(As an aside -- and before I get started with this review -- I couldn't help wondering whether Lenin might've borrowed this thought when he said "You can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs.")

Writing an original, cogent and halfway-intelligent review of WAR AND PEACE in English is as daunting a task as reading Tolstoy's opus magnum to begin with.  Why, then, would I risk making a mockery of myself by awarding it only three stars?  I'll explain, and thereby attempt to justify this near condemnation of a world-renowned work -- a work, by the way, which Tolstoy himself says (in the Appendix) is NOT a novel, but which critics and the reading public in general call just that.  And so, rather than skirt controversy on this minor point, I will, too.

Although I'd hesitate to call Tolstoy a stylist, there are (in over 1,200 pages of relatively small print) a number of instances in which he goes out on a literary limb.  One such is on p. 524:

"Nikolai set out after the first troika; behind him the rest came rattling and screeching.  At first they went at a slow trot along the narrow road.  As they drove past the garden, shadows from the bare trees often lay across the road and obscured the bright light of the moon, but as soon as they drove beyond the fence, a plain of snow, sparkling like diamonds, with a dove-blue sheen, bathed in moonlight and motionless, opened out on all sides.  Once, twice the front sleigh jolted over a bump; the next sleigh jolted in the same way, then the next, and, boldly breaking the frost-bound stillness, the sleighs strung out one after the other."

While I realize that being in the least bit critical of Leo Tolstoy's prose borders on iconoclasm, I nevertheless have to pose the question:  am I the only reader in Christendom who looks at this and wonders about certain punctuation, not to mention about the possibility of a run-on sentence or two in this otherwise lyrical passage--so atypical of Tolstoy both in WAR AND PEACE and in ANNA KARENINA (the only other work of his I've read and reviewed both here and at Goodreads)?

I applaud Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky, by the way, for an accurate translation (and transcription) of this work.  I believe that they -- much to their credit -- would not have corrected any of Tolstoy's prose.  And so, I can only conclude that Tolstoy himself is to blame for any weakness or sloppiness in his work.  When I was a student of Russian language and literature at Columbia a few decades ago, Constance Garnett was considered the reigning queen in matters of English-language translations of the Russian classics.  To me at the time, her work frequently read more like that of a testosterone-spiked teenager out for a (drunken) Friday night spin.  Not so with Pevear and Volokhonsky, who are meticulously precise in their translation both of this work and of others (of both Tolstoy and Dostoevsky) I've read in the past.

Tolstoy is a first-rate story-teller, make no mistake about it.  And he paints a rather deplorable picture of both the Russian aristocracy of the time and of the singularly solipsistic, narcissistic and megalomaniac Napolen Bonaparte in particular.  But he's simply sloppy in his prose, a fair portion of which is just NOT the handiwork of a brilliant and careful writer (e.g., Gustave Flaubert).

While I don't know that his generalized observations about the character and comportment of several European nationalities is a mark of genius, I DID find his descriptions of Germans, Frenchmen, Englishmen, Italians and Russians (on p. 639) to be amusing, entertaining and -- let's be frank -- damned accurate!

All of the above notwithstanding, I'll give you that there are several passages in the novel (unfortunately, too lengthy to cite here in their entirety, but I'll quote the first and last sentences of each) that are particularly well-crafted and that I'd describe as quintessentially Tolstoy.  The first begins at the bottom of p. 605 and concludes at the bottom of p. 606.

"Kings are the slaves of history ... Their every action, which to them seems willed by themselves, in the historical sense is not willed, but happens in connection with the whole course of history and has been destined from before all ages."

A second comprises the entirety of Volume III, Part 2, Chapter 1 (pp. 682 - 682).

"Napoleon started the war with Russia because he could not help going to Dresden, could not help getting befuddled with honors, could not help putting on a Polish uniform, yielding to the heartening impression of a June morning, could not refrain from outbursts of anger in the presence of Kurakin and then of Balashov...Napoleon goes further, we retreat, and the very thing is achieved that was to defeat Napoleon."

A third (Vol. III, Part 2, XXVII) begins on p. 783 and ends on p. 785:  "Many historians say that the battle of Borodino...fulfilled his [Napoleon's] role of seeming to command."

A fourth (Vol. III, Part 3, I) begins on p. 821 and finishes up on p. 823:  "For human reason, absolute continuity...their reflections on the occasion of those deeds."

And then we have the Epilogue to WAR AND PEACE in which Tolstoy waxes quite philosophical (in Part 1, I-IV and the entire Part 2, which offers a lengthy monograph on freedom versus necessity) when he's not sounding downright balzacien (Part 1, V-XVI).

Prior to a most admirable Epilogue, however, we get the laconically poetic passage Pevear cites in his Introduction:  "...drops dripped...whistled the saber, and again the horses scuffled and neighed..." (p. 1,055).  Having once wrestled with my own metrical translation of Sergei Yesenin's poem, "A Letter to My Mother" for inclusion in my novel, TROMPE-l'OEIL, I can certainly appreciate not only Tolstoy's alliterative skill, but also Pevear's equally alliterative and artful translation.

But what of Tolstoy's -- overwrought, in my opinion -- metaphor on pp. 874-875, in which he compares the desertion of Moscow (just before the French invasion) with an abandoned beehive?  Where was his writer's nose at THAT point?

These examples show not only the genius of the work, and of the man, but also its -- and his -- shortcomings.  I just don't believe he was as good a writer (or at least an editor) as he was a thinker.  After all, every writer has the opportunity to edit and polish his own work, and no one's pointing a gun at him to get on with the process.

And so, given what we know about Tolstoy's later years, I think the Latin citation (in footnote #9, on p. 1,237) is most appropriate -- and herewith, I'll end my review except for one little piece of advice to you, a potential reader of WAR AND PEACE:

"Quos Deus vult perdere, prius dementat." *

And the advice?  Do not try to read this book on the subway!  One or the other will find you dead on the tracks.

RRB
01/14/14)
Brooklyn, NY
<a data-hook="product-link-linked" class="a-link-normal" href="/Trompe-l-oeil-or-The-Old-In-and-Out-Of-Love/dp/B004OEKBIE/ref=cm_cr_arp_d_rvw_txt?ie=UTF8">Trompe-l'oeil (or, The Old In and Out. Of Love.)</a>

*  "Those whom God wants to destroy, he first drives mad."
(As an aside -- and before I get started with this review -- I couldn't help wondering whether Lenin might've borrowed this thought when he said "You can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs. ")

Writing an original, cogent and halfway-intelligent review of WAR AND PEACE in English is as daunting a task as reading Tolstoy's opus magnum to begin with. Why, then, would I risk making a mockery of myself by awarding it only three stars? I'll explain, and thereby attempt to justify this near condemnation of a world-renowned work -- a work, by the way, which Tolstoy himself says (in the Appendix) is NOT a novel, but which critics and the reading public in general call just that. And so, rather than skirt controversy on this minor point, I will, too. Although I'd hesitate to call Tolstoy a stylist, there are (in over 1,200 pages of relatively small print) a number of instances in which he goes out on a literary limb. One such is on p. 524:

"Nikolai set out after the first troika; behind him the rest came rattling and screeching. At first they went at a slow trot along the narrow road. As they drove past the garden, shadows from the bare trees often lay across the road and obscured the bright light of the moon, but as soon as they drove beyond the fence, a plain of snow, sparkling like diamonds, with a dove-blue sheen, bathed in moonlight and motionless, opened out on all sides. Once, twice the front sleigh jolted over a bump; the next sleigh jolted in the same way, then the next, and, boldly breaking the frost-bound stillness, the sleighs strung out one after the other. "

While I realize that being in the least bit critical of Leo Tolstoy's prose borders on iconoclasm, I nevertheless have to pose the question:  am I the only reader in Christendom who looks at this and wonders about certain punctuation, not to mention about the possibility of a run-on sentence or two in this otherwise lyrical passage--so atypical of Tolstoy both in WAR AND PEACE and in ANNA KARENINA (the only other work of his I've read and reviewed both here and at Goodreads)? I applaud Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky, by the way, for an accurate translation (and transcription) of this work. I believe that they -- much to their credit -- would not have corrected any of Tolstoy's prose. And so, I can only conclude that Tolstoy himself is to blame for any weakness or sloppiness in his work. When I was a student of Russian language and literature at Columbia a few decades ago, Constance Garnett was considered the reigning queen in matters of English-language translations of the Russian classics. To me at the time, her work frequently read more like that of a testosterone-spiked teenager out for a (drunken) Friday night spin. Not so with Pevear and Volokhonsky, who are meticulously precise in their translation both of this work and of others (of both Tolstoy and Dostoevsky) I've read in the past. Tolstoy is a first-rate story-teller, make no mistake about it. And he paints a rather deplorable picture of both the Russian aristocracy of the time and of the singularly solipsistic, narcissistic and megalomaniac Napolen Bonaparte in particular. But he's simply sloppy in his prose, a fair portion of which is just NOT the handiwork of a brilliant and careful writer (e. g., Gustave Flaubert). While I don't know that his generalized observations about the character and comportment of several European nationalities is a mark of genius, I DID find his descriptions of Germans, Frenchmen, Englishmen, Italians and Russians (on p. 639) to be amusing, entertaining and -- let's be frank -- damned accurate! All of the above notwithstanding, I'll give you that there are several passages in the novel (unfortunately, too lengthy to cite here in their entirety, but I'll quote the first and last sentences of each) that are particularly well-crafted and that I'd describe as quintessentially Tolstoy. The first begins at the bottom of p. 605 and concludes at the bottom of p. 606. "Kings are the slaves of history... Their every action, which to them seems willed by themselves, in the historical sense is not willed, but happens in connection with the whole course of history and has been destined from before all ages. "

A second comprises the entirety of Volume III, Part 2, Chapter 1 (pp. 682 - 682). "Napoleon started the war with Russia because he could not help going to Dresden, could not help getting befuddled with honors, could not help putting on a Polish uniform, yielding to the heartening impression of a June morning, could not refrain from outbursts of anger in the presence of Kurakin and then of Balashov... Napoleon goes further, we retreat, and the very thing is achieved that was to defeat Napoleon. "

A third (Vol. III, Part 2, XXVII) begins on p. 783 and ends on p. 785:  "Many historians say that the battle of Borodino... fulfilled his [Napoleon's] role of seeming to command. "

A fourth (Vol. III, Part 3, I) begins on p. 821 and finishes up on p. 823:  "For human reason, absolute continuity... their reflections on the occasion of those deeds. "

And then we have the Epilogue to WAR AND PEACE in which Tolstoy waxes quite philosophical (in Part 1, I-IV and the entire Part 2, which offers a lengthy monograph on freedom versus necessity) when he's not sounding downright balzacien (Part 1, V-XVI). Prior to a most admirable Epilogue, however, we get the laconically poetic passage Pevear cites in his Introduction:  "... drops dripped... whistled the saber, and again the horses scuffled and neighed... " (p. 1,055). Having once wrestled with my own metrical translation of Sergei Yesenin's poem, "A Letter to My Mother" for inclusion in my novel, TROMPE-l'OEIL, I can certainly appreciate not only Tolstoy's alliterative skill, but also Pevear's equally alliterative and artful translation. But what of Tolstoy's -- overwrought, in my opinion -- metaphor on pp. 874-875, in which he compares the desertion of Moscow (just before the French invasion) with an abandoned beehive? Where was his writer's nose at THAT point? These examples show not only the genius of the work, and of the man, but also its -- and his -- shortcomings. I just don't believe he was as good a writer (or at least an editor) as he was a thinker. After all, every writer has the opportunity to edit and polish his own work, and no one's pointing a gun at him to get on with the process. And so, given what we know about Tolstoy's later years, I think the Latin citation (in footnote #9, on p. 1,237) is most appropriate -- and herewith, I'll end my review except for one little piece of advice to you, a potential reader of WAR AND PEACE:

"Quos Deus vult perdere, prius dementat. " *

And the advice? Do not try to read this book on the subway! One or the other will find you dead on the tracks. RRB
01/14/14)
Brooklyn, NY
<a data-hook="product-link-linked" class="a-link-normal" href="/Trompe-l-oeil-or-The-Old-In-and-Out-Of-Love/dp/B004OEKBIE/ref=cm_cr_arp_d_rvw_txt? ie=UTF8">Trompe-l'oeil (or, The Old In and Out. Of Love. )</a>

*  "Those whom God wants to destroy, he first drives mad. "