See the Movie

       Like the book, the movie "War and Peace" is a bit long. But at only 3 hours and 18 minutes, it is certainly more efficient use of one's time than reading the book. 

       I am usually disappointed when I watch a movie adaptation after reading a book. But not with "War and Peace". I was almost giggling at how succinctly characters explained how they were feeling compared to the pages and pages and pages of description in the book.  In my view, the film's writers did a great job of capturing many of the key elements in the book, and for those who want to know the epic tale without investing a month of valuable reading time, I would strongly recommend the film.

       It didn't hurt that Audrey Hepburn was absolutely adorable in the role of Natasha. Although she was 26 years old in real life, and married to her co-star Mel Ferrer, she portrayed a 16 to 18-year-old in love far better than Tolstoy was able to in his writing.  And one of the scenes -- a cavalry charge with perhaps a thousand riders galloping past, and shot in "Vistavision" -- was damned impressive, especially since none of the soldiers were computer-generated.

       And one thing about the movie made me feel more forgiving about the book -- parts of the movie were quite dated. Some of the scenes were so clearly shot on a cheap sound stage that Tom and I couldn't help laughing. And the special effects were primitive compared to today's -- explosions that were mere flashes of light, cannons that failed to recoil after firing, deaths that were bloodless. 

       But the fact is that the movie was made more than 50 years ago, and a great deal of film-making innovation has happened since then. 

       Perhaps in the same way, the book "War and Peace" simply is somewhat dated. Like film-making, writing styles and modes of expression have evolved in the more than 150 years since it was written. Indeed, at the time it was first published, "War and Peace" actually was considered a truly modern book -- one that portrayed a more realistic world than was common in the romantic and picaresque novels of the time.  Through my 21st-century eyes, this once important book seemed repetitive and often pedantic. But perhaps the simple fact is that it, understandably, is no longer modern.

       And I am glad I read it. Not only can I say that I have read "War and Peace" and even enjoyed parts of it, the book also helped me get though a stressful month. 

       Now, I'm excited to get to work on the next chapter in my life!

Freedom to Read

       This morning, I finished "War and Peace". All of it. Really.

       And this afternoon, we found out that we are getting the house we have been coveting for months.  

       Coincidence? Well...probably. But it's fun to think there might be some connection. If only I had known that's what fate was waiting for, I would have finished "War and Peace" earlier in the month.

        The epilogues in "War and Peace" were even more annoying than I had expected. The first one explained what happened to the characters in the years following the end of the book. Told more like a book outline, or even like a series of obituaries (what the characters accomplished, how they were viewed by others, etc.) it lacked even the small amount of charm found in the main part of the book. The second epilogue was directed mainly to explaining that while humans think they have free will, they in fact do not. 

        And then, to my surprise, the second epilogue was followed by an "appendix" written by Tolstoy.

        It was while reading this appendix that I finally realized what will keep me from thinking of "War and Peace" as one of the greatest books I have ever read.  In it, Tolstoy wrote that he spent five years of "ceaseless and exclusive labor" on the book and that he wanted to state his view of the book -- to remove any "perplexities which may arise in readers". Tolstoy wrote that he did not want readers "to see or seek in my book what I did not want...to express, and to pay attention to precisely what I wanted to express."  

       That is, Tolstoy wanted to ensure that readers saw the book only precisely as he intended. He wanted to ensure that readers did not seek, or have, free will in reading his book -- just as he says we lack it in the rest of our lives.

       To me, that takes away one of the essential joys of reading.  

       Emerson wrote, "'Tis the good reader that makes the good book; in every book he finds passages which seem confidences or asides hidden from all else..."

       Tolstoy seemed determined to obliterate this role of the "good reader". With his constant repetitions, his long-winded explanations of otherwise clever similes, his on-going re-statement of the book's themes, and especially with his epilogues, Tolstoy was taking away from the reader the best part of reading -- a sense of discovery, pleasure and imagination. 

       "War and Peace" did give me some insights into war that I may never forget. And some of the character descriptions were marvelous. But too much of it seemed like a lecture by a doddering professor who is overly committed to his own viewpoint.  

       I wish Tolstoy had thought enough of his readers to allow them to think, at least a little bit, for themselves.

       Tonight, Tom and I are sitting down to watch the movie "War and Peace".  Made in 1956, it stars Audrey Hepburn, Henry Fonda and Mel Ferrer.  I'll write about that tomorrow...

I Don't Want To...

       I finished the main part of "War and Peace" today, and I feel satisfied with it. I really do. The ending was interesting, with some hints of the future lives of the characters and of the country. A story had been told, albeit a bit repetitiously.  I feel done.

       So how am I going to get through the next 150 pages? I really, really don't want to continue.  

       So why did Tolstoy? Why couldn't he just have stopped at page 1125? Wasn't that enough? 

       I guess I'm going to have to dig in and find out.

Editor Needed

       I have been zipping through "War and Peace" and in less than 50 pages, will be at page 1125, the end of the main part of the book.  

       Through the 1078 pages I have read so far, one thing has become increasingly clear.     Tolstoy seriously needed an editor -- someone with a bold red pencil -- who would slash her way through the book and help bring it into shape.

       Tolstoy is guilty of incredible amounts of repetition, restatement and re-explanation. He will make a statement -- occasionally a profound one or simply a nice turn of phrase -- and then will say it again. Once he says it, he repeats it. After making a statement, he will explain what he meant by saying the statement. He often seems to think that perhaps we missed the statement or failed to understand it the first time around, so he says it again. And then, perhaps one page or 10 pages or 50 pages later, he'll say it again -- the same statement -- although sometimes with the phrases reversed.  All over again he'll say it, and then again he'll explain it.  

       Can you imagine how annoying that might be?

       Writers sometimes fall in love with their work, and can't bear the thought of changing even one word.  Or they sometimes think something is so brilliant that it bears repeating. That is when an objective editor is most needed -- to forcibly cut out some material to help make a book lean and fit instead of bloated.

       I have peeked ahead to see that at the end of the main part of the book, there are two epilogues written by Tolstoy that go on for an additional 150 pages. And I am guessing that large portions of them will be taken up with explanations of the book I have just spent much of this month reading. I am considering taking a red pencil to these pages myself, just to see how many of them are left after some masterful slashing. 

       Or would that be a rude thing to do to a "great" novel?

Anniversary Reading

       Tom and I went to San Francisco this past weekend, to celebrate our 15th wedding anniversary. As I was leaving our home Thursday evening with my luggage in one hand and "War and Peace" in the other, Tom said, "You're not bringing that, are you?"  Because I didn't want Tom to think that his love and attention wouldn't be enough to joyfully pass the time on our celebration weekend, I abruptly decided to leave the 3 lb. volume at home.

       By the time we got into our car, I was already having regrets.

       At the airport, waiting for the plane, I bought an Oprah magazine. It didn't come close to replacing "War and Peace". On the plane, however, the SkyMall magazine did a better job, and Tom and I had fun laughing at items to buy for our possible future home. Our favorite choice was called "The Zombie of Montclaire" a "life-size, gray-toned zombie [that] will claw his way out of your garden... pleading for assistance with the most lifelike eyes you've ever seen."

       Once in San Francisco, we kept pretty busy -- even without books to read. But I did find myself thinking about "War and Peace" occasionally. 

       At the opera, La Traviata, for instance, I thought about how families interfere with true love in both the opera and in "War and Peace" -- but not, happily, in my marriage.  When I caught a chill on Friday night, I thought about Russian and French soldiers trying to survive in much worse conditions in the fall of 1812, as foreshadowed by Tolstoy. When we went out for sushi on Saturday, I didn't think about "War and Peace" at all, but only because I tend to find sushi incredibly absorbing. 

       But on the trip home, I seriously missed my "War and Peace". I had already read SkyMall, Oprah and the airline magazine. More importantly, Prince Andrei had been seriously wounded just before I flew to San Francisco, and I wondered how he was faring. And Pierre, who was not a soldier, had been dug in with troops at the front line, and was in danger of being hit by cannon fire. The trip home, even with the love of my life beside me, seemed incredibly long.

       Somehow, after 800 pages, "War and Peace" had become an integral part of my life -- for this month at least. Perhaps, like marriage, "War and Peace" is a journey of discovery, growth and unexpected pleasures.

War and Peace and Banana Peels

       Something completely unexpected happened to me the other day while reading “War and Peace".

       I found myself being amused. Actually, I was more than amused. “War and Peace” abruptly started to seem rather funny.
       Three scenes in a row seemed to suggest that maybe I had done a disservice to Count Tolstoy in my interpretation of the book. First, there was a scene were Prince Andrei chased down a French soldier, and after merely nicking him in the arm, captured the terrified man. Although Andrei was troubled by how easily this happened, he was awarded a medal of honor. Next there was a scene where Natasha, trying to pray piously in church, was told to pray for and forgive her enemies. But a moment later, she was instructed to pray for the destruction of her ememies, and good Natasha found herself at a bit of a loss. Next, Pierre, who had developed an interest in numerology, found that when he attached numerical figures to the letters of the alphabet and then spelled out his name, the letters of his name added up to an auspicious number – but only if Pierre not only misspelled his name, but also added an adjective to the front of it (“La Russe”).
       Suddenly, it appeared that dour Count Tolstoy had a bit of a sense of humor. Indeed, it suddenly seemed that “War and Peace” had turned into a series of clever, yet dry, Monty Python sketches.
       Rather than being a burden, the book abruptly started to move faster. And I found myself snorting or shaking my head as the next 100 pages flew by.
       I wonder now, if by thinking of “War and Peace” as a great and serious novel, I had closed my mind to thinking of it as a sly and ironic one.
       And I find myself wondering what, in my serious frame of mind, I had missed in the previous 700 pages. I have half a mind to go back to the beginning to give War and Peace a whole fresh look. Well, maybe that's over-stating it a bit. Maybe it’s a quarter of a mind. Or maybe an eighth. No, surely, it’s more of a sixteenth.
       Okay, so I may never go back to the beginning. But I am beginning to sense that I might at least enjoy the final 400 pages.

Making Progress

       A few people have asked if all this talk about great books is meant to distract attention away from the fact I am not reading "War and Peace".

       I ask you, seriously, would I do something like that?
       No! Really, I wouldn't!
       In fact, I am continuing to work my way through this rather heavy book.
       In fact, I am on page 655, out of 1215 pages. Yes, that means that I am more than halfway through, which is a good thing given that the month is half over.
       I can promise that I will finish the book by the end of the month. I know it will happen. I have made a promise and I will see it through. Each page I turn is bringing me closer to the end.
       I'm not exactly proud though that I'm talking about "War and Peace" this way. I am generally more into the story, or the characters, or the beauty of the language, in a work of fiction than I am into counting pages. I guess that means that "War and Peace" still is not feeling like a great book to me.
       I'll admit that 655 pages into it, I do feel a slight interest in the lives of the characters. What will happen to the lovely and enchanting Natasha? Will Prince Andrei find love again? Will anyone ever understand poor Pierre? I even feel a vague curiosity about how the Russian army will deal with Napoleon. Starting around 50 pages ago, I found myself picking up the book at odd times -- trying to read just a few more pages, trying to find out what happens next.
       But when you think about it, isn't it a bit much to ask that someone read 600 pages before beginning to care about the characters? Most books, in their entirety, are not that long. This is an era of reduced attention spans. And in general, I try to have reading feel like less of a burden.
       I do hope that by time I get through the book, I will have experienced more greatness in "War and Peace" than simply a sense of accomplishment at a task completed.

Other Fabulous Books

       Like some of you, I was gratified to see some of my all-time favorite books on the Strand list.
       One book, in particular, still sticks with me today: John Irving's "A Prayer for Owen Meany".
       I remember being on a beach one day, nearly 25 years ago – in Spain or Portugal, I think – and finishing that book. I remember it because when I completed the final page, I started to cry.
       I cried not because the story was sad (although it was), but simply because the book was over. I had become so involved in the lives of the characters and the richness of the plot that I felt a loss – an emptiness – when I suddenly realized it was gone. I cried too because I felt certain that I would never be able to write as well as John Irving does, although I still continue to try my best.

       I agree, however, that other fabulous books seem to be missing from the Strand list.
       As Liz pointed out, Rohinton Mistry's "A Fine Balance" should surely be there. I remember also being profoundly affected by "Trinity" by Leon Uris. Recommended by my father as a book my older brothers and I could discuss in our eventual medical school interviews (not that I ever applied to med school), it was, at the age of 14 or 15, one of the first truly "important" books I had read. And what about E.L. Doctorow's "World's Fair"? I loved that book!

       Readers: are there other books that you think should have made the list?  For Tom's profound input on this question, see his comment on my last posting, dated June 11.

Counting Great Books

       I had the first of our scheduled home inspections yesterday. It was a stressful eight hours -- much longer than I had anticipated.  As the inspector kept telling me (joining a veritable chorus of people saying the same), "This is not a cookie-cutter house," and everything is a bit more complicated than usual.  The inspector did find some issues, including problems with the first three things he checked -- the dishwasher, the garbage disposal and the pipes under the kitchen sink.  

       Hopefully, nothing will turn into a deal-breaker.

       Still, I had big trouble sleeping last night. I got up at around 1:45 a.m., hoping that War and Peace would knock me out. But 30 pages later, I was still alert. 

       So I started looking into the concept of "great books" and remembered that my favorite book store in New York -- the Strand -- polled its customers a few years ago to help them come up with a list of the favorite 80 fiction books of all time. A moment later, I had found the list.  And I finally relaxed a bit, as I recalled and counted up the books I had read.  

       Here is the list, with the ones I have read noted in bold.  There are actually 81 books on the list, as the last two tied for 80th place.

       Readers, I hope you enjoy seeing the list, and counting the ones you have read too. And I would love your comments. What do you think of the list? (Personally, I think it's a bit heavy on Harry Potter books.) What are your favorites? Which, of the ones I haven't read, would you most recommend?

To Kill a Mockingbird, by Harper Lee
Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen
The Great Gatsby, by F. Scott Fitzgerald
Catcher in the Rye, by JD Salinger
Atlas Shrugged, by Ayn Rand
The Fountainhead, by Ayn Rand
The Fellowship of the Rings, by JRR Tolkien
One Hundred Years of Solitude, by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Bronte
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, by JK Rowling
Lolita, by Vladimir Nabokov
1984, by George Orwell
On the Road, by Jack Kerouac
Gone With the Wind, by Margaret Mitchell
Anna Karenina, by Leo Tolstoy
The Brothers Karamazov, by Fyodor Dostoevsky
Crime and Punishment, by Fyodor Dostoyevsky
A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, by Betty Smith
Slaughter-House Five, by Kurt Vonnegut
Ulysses, by James Joyce
The Kite Runner, by Khaled Hosseini
Catch-22, by Joseph Heller
The Grapes of Wrath, by John Steinbeck
East of Eden, by John Steinbeck
The Sun Also Rises, by Ernest Hemmingway
War and Peace, by Leo Tolstoy
The Hobbit, by JRR Tolkien
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, by JK Rowling
The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay, by Michael Chabon
Wuthering Heights, by Emily Bronte
A Prayer For Owen Meaney, by John Irving
The Count of Monte Cristo, by Alexandre Dumas
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, by Lewis Carroll
The Stranger, by Albert Camus
Brave New World, by Aldous Huxley
Little Women, by Louisa May Alcott
Middlesex, by Jeffrey Eugenides
Moby Dick, by Herman Melville
The Alchemist, by Paul Coelho
Les Miserables, by Victor Hugo
A Tale of Two Cities, by Charles Dickens
Anthem, by Ayn Rand
The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, by Haruki Murakami
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, by Mark Twain
In Cold Blood, by Truman Capote
Cat’s Cradle, by Kurt Vonnegut
Love in the Time of Cholera, by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
The Little Prince, by Antoine De Saint-Eupery
The Time Traveler’s Wife, by Audrey Niffenegger
Invisible Man, by Ralph Ellison
The Unbearable Lightness of Being, by Milan Kundera
The Bell Jar, by Sylvia Plath
The World According to Garp, by John Irving
Middlemarch, by George Eliot
To the Lighthouse, by Virginia Woolf
The Poisonwood Bible, by Barbara Kingsolver
Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, by JK Rowling
Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, by JK Rowling
The Old Man and the Sea, by Ernest Hemingway
Ender’s Game, by Orson Scott Card
Bleak House, by Charles Dickens
Beloved, by Toni Morrison
Great Expectations, by Charles Dickens
A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, by Dave Eggers
Fight Club, by Chuck Palahniuk
The Sound and the Fury, by William Faulkner
Mrs. Dalloway, by Virginia Woolf
The Giver, by Lois Lowry
Master and Margarita, by Mikhail Bulgakov
Blindness, by Jose Saramago
Life of Pi, by Yann Martel
Madame Bovary, by Gustave Flaubert
Where the Wild Things Are, by Maurice Sendak
The Chronicles of Narnia, by CS Lewis
The Odyssey, by Homer
The Da Vinci Code, by Dan Brown
Franny and Zooey, by JD Salinger
A Wrinkle in Time, by Madeleine L’Engle
Everything is Illuminated, by Jonathan Safran Foer
The Picture of Dorian Gray, by Oscar Wilde
The Handmaid’s Tale, by Margaret Atwood 

Not All Bad

       I received an e-mail from a friend tonight, asking if I am enjoying "War and Peace" at all.

       Until today, my answer might have been "No". Sure, I have been occasionally interested in it. Some parts have moved faster than others. But I would not have called any of it enjoyment.

       But this morning, I read a paragraph that has remained in my mind all day. Indeed, it has followed me everywhere I've gone, making me smile and putting me at peace.

       This is the paragraph, from page 421:

       "Prince Andrei got up and went to open the window. As soon as he opened the shutters, moonlight, as if it had been watching at the window a long time, waiting for that, burst into the room. He opened the window. The night was fresh and stilly bright. Just under his window was a row of trimmed trees, black on one side and silvery bright on the other. Under the trees was some juicy, wet, curly growth, with touches of silver on its leaves and stems. Further beyond the black trees was some roof glistening with dew, to the right a big, curly tree with a bright white trunk and branches, and  above it a nearly full moon against the light, nearly starless sky. Prince Andrei leaned his elbows on the windowsill and fixed his eyes upon this sky."

       This paragraph, alone, makes me feel that my time has not been wasted.  I don't know where it came from. The writing is so different from that in the rest of the book that I can't help but wonder if Count Tolstoy was recalling a particularly splendid night he himself had experienced. 

       The writing (or perhaps the translation), admittedly, is not perfect. I am sure it could be better.  Still, Tolstoy's description of the moonlight waiting to burst in the room, and the trees -- silver and white in the moonlight -- are words I may never forget.  

       In the coming days, I'll be considering what makes a novel "great". For today at least, it seems possible that these words alone may suffice.

Peace and War

       As I’ve been slogging my way through "War and Peace", I have noticed a little something that shouldn’t be that surprising given the title of the book.
       This is a book about both war and peace.  
       The peace parts read like a Jane Austen novel, with detailed descriptions of clothing, conversation and inane or interesting social interactions. The war parts describe formations, battles, petitions and parades in similar detail.

       This duality poses something of a challenge.

       The problem is that, so far at least, these two facets of the book remain quite distinct. Just as I find myself engaged in one aspect of the book -- caring even for a moment about a character's unhappy marriage or the outcome of a poorly-planned battle -- the book switches gears. Abruptly, the story of that marriage or battle is simply wrapped up and dropped into an authorial oblivion. I suddenly have to work to become engaged again in an entirely different matter.

       And I find myself wondering if there are many people (or any people) who would enjoy or benefit from both parts of the book equally. I will not apologize for carefully reading the social interaction parts, but occasionally skimming the chapters filled with the minutiae of war. I just don't care that much about terrain, fog thickness and the success (or lack thereof) of repeated canister shots.  At the same time, I’m sure there are readers who would prefer that to descriptions of dinner parties and décor. 

       Because "War and Peace" is a so-called great book, I can't help but hope there is a point to this duality and that some over-arching theme that embraces both aspects of the book will later become apparent.

       At the same time, I can’t help but wonder if "War and Peace" would ever get past the desk of a modern-day book agent or editor, who would demand to know what the book is about and who the target audience is.

On My Own

       So...no one wants to join me on my quest!

       Well, it serves me right. 

       In fact, I was supposed to have read "War and Peace" with some friends earlier in the year. Tom and I had signed up, with another couple we know, for a four-session Continuing Education course on the book – spread over an eight-week period (to allow time for reading). 

       I dutifully read the first 294 pages as preparation for the first session. But right after that first class, I realized I was going to be out of town for the second and third session. So, you know, I figured I sort of had kind of an excuse for not keeping up. And by the fourth session, naturally, I was way too far behind to ever catch up.

       Now I admit I would never had tried to use such an explanation if I missed a few sessions of Grade Seven math, for example. Even at the age of 11, I was aware that missed classes meant I had a responsibility to catch up – even if I had to work extra hard to do it.

       But I’m an adult now and I had voluntarily signed up for the "War and Peace" class. Furthermore, it wasn't like there was going to be an exam or anything. So why stress about it? 

       Am I right, or am I right?

       Still, for some reason, I do still feel sort of a commitment to finish it. I may even feel a teeny tiny sense of guilt.          

       In case you’re wondering, however, none of the other three who signed up for the course with me finished it either. The husband of the other couple listened to the book on CD, which would be okay, except that it was an abridged version. His wife, my good friend, read about 3/4 of the book, but then also switched over to the abridged recorded version. 

       And my over-worked Tom didn’t get very far at all. Although we had bought twin copies of the book so that we wouldn’t have to fight over the privilege of reading it, business obligations meant that Tom ended up missing all four classes. He never got further into his copy than page xii of the introduction.

       Hey! Now that I think of it, perhaps that can actually serve as a further enticement to you. If any of you now wish to change your mind about joining me, I have Tom’s nearly untouched copy available for your reading pleasure. 

       You won't even have to give it back.

Translated by...

       These are the first words of "War and Peace", as translated by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky: "Eh bien, mon prince, Genes et Lucques ne sont plus que des apanages, des estates, de la famille Buonaparte." Then there is a little number "1" referring readers to a note found on page 1225. At the end of the first paragraph  -- all in French, except for twelve words -- is a little asterisk, referring readers to a translated version of the first paragraph -- from French into English. 

       I look ahead to see that the novel continues to be partly in French, sometimes with whole pages entirely in French.  And at the bottom of nearly every page are notes or translations, written in a tiny typeface (which I can't read without removing my glasses), with various symbols to distinguish them from each other. On page 7, for example, these symbols are found at the bottom of the page: *, +, ++ (on top of each other), s, #, **, ++ (sideways).

       I can't help but get the feeling that this book is going to be exhausting. 

       Which, given my goal of sleeping, might be a good thing.

       But really, if the translators were going through the trouble of translating the book, could they not just have directly translated the Russian and the French into English, without making one refer to an array of translated notes?

       Perhaps it is especially annoying for me. Since I sort of understand French, I find myself stumbling through it, only caught up by words like "apanages". Also, en francais, I am not entirely clear at first if Genes and Lucques are people or places. 

       With that enticing introduction, would any of you readers like to join me on my quest of completing "War and Peace" by the end of June?  Or if not "War and Peace", would you like to read some other "great book" that you have long felt you should read? 

       Perhaps we can lend support to each other. Please let me know.

War and Peace and Real Estate

       I have been under some stress for the past several days. It’s a good stress, mind you. Indeed it’s a happy stress, because Tom and I are hoping to purchase a wonderful and unusual home that we discovered several months ago.        

       Since I learned only ten days ago that it might truly be a possibility, I have hardly been able to sleep. And so far, that’s been okay. 

       But I have to keep my wits about me. Since Tom is extremely busy with his job (and because I am, after all, a lawyer), it will be up to me look after all the details that could make this dream our reality. So I do need to sleep sometime.

       That’s why I decided this would be a perfect month to fulfill my commitment to read War and Peace.