As I’ve said before, I have a doomscrolling problem. Either luckily or tragically, I don’t doomscroll on Instagram and Facebook but on Twitter and the Substack app, where I’m always hunting for the next link to add to my ever-expanding “not read, won’t read” pile. Yes, I’m a weirdo. If you’re judging me, rest assured that I am still much better than you.
Late last year, during one of my doomscrolling sessions on the Substack app, I came across this post about slow reading Leo Tolstoy’s War and Peace. Since I wanted to read more in 2025, I was instantly sold. Plus, I had never read a classical literary work, so I figured why not start with a massive novel written more than a century ago by a Russian dude.
I ordered a hardcover of the translation by Anthony Briggs, and I’m not gonna lie - when I opened the package, I had a few moments of regret. I mean, look at the thing:
At 1,358 pages, it’s less a novel and more of a murder weapon, a cheap bullet-stopper, a doorstop, an unsuitable paperweight, and a karate chops practice prop. Undeterred, I started reading the book, and I’m 100 pages in and I’m hooked. I thought the book would be in abstruse English, but it’s surprisingly readable. I wouldn’t call it breezy, but it doesn’t give migraines either.
It’s a beautiful novel that slowly becomes a mirror, reflecting all the good, bad, horrible, dumb, and annoying things that make us human. It’s a 1,350-page portrait of the human condition. So every week, I’ll keep sharing an update as I read the book. Also, if you want to join me in reading, grab a copy and then send me a message on Twitter or LinkedIn. I think it’ll be fun.
Entry date: January 18th
The book starts with a chronology of Tolstoy’s life, and damn, the man lived an interesting life, to say the least. From dropping out of college, drinking, cavorting with prostitutes, joining the army, starting doomed relationships, to having a spiritual crisis—the man lived, and I mean, really lived.
In the introduction, Anthony Briggs writes:
The strength of War and Peace is in the weakness of its characters
Then he adds:
Oscar Wilde said that what made Russian writers’ books ‘so great is the pity they put in them’. They have seen life, tackled it and tried their best, and they know a truth that rarely declares itself, especially in stories that are meant for entertainment. It is this: virtually everyone - even people in advantageous or privileged circumstances - finds the living of life a worrying and difficult business most of the time. The novel takes us in rich detail through all the seven ages of man from childhood to old age, and explores their difficulties, all of which are played out under the gathering shadow of death, the one certainty. As another Russian writer, Boris Pasternak, concluded in the novel Dr Zhivago: ‘Living life is not just a walk across a field.’
These aspects soon start becoming apparent. Earlier in the post, I said “the novel”—Tolstoy didn’t think War and Peace was a novel—and that was deliberate. The funny thing was, I started thinking about my own family dynamics and the absurd stories involving my relatives as I read the book. The depth and detail of each character’s personality are brilliant. It’s as if Tolstoy knew each and every one of the characters intimately.
As the story picks up pace, you can see the full spectrum of the human condition from love, loss, hatred, envy, greed, stupidity, to gluttony on full and vivid display. Strangely, I could relate to a lot of these human foibles. Two examples come to mind.
In chapter 14, there’s a beautiful display of friendship:
‘Oh, my dear count, money, money, money – how much trouble it causes in this world!’ said the countess. ‘But I do need it very much.’
‘My sweet little countess, everybody knows you’re a shocking spendthrift,’ said the count, who then kissed his wife’s hand and went back to his own room.
When Anna Mikhaylovna returned from the Bezukhovs the countess had the money ready under a handkerchief on her little table, all in crisp new notes. Anna Mikhaylovna could see something was worrying her.
‘Well, how did you get on, my dear?’ asked the countess.
‘Oh, he’s in a dreadful state! Unrecognizable. He’s so ill, so ill … I was only there for a minute, and I hardly said a thing.’
‘Annette, for heaven’s sake, please don’t refuse,’ the countess blurted out with a blush which looked rather odd on her ageing, thin, aristocratic face as she produced the money from under the cloth. Immediately understanding, Anna Mikhaylovna leant forward, ready to embrace when the moment came.
‘This is for Boris, from me, to get him kitted out …’
Anna Mikhaylovna’s arms were round her. She was weeping, and the countess wept too. They wept for their friendship, their kind-heartedness and the unfortunate need for lifelong friends to soil their hands with anything as sordid as money, and they wept also for their lost youth … But the tears of both women were sweet …
I’ve been privileged enough to have friends who’ve more or less taken care of me during the low points of my life. Being on the receiving end of such magnanimity is one of the closest things I know to true grace.
The conversation below occurs at the start of Chapter 16, and it’s about whether Russia should fight Napoleon Bonaparte. It reminded me of the pointless arguments that consume the entire world on social media. In Tsarist Russia, heated debates around dinner tables and in salons were the Twitter of the era.
At the men’s end of the table the conversation was becoming more and more animated. The colonel told them that war had been declared through a manifesto issued in Petersburg and that he had seen with his own eyes a copy sent by courier to the commander-in-chief.
‘But why the devil should we fight Bonaparte?’ said Shinshin. ‘He’s already brought Austria down a peg or two. I’m afraid it could be our turn next.’
The colonel was a stout, tall and florid-faced German, evidently a keen officer and good Russian patriot. He resented Shinshin’s words.
‘Ze reason vy, my goot sir,’ he said, in his German accent, ‘eez just zat ze Emperor knows zis too. In ze proclamation he says zat he cannot stend beck and vatch ze danger treatening Russia, and zat ze security of ze empire, its dignity, and ze sacredness of its alliances …’ He emphasized the word ‘alliances’, as if this was what really mattered. And with his typically impeccable memory for bureaucratic detail, he was able to quote verbatim from the Introduction to the proclamation:
‘… and the desire, constituting the sole and immutable aim of the Sovereign, to establish peace in Europe on a firm foundation, has determined him this day to dispatch a section of the army abroad, and to renew every effort towards the achievement of that purpose.’
‘Zis is ze reason vy, my dear sir.’ He finished his little homily by tossing off a glass of wine and looking to the count for encouragement.
‘Do you know the saying, “Stay, Jerome, do not roam, there is work to do at home”?’ said Shinshin, smiling through his frown. ‘That suits us down to the ground. Look at Suvorov, even he was chopped into little pieces, and where will you find any Suvorovs today? I ask you,’ he said, going in and out of Russian and French as he spoke.
‘Ve must fight to ze last trop of our ploot,’ said the colonel, thumping the table, ‘and die for our Emperor, and zen all vill be vell. And sink about sings as leedle as possible,’ he concluded, turning again to the count, and drawing out the word ‘po-ossible’. ‘Zat ees how ve old zoldiers see it, and zat ees all zere ees to see.
In Chapter 18, Count Bezukhov, a famous and enormously rich nobleman from the time of Catherine the Great, is on his deathbed having suffered multiple strokes. However, in the halls of the Count’s home, grief takes a backseat as his relatives are preoccupied not with the impending death but rather with scheming about how to get a piece of the Count’s vast fortune. This chapter is a great example of how greed can blind men even in the darkest moments of life.
‘Katishe, you really don’t seem to understand! If you’re that intelligent, why can’t you see that if the count has written to the Emperor asking for recognition of Pierre as legitimate, he won’t be Pierre any more, he’ll be Count Bezukhov, and he’ll inherit everything under the will? And if the will and the letter have not been destroyed, then – apart from the consolation of having done your duty and all the rest of it – you are left with nothing. And that’s a fact.’
‘I do know the will was made, but I also know that it is invalid. You seem to take me for a complete fool, my dear cousin,’ said the princess, with the air of a woman who has come out with something clever and scathing.
‘My dear princess, Katerina Semyonovna!’ Prince Vasily was losing patience. ‘I haven’t come here just to annoy you. I’m talking to you as a relative, a good, kind, true relative, about your own interests. I am telling you for the umpteenth time that if that letter to the Emperor and the will made out in Pierre’s favour are still among the count’s papers, neither you, my dear girl, nor your sisters are heiresses. If you don’t believe me, you must believe other people who know about these things. I’ve just been talking to Dmitry Onufrich’ (the family solicitor) ‘and he says the same thing.’
‘I know your heart,’ repeated the prince. ‘I value your friendship, and I would like you to think the same of me. So, don’t upset yourself and let’s talk sensibly together while there is still time, whether it’s a whole day or just an hour. Tell me everything you know about that will. The most important thing is – where is it? You must know. We’ll take it to the count and show it to him. He’s probably forgotten all about it, and he’ll want it destroyed. Please understand that my sole desire is to carry out his wishes religiously. That’s what I came here for. I am here only to be of service to him and to you.’
‘Oh, I see. Now I know who’s doing the double-dealing. Yes, I know,’ said the princess.
‘You’ve got it wrong, my dear.’
‘It’s that Anna Mikhaylovna, your lovely protégée. I wouldn’t have her as a housemaid – ghastly, horrible woman.’
Going back to my comment about the novel being a mirror, this part of the story reminded me of all the countless property disputes, the breaking apart of relationships, endless recriminations, and long grudges in my family. If one is not careful, money can slowly corrode all that is good, beautiful, and valuable in life.
A few new words I’ve learned from War and Peace
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Lugubrious: Gloomy or mournful.
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Pensive: Engaged in deep thought or reflection; melancholic.
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Solemn: Formal, serious, somber.
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Samovar: A large metal container used to heat tea and water.
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Reticule: A small decorative handbag or purse.
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Jabot: A decorative fabric worn on the front of a shirt. Think reverse baniyan.
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Grandee: A high-ranking nobleman.
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Abbe: Low-ranking clergyman.
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Raconteur: An entertaining storyteller.
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Truculent: Defiant and hostile.
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Peevish: Easily irritated or annoyed.
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Lorgnette: Eyeglasses or opera glasses with a handle. Basically douchey eyeglasses.
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Assignation: A secret meeting usually for romantic purposes. Fancy word for booty call.
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Glowered: Staring in anger to express disapproval or resentment.
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Languid: Slow, lacking energy, or indifferent.
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Rapture: Feeling of intense pleasure or joy. Ecstasy. It’s basically the feeling just before you close your incognito tabs, if you know what I mean.
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Doleful: Expressing sorrow or sadness. As in the feeling after you waste 10 minutes watching Rakhi Sawant videos.
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Antechamber: A small room that’s used as an entryway to a larger room. Reception area. It’s also known as something you cannot afford to build even if you work 80 hours a day. # NarayanaMurthyFail
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Adjutant: A low-ranking military officer who serves as an assistant to a senior officer. Basically a glorified secretary. Or a formal term for being someone else’s bitch.
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Plaintive: Sad or mournful. It also means, “How many fucking English words do we have for sad? Why can’t we just say sad and get it over with?”
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Dissipated lifestyle: An overindulgent lifestyle filled with pleasure and debauchery. Cue Honey Singh’s Millionaire.
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Limpid: Clear, transparent, or bright.
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Vestibule: A small entrance hall or passage that leads to a larger room. See antechamber. Rich people stuff.
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Sallow: Pale or yellowish complexion.
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Stricture: A rule that limits something; formal criticism.
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Waddling: Walking where the body sways. Feels like a fat joke to me.
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Shifty: Suspicious.
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Pouffe: An upholstered cushioned seat without a back or arms. In other words, a fancy fucking stool!
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Trooped out: To move out in an orderly fashion. The opposite of “run for your lives!”
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Ingenuously: Sincere and straightforward.
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Florid face: Reddish or flushed complexion due to drinking or embarrassment.
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Prim: Neat, prudish, formal. As in “that prim little fucker.”
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Furtive: Doing something in secrecy. As in “he let out a furtive fart in a packed room with the windows closed and AC switched off.”
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Decanter: A glass or crystal bottle for serving alcohol. Basically rich people’s water bottle.
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Nonplussed: Surprised, bewildered, confounded. As in the feeling people will have when they discover your furtive fart.
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Unctuous: Someone who’s eager to please in an insincere and manipulative way. Basically ass-kissing.
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Exactitude: Accurate, meticulous. As in “he asked the priest to fuck off with great exactitude.”
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Desiccated: Dry or lacking moisture. You can use this word in winter to say, “Kiss my desiccated ass.”
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Winsome: Charming and attractive.
Until the next week.