Don't judge by its bulk

War and Peace might well sprain your wrists, but read it because it is a thoroughly modern work of literature.

It’s a bit difficult to convince someone to tackle what is essentially one of the anointed “Greatest Books of All Time”: Leo Tolstoy’s War and Peace.

The most off-putting thing about it would be its sheer girth. Didn’t Tolstoy ever suffer from a paper shortage, modern readers might sneer. Plus its weighty themes, war and peace, don’t make for a cosy read (cue memories of Seinfeld where Jerry convinces gullible Elaine that Tolstoy’s original title for the book was War: What is it good for?) . And of course the ready availability of the internet and Wikipedia summaries, a not-too-bad BBC mini-series from the last century starring Anthony Hopkins as Pierre, and a more recent streamlined TV adaptation might keep anyone from attempting to read the actual book.

So if I have to sell this book to a reader now, I’d simply say that with Tolstoy, it’s the little details that bring delight. Napoleonic wars, Russian feudalism, the frustrations of women who are refused ownership of their destinies — these recede from view when you read Princess Marya’s mental agonies as she learns geometry under her tyrannical father, Prince Nikolai Bolkonsky. You’re reminded that even in epic histories it’s the little conflicts that make these stories human.

Self-discovery

The book lacks a single plot thread, but if pressed, one could say that it is a story about two families — the Bolkonskys and the Rostovs — and their many friends and allies at a time of warring empires. It’s Prince Nikolai’s son, Andrei, who is as close to a heroic figure you will find in it. Though he’s inherited some of the severity of his father, Andrei is capable of expressing affection (but not to his first wife) and falls for the young and vital Countess Natasha Rostov. Andrei is also friends with the most compelling character in the book: Pierre Bezukhov, an illegitimate son of a wealthy nobleman. Pierre is not a romantic hero in the conventional sense: he isn’t handsome, but his considerable wealth and impulsive nature means he’s soon trapped into a loveless marriage that eventually implodes and sets him off on a journey of self discovery.

Tolstoy began writing the book in 1861 and it was to be an account of the Decembrists, a movement that rose up in favour of a constitutional monarchy, but was suppressed. But through his research, he went backwards in time and landed on the events of 1805 (when Napoleon defeated the Russian and Austrian army in Austerlitz) and changed his approach and themes. The original title of the book was to be, in fact, 1805.

According to Richard Pevear (who along with Larissa Volokhonsky is responsible for the best modern translation of War and Peace), when the book first came out, it was too bewildering for readers. The lack of a plot, the multitudes of characters, the infinite amounts of historical details, and the frequent philosophical asides made it hard going for those in the late 19th century who were used to conventional narratives.

And there you have probably the best argument for why War and Peace needs to be read: it’s not some fusty classic but is a thoroughly modern work of literature. Sure it’s big, and undisciplined, and might sprain your wrists. But the pleasurable hours and days you will spend with this cast of characters makes the effort worth it.

The author is a Bangalore-based writer and communications professional with many published short stories and essays to her credit.

That One Book is a fortnightly column that does exactly what it says — takes up one great classic and tells you why it is (still) great. Come, raid the bookshelves with us.