind me of this book and the snow falling out my window onto the trees is the perfect backdrop for thinking about everything that goes on in Tolstoy's big epic. When I finished this book I found myself missing the characters as one would a friend. It's been a decade now and they haven't called, so maybe I should pick this up and visit them again. A pretty much perfect book, Tolstoy brings his narrative to life from so many angles and opinions that you feel like you've been there, lived with this characters and, in turn, become part of the the epic yourself.