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4.08 AVERAGE
4.08 AVERAGE
Yep. Done. I listened to this book on audible and with the help of the excellent narrator Neville Jason, I mostly enjoyed it. Two of my favorite passages:
"If there was none of this magnanimity in war, we should go to war only when it was worth while going to certain death, as now. Then there would not be war because Paul Ivanovich had offended Michael Ivanovich. And when there was a war, like this one, it would be war! And then the determination of the troops would be quite different. Then all these Westphalians and Hessians whom Napoleon is leading would not follow him into Russia, and we should not go to fight in Austria and Prussia without knowing why. War is not courtesy but the most horrible thing in life; and we ought to understand that and not play at war. We ought to accept this terrible necessity sternly and seriously. It all lies in that: get rid of falsehood and let war be war and not a game. As it is now, war is the favorite pastime of the idle and frivolous. The military calling is the most highly honored. But what is war? What is needed for success in warfare? What are the habits of the military? The aim of war is murder; the methods of war are spying, treachery, and their encouragement, the ruin of a country's inhabitants, robbing them or stealing to provision the army, and fraud and falsehood termed military craft. The habits of the military class are the absence of freedom, that is, discipline, idleness, ignorance, cruelty, debauchery, and drunkenness. And in spite of all this it is the highest class, respected by everyone. All the kings, except the Chinese, wear military uniforms, and he who kills most people receives the highest rewards. "They meet, as we shall meet tomorrow, to murder one another; they kill and maim tens of thousands, and then have thanksgiving services for having killed so many people (they even exaggerate the number), and they announce a victory, supposing that the more people they have killed the greater their achievement. How does God above look at them and hear them?" exclaimed Prince Andrew in a shrill, piercing voice. "Ah, my friend, it has of late become hard for me to live. I see that I have begun to understand too much. And it doesn't do for man to taste of the tree of knowledge of good and evil.... Ah, well, it's not for long!" he added.
Meanwhile, Moscow was empty. There were still people in it, perhaps a fiftieth part of its former inhabitants had remained, but it was empty. It was empty in the sense that a dying queenless hive is empty.
In a queenless hive no life is left, though to a superficial glance it seems as much alive as other hives.
The bees circle round a queenless hive in the hot beams of the midday sun as gaily as around the living hives; from a distance it smells of honey like the others, and bees fly in and out in the same way. But one has only to observe that hive to realize that there is no longer any life in it. The bees do not fly in the same way, the smell and the sound that meet the beekeeper are not the same.
To the beekeeper’s tap on the wall of the sick hive, instead of the former instant unanimous humming of tens of thousands of bees with their abdomens threateningly compressed, and producing by the rapid vibration of their wings an aerial living sound, the only reply is a disconnected buzzing from different parts of the deserted hive. From the alighting board, instead of the former spirituous fragrant smell of honey and venom, and the warm whiffs of crowded life, comes an odor of emptiness and decay mingling with the smell of honey. There are no longer sentinels sounding the alarm with their abdomens raised, and ready to die in defense of the hive.
There is no longer the measured quiet sound of throbbing activity, like the sound of boiling water, but diverse discordant sounds of disorder. In and out of the hive long black robber bees smeared with honey fly timidly and shiftily. They do not sting, but crawl away from danger. Formerly only bees laden with honey flew into the hive, and they flew out empty; now they fly out laden. The beekeeper opens the lower part of the hive and peers in.
Instead of black, glossy bees- tamed by toil, clinging to one another’s legs and drawing out the wax, with a ceaseless hum of labor - that used to hang in long clusters down to the floor of the hive, drowsy shriveled bees crawl about separately in various directions on the floor and walls of the hive. Instead of a neatly glued floor, swept by the bees with the fanning of their wings, there is a floor littered with bits of wax, excrement, dying bees scarcely moving their legs, and dead ones that have not been cleared away.
The beekeeper opens the upper part of the hive and examines the super. Instead of serried rows of bees sealing up every gap in the combs and keeping the brood warm, he sees the skillful complexstructures of the combs, but no longer in their former state of purity. All is neglected and foul. Black robber bees are swiftly and stealthily prowling about the combs, and the short home bees, shriveled and listless as if hey were old, creep slowly about without trying to hinder the robbers, having lost all motive and all sense of life.
Drones, bumblebees, wasps, and butterflies knock awkwardly against the walls of the hive in their flight. Here and there among the cells containing dead brood and honey an angry buzzing can sometimes be heard. Here and there a couple of bees, by force of habit and custom cleaning out the brood cells, with efforts beyond their strength laboriously drag away a dead bee or bumblebee without knowing why they do it. In another corner two old bees are languidly fighting, or cleaning themselves, or feeding one another, without themselves knowing whether they do it with friendly or hostile intent. In a third place a crowd of bees, crushing one another, attack some victim and fight and smother it, and the victim, enfeebled or killed, drops from above slowly and lightly as a feather, among the heap of corpses.
The keeper opens the two center partitions to examine the brood cells. In place of the former close dark circles formed by thousands of bees sitting back to back and guarding the high mystery of generation, he sees hundreds of dull, listless, and sleepy shells of bees. They have almost all died unawares, sitting in the sanctuary they had guarded and which is now no more. They reek of decay and death. Only a few of them still move, rise, and feebly fly to settle on the enemy’s hand, lacking the spirit to die stinging him; the rest are dead and fall as lightly as fish scales. The beekeeper closes the hive, chalks a mark on it, and when he has time tears out its contents and burns it clean.
So in the same way Moscow was empty when Napoleon, weary, uneasy, and morose, paced up and down in front of the Kammer-Kollezski rampart, awaiting what to his mind was a necessary, if but formal, observance of the proprieties - a deputation.
"If there was none of this magnanimity in war, we should go to war only when it was worth while going to certain death, as now. Then there would not be war because Paul Ivanovich had offended Michael Ivanovich. And when there was a war, like this one, it would be war! And then the determination of the troops would be quite different. Then all these Westphalians and Hessians whom Napoleon is leading would not follow him into Russia, and we should not go to fight in Austria and Prussia without knowing why. War is not courtesy but the most horrible thing in life; and we ought to understand that and not play at war. We ought to accept this terrible necessity sternly and seriously. It all lies in that: get rid of falsehood and let war be war and not a game. As it is now, war is the favorite pastime of the idle and frivolous. The military calling is the most highly honored. But what is war? What is needed for success in warfare? What are the habits of the military? The aim of war is murder; the methods of war are spying, treachery, and their encouragement, the ruin of a country's inhabitants, robbing them or stealing to provision the army, and fraud and falsehood termed military craft. The habits of the military class are the absence of freedom, that is, discipline, idleness, ignorance, cruelty, debauchery, and drunkenness. And in spite of all this it is the highest class, respected by everyone. All the kings, except the Chinese, wear military uniforms, and he who kills most people receives the highest rewards. "They meet, as we shall meet tomorrow, to murder one another; they kill and maim tens of thousands, and then have thanksgiving services for having killed so many people (they even exaggerate the number), and they announce a victory, supposing that the more people they have killed the greater their achievement. How does God above look at them and hear them?" exclaimed Prince Andrew in a shrill, piercing voice. "Ah, my friend, it has of late become hard for me to live. I see that I have begun to understand too much. And it doesn't do for man to taste of the tree of knowledge of good and evil.... Ah, well, it's not for long!" he added.
Meanwhile, Moscow was empty. There were still people in it, perhaps a fiftieth part of its former inhabitants had remained, but it was empty. It was empty in the sense that a dying queenless hive is empty.
In a queenless hive no life is left, though to a superficial glance it seems as much alive as other hives.
The bees circle round a queenless hive in the hot beams of the midday sun as gaily as around the living hives; from a distance it smells of honey like the others, and bees fly in and out in the same way. But one has only to observe that hive to realize that there is no longer any life in it. The bees do not fly in the same way, the smell and the sound that meet the beekeeper are not the same.
To the beekeeper’s tap on the wall of the sick hive, instead of the former instant unanimous humming of tens of thousands of bees with their abdomens threateningly compressed, and producing by the rapid vibration of their wings an aerial living sound, the only reply is a disconnected buzzing from different parts of the deserted hive. From the alighting board, instead of the former spirituous fragrant smell of honey and venom, and the warm whiffs of crowded life, comes an odor of emptiness and decay mingling with the smell of honey. There are no longer sentinels sounding the alarm with their abdomens raised, and ready to die in defense of the hive.
There is no longer the measured quiet sound of throbbing activity, like the sound of boiling water, but diverse discordant sounds of disorder. In and out of the hive long black robber bees smeared with honey fly timidly and shiftily. They do not sting, but crawl away from danger. Formerly only bees laden with honey flew into the hive, and they flew out empty; now they fly out laden. The beekeeper opens the lower part of the hive and peers in.
Instead of black, glossy bees- tamed by toil, clinging to one another’s legs and drawing out the wax, with a ceaseless hum of labor - that used to hang in long clusters down to the floor of the hive, drowsy shriveled bees crawl about separately in various directions on the floor and walls of the hive. Instead of a neatly glued floor, swept by the bees with the fanning of their wings, there is a floor littered with bits of wax, excrement, dying bees scarcely moving their legs, and dead ones that have not been cleared away.
The beekeeper opens the upper part of the hive and examines the super. Instead of serried rows of bees sealing up every gap in the combs and keeping the brood warm, he sees the skillful complexstructures of the combs, but no longer in their former state of purity. All is neglected and foul. Black robber bees are swiftly and stealthily prowling about the combs, and the short home bees, shriveled and listless as if hey were old, creep slowly about without trying to hinder the robbers, having lost all motive and all sense of life.
Drones, bumblebees, wasps, and butterflies knock awkwardly against the walls of the hive in their flight. Here and there among the cells containing dead brood and honey an angry buzzing can sometimes be heard. Here and there a couple of bees, by force of habit and custom cleaning out the brood cells, with efforts beyond their strength laboriously drag away a dead bee or bumblebee without knowing why they do it. In another corner two old bees are languidly fighting, or cleaning themselves, or feeding one another, without themselves knowing whether they do it with friendly or hostile intent. In a third place a crowd of bees, crushing one another, attack some victim and fight and smother it, and the victim, enfeebled or killed, drops from above slowly and lightly as a feather, among the heap of corpses.
The keeper opens the two center partitions to examine the brood cells. In place of the former close dark circles formed by thousands of bees sitting back to back and guarding the high mystery of generation, he sees hundreds of dull, listless, and sleepy shells of bees. They have almost all died unawares, sitting in the sanctuary they had guarded and which is now no more. They reek of decay and death. Only a few of them still move, rise, and feebly fly to settle on the enemy’s hand, lacking the spirit to die stinging him; the rest are dead and fall as lightly as fish scales. The beekeeper closes the hive, chalks a mark on it, and when he has time tears out its contents and burns it clean.
So in the same way Moscow was empty when Napoleon, weary, uneasy, and morose, paced up and down in front of the Kammer-Kollezski rampart, awaiting what to his mind was a necessary, if but formal, observance of the proprieties - a deputation.
An incredible epic and one of the greatest books I’ve ever read. The scope of the narrative is huge and the characters well developed and lively. It truly feels as if you’re stepping into the lives and world of these people, as individuals come and go, gaining and losing importance to main cast, just as in reality. The best part of the book is undoubtably the invasion of Russia and occupation of Moscow, with specific praise for the Battle of Borodino and Pierre’s time in Moscow during the French rule. I also really enjoyed the small part focused on Denisov and his partisan campaign, and the death of Petya was truly heartbreaking. The last 30 or so pages of historical philosophy, while sometimes intriguing, were overall very tiresome to get through and would have been better saved for an expanded appendix. Overall a truly perfect book without equal.
As a meditation on history (and more specifically Napoleonic Europe), nothing can match Tolstoy’s genre-defying epic.
And yet in terms of character study, it pales in comparison to Anna Karenina. The characters of War and Peace are rather simplistic and base, resulting in The Narrator often being the most interesting voice on the page.
But those non-narrative chapters are so f-ing smart and witty that they are by far and away the most interesting bits of the book. If only middle school textbooks had this kind of color commentary on European affairs…
And yet in terms of character study, it pales in comparison to Anna Karenina. The characters of War and Peace are rather simplistic and base, resulting in The Narrator often being the most interesting voice on the page.
But those non-narrative chapters are so f-ing smart and witty that they are by far and away the most interesting bits of the book. If only middle school textbooks had this kind of color commentary on European affairs…
Consider. This. Fucker. Finished.
I will try to return to this and write an actual review when my brain is not foggy with Tolstoy's blatherings about historical forces.
Returning to try and cement my thoughts ten days later. This is clearly the epic of epics in Western Literature. It's not just the massive size (though 1200 pages is a mind-boggling size), but the attempt to basically capture as much as possible of the experience of being alive in the dizzying opera of Russia in the Napoleonic Era. Tolstoy wants to write a novel that brings the historical experience to living, breathing, exhaustive life and succeed admirably. As a panorama of the historical experience it's as detailed as one could ever hope for.
Still, I found it a frustrating and incomplete experience as a reader. The only major character I connected with was Natasha. Which might be sort of typical? Her passions, flightiness, and authenticity shone through almost every time she was in the narrative. The sequence of the Rostovs in winter, with Natasha dancing in the peasants' cottage and the sleigh ride through the snow are just...so magical in such a human way. I loved that stuff.
Yet I found Andre and Pierre to be uninteresting to a profoundly distressing degree. Tolstoy gives both of them small moments of memorable grace (Pierre looking up at the comet after basically telling Natasha he loves her is especially enchanting). Yet the long dramas of their self-actualization never came to life for me. I kept waiting for both to just...get over themselves (for lack of a better term). The death of Petya Rostov, a non-entity side character, affected me more than either of Andre or Pierre's tribulations or troubles.
I also take issue with a lot of Tolstoy's odd historicity and suuuuuuuuuuuuuper conservative social and political ideas. They're a given, it's Tolstoy after all, but they still galled from time to time.
This is sounding more critical than I think I am overall, but...it's War and Peace. You gotta justify the complaints.
I will try to return to this and write an actual review when my brain is not foggy with Tolstoy's blatherings about historical forces.
Returning to try and cement my thoughts ten days later. This is clearly the epic of epics in Western Literature. It's not just the massive size (though 1200 pages is a mind-boggling size), but the attempt to basically capture as much as possible of the experience of being alive in the dizzying opera of Russia in the Napoleonic Era. Tolstoy wants to write a novel that brings the historical experience to living, breathing, exhaustive life and succeed admirably. As a panorama of the historical experience it's as detailed as one could ever hope for.
Still, I found it a frustrating and incomplete experience as a reader. The only major character I connected with was Natasha. Which might be sort of typical? Her passions, flightiness, and authenticity shone through almost every time she was in the narrative. The sequence of the Rostovs in winter, with Natasha dancing in the peasants' cottage and the sleigh ride through the snow are just...so magical in such a human way. I loved that stuff.
Yet I found Andre and Pierre to be uninteresting to a profoundly distressing degree. Tolstoy gives both of them small moments of memorable grace (Pierre looking up at the comet after basically telling Natasha he loves her is especially enchanting). Yet the long dramas of their self-actualization never came to life for me. I kept waiting for both to just...get over themselves (for lack of a better term). The death of Petya Rostov, a non-entity side character, affected me more than either of Andre or Pierre's tribulations or troubles.
I also take issue with a lot of Tolstoy's odd historicity and suuuuuuuuuuuuuper conservative social and political ideas. They're a given, it's Tolstoy after all, but they still galled from time to time.
This is sounding more critical than I think I am overall, but...it's War and Peace. You gotta justify the complaints.
I CANNOT BELIEVE I FINALLY FINISHED THIS omg I could cry
This book consumed my entire life for three whole months, I don't think there's any other rating I could possibly give it
Early 19th Century epic of Russian families, primarily the Bolkonskys, the Rostovs, and the individual Pierre, as well as many other minor characters such as the Kuragin family and Denisov. The text spans from Russia's early war with Napoleon to his 1812 invasion of Russia and beyond.
The beginning is an absolute bombardment of characters and it's really overwhelming. I haven't read anything that compares to this many different characters. Pierre and gang tying a police officer to a bear kept me engaged. Didn't feel settled in until after the first 100 pages when the organization is much cleaner.
Tolstoy masterfully conveys social situations and how characters are thinking about socialization. The uniqueness of the main characters is well done. In addition, his battle scenes are impeccable. He does an excellent job of tying characters together in the end, but honestly it was somewhat predictable. When Pierre views the comet in a remarkably described scene. Tosltoy did keep me guessing and on the edge of my seat about Prince Andrey's .
Really identified with Pierre, his awkwardness and searching for meaning. His ending was very interesting and I think a lot of men can relate to his metamorphosis throughout the 1300+ pages, which isn't necessarily unique to his social status. Cannot say enough positive things about Pierre's realizations on "purpose" in life. Every Pierre passage was fascinating, the bear, the beginnings with Helene, the duel, the free masons, his journey during French occupation of Moscow. Loved the Denisov character and his rhotacism, a very charming touch. Was engaged during every Denisov scene for the w's in his dialogue. Karataev was outstanding, I struggle to remember any minor character I enjoyed as much and his ending with his dog was for me the most emotional part of the entire work. The hunting scenes with Nikolay were especially memorable.
What I did not like was the constant break from the main narrative to Tolstoy's opinions and philosophies on countless subjects. These parts are often redundant and self contradictory - Napoleon is a great man, then later he's a "stupid" one. The Russians lost the Battle of Borodino, but later he says they won it. Page 1192 - Why was it that an under-strength Russian army won the battle of Borodino against a full-strength enemy (they didn't). I don't see how the Russians "won" this battle if it didn't prevent the French from occupying Moscow and none of the facts online seem to indicate the Russians "won" Borodino in any regard. I get that the Russians "wounded" the French army at Borodino, possibly to the point of making them exit Moscow early later on, but that's hardly a victory. Tolstoy also has a very personal beef with historians to the point of mockery and belittlement. These passages were beyond distracting and ruined the mesmerizing charm of the story by breaking it up so often, almost like if you were baking a cake and stopped every five minutes to turn the oven off until it cooled and then turned it back on to reheat again - the cake would have finished much sooner and tasted much better had you simply left the oven on.
Some of Tolstoy's "breaks" are interesting, but it's far from the majority. I liked when he suggested that to a flock of sheep the sheep who is isolated and fattened by the shepherd seems like a genius but in reality that sheep is being prepared for slaughter. Ultimately I took one star off for the constant interruptions of the main narrative. I pondered why it hadn't bothered me as much in previous novels such as Moby Dick and it's because those are first person narratives and it seems like the main character's mind is wandering, whereas this is a third person narrative and it's Tolstoy consistently interrupting himself which was very frustrating. Some will say he does it to build suspense, I would argue it felt more like being constantly blue-balled.
The entire Part II of the 100 page Epilogue was worth skipping, but I read every page of it. The gem of an epilogue about the characters is book-ended by more Tolstoy opinions. I didn't like philosophy in college and I didn't enjoy it here. Ultimately about 100 pages could be cut from the main text as well as almost all of the non-character epilogue. Almost all passages with Kutuzov as the main character could have been scratched, I understand he's an integral part of the war with the French but his passages were tedious and the book is already 1358 pages with countless characters. In contrast Tolstoy's Napoleon was really well-written.
The beginning is an absolute bombardment of characters and it's really overwhelming. I haven't read anything that compares to this many different characters. Pierre and gang tying a police officer to a bear kept me engaged. Didn't feel settled in until after the first 100 pages when the organization is much cleaner.
Tolstoy masterfully conveys social situations and how characters are thinking about socialization. The uniqueness of the main characters is well done. In addition, his battle scenes are impeccable. He does an excellent job of tying characters together in the end, but honestly it was somewhat predictable. When Pierre views the comet in a remarkably described scene
Spoiler
I knew then he would marry Natasha, despite her being deeply involved with Prince Andrey at that pointSpoiler
two dalliances with deathReally identified with Pierre, his awkwardness and searching for meaning. His ending was very interesting and I think a lot of men can relate to his metamorphosis throughout the 1300+ pages, which isn't necessarily unique to his social status. Cannot say enough positive things about Pierre's realizations on "purpose" in life. Every Pierre passage was fascinating, the bear, the beginnings with Helene, the duel, the free masons, his journey during French occupation of Moscow. Loved the Denisov character and his rhotacism, a very charming touch. Was engaged during every Denisov scene for the w's in his dialogue. Karataev was outstanding, I struggle to remember any minor character I enjoyed as much and his ending with his dog was for me the most emotional part of the entire work. The hunting scenes with Nikolay were especially memorable.
What I did not like was the constant break from the main narrative to Tolstoy's opinions and philosophies on countless subjects. These parts are often redundant and self contradictory - Napoleon is a great man, then later he's a "stupid" one. The Russians lost the Battle of Borodino, but later he says they won it. Page 1192 - Why was it that an under-strength Russian army won the battle of Borodino against a full-strength enemy (they didn't). I don't see how the Russians "won" this battle if it didn't prevent the French from occupying Moscow and none of the facts online seem to indicate the Russians "won" Borodino in any regard. I get that the Russians "wounded" the French army at Borodino, possibly to the point of making them exit Moscow early later on, but that's hardly a victory. Tolstoy also has a very personal beef with historians to the point of mockery and belittlement. These passages were beyond distracting and ruined the mesmerizing charm of the story by breaking it up so often, almost like if you were baking a cake and stopped every five minutes to turn the oven off until it cooled and then turned it back on to reheat again - the cake would have finished much sooner and tasted much better had you simply left the oven on.
Some of Tolstoy's "breaks" are interesting, but it's far from the majority. I liked when he suggested that to a flock of sheep the sheep who is isolated and fattened by the shepherd seems like a genius but in reality that sheep is being prepared for slaughter. Ultimately I took one star off for the constant interruptions of the main narrative. I pondered why it hadn't bothered me as much in previous novels such as Moby Dick and it's because those are first person narratives and it seems like the main character's mind is wandering, whereas this is a third person narrative and it's Tolstoy consistently interrupting himself which was very frustrating. Some will say he does it to build suspense, I would argue it felt more like being constantly blue-balled.
The entire Part II of the 100 page Epilogue was worth skipping, but I read every page of it. The gem of an epilogue about the characters is book-ended by more Tolstoy opinions. I didn't like philosophy in college and I didn't enjoy it here. Ultimately about 100 pages could be cut from the main text as well as almost all of the non-character epilogue. Almost all passages with Kutuzov as the main character could have been scratched, I understand he's an integral part of the war with the French but his passages were tedious and the book is already 1358 pages with countless characters. In contrast Tolstoy's Napoleon was really well-written.
challenging
dark
emotional
reflective
sad
tense
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
emotional
hopeful
informative
reflective
sad
tense
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
Complicated
Flaws of characters a main focus:
No
Perhaps the greatest novel ever written, reaching beyond the liberal/individualist trappings of the novel form and producing a theory of history and human action, not too far removed from the materialism of the new Hegelians. The novel's dramatic components are great too, of course: the characters, setting, narrative execution, spectacular adaptation of historical events. But what sets War and Peace apart is its philosophical musings later on in the book, where it pulls the reader away from the narrative to consider the difficult of narrativization as such.