In this blog post, I’ll explain why Tolstoy’s ‘War and Peace’ should remain a classic rather than a relic of the past, and suggest ways to appreciate this vast work relatively easily.

The Scale and Paradox of a Masterpiece

Leo Tolstoy’s ‘War and Peace’ is a truly monumental work. First of all, it is so vast in scope that it can be called an epic novel, with a cast of characters that far exceeds 500 and approaches 600. However, this work is not merely a masterpiece because of its length or the number of characters. It is because its place and significance in the history of world literature, as well as the emotional impact it has on readers, surpass that of any other work. Literary experts and enthusiasts unhesitatingly rank ‘War and Peace’ as the masterpiece of masterpieces, and even the general public typically includes it when listing a few important works in the history of world literature.
Yet there is a curious paradox. Very few people have actually read such a famous masterpiece all the way through. In fact, it would be more honest to say that almost no one has. Even among those around me—people who majored in literature, taught it, and worked as literary critics—the situation was no different. The reason is obvious: it’s simply too long.
And just how many characters are there? On top of that, why are Russian names so complicated? A father’s name is added to the surname, followed by another surname. Almost every character has a nickname—and often more than one. It’s bound to be confusing. It’s common to find yourself losing focus after reading intently for a while, only to eventually give up. It’s truly a shame. If this masterpiece were to be remembered only by name, it would become more of an antique than a classic.
Of course, antiques have their own value. But their meaning and emotional impact can be enjoyed only by a select few enthusiasts. A classic is not an antique. A classic retains its value only when it is easily accessible and relatable to many people, anytime and anywhere. Leaving it inaccessible while urging people to understand its meaning and importance is like forcing everyone to become an antique collector.
Having summarized and introduced ‘War and Peace’, I feel a sense of pride, as if I’ve performed this masterpiece anew so that people can appreciate it with relative ease. I would be overjoyed if readers told me, “War and Peace is really easy to read and fun.”

Reactions After Publication and How to Read It

Since I began this article by calling this work a masterpiece, let’s take a moment to consider people’s reactions after its publication. First, the reactions of his contemporaries.
This novel is worthy of being called Russia’s “Iliad.” This work is, in and of itself, a magnificent literary event. Thanks to this novel, Tolstoy has become a true lion of Russian literature. — Ivan Goncharov
It is Russia’s greatest historical work and the pride of modern Russian literature. — Nikolai Leskov
Tolstoy is the only writer who possesses both artistic depth and a profound understanding of the historical and cultural context of the reality depicted in the work. — Dostoevsky
It is the greatest work of our time. Through the hands of a true master, the entirety of early 19th-century Russian life has been recreated universally and in detail. The true Russia lies within this novel. — Ivan Turgenev
Next, let’s examine the reactions of foreign authors.
A masterpiece! What an outstanding artist and psychologist! It is truly powerful, so powerful. — Flaubert (in a letter to Turgenev)
Like our own lives, this work has neither beginning nor end. It is life itself, set in eternal motion. — Romain Rolland
It is the greatest war novel in literary history. — Thomas Mann
I learned from Tolstoy how to write about war in the most correct, honest, objective, and solemn manner.
I know of no one who has written about war better than he. — Hemingway
If the world itself were to write, it would write like Tolstoy. — Isaac Abel
However, I stumbled upon the greatest tribute to this novel on a blog on a portal site. The blogger behind “David’s Library” wrote the following at the end of an outstanding review of ‘War and Peace’:

“This is a novel you absolutely must read. This single novel overshadows and encompasses all other novels in the world. It transcends the universality of the novel and reveals the ultimate limit of the genre. A novel like this will be difficult to write again. It is even difficult to imitate. The vast scale and profound themes that are the hallmarks of this novel are ultimately drawn into a single, magnificent synthesis: ‘human life (happiness).’ What is a human being? What is history? What is life? That is why I dare to proclaim: Not reading Tolstoy’s ‘War and Peace’ is a waste of one’s life.”

What stands out in the above praise is the fact that ‘War and Peace’ is not merely a novel, but life itself, history, and an era. How else could one say that it reveals the world exactly as it is? Therefore, reading this work is not simply reading a novel, but an experience of reliving multiple lives.
To use bold language, as the blogger from David’s Study did, I’d like to rephrase that sentence as follows: “Not reading Tolstoy’s ‘War and Peace’ means missing the opportunity to live many lives.”
If this work is life itself, how should we read it? In a word, we simply need to live through this work just as we live our own lives. We just need to avoid trying to draw conclusions. We just need to avoid deluding ourselves into thinking that by reading this work, we’ve found the “right answer” to what life is. This work is life itself; it is not the answer to life.
There is a common delusion we often fall into as we navigate the world: thinking that there is a “right answer” to life. People caught in this delusion treat the lives or thoughts of those who have already lived as if they were a single “right answer” or conclusion, and try to follow them exactly. This is as reckless as trying to attach another bird’s wings to your own shoulders out of envy for its ability to fly. There is no “correct answer” to life. Nor is there a model that must be followed.
The fact that Tolstoy’s ‘War and Peace’ is life itself means we should gain concrete experience through this novel. It means we should abandon the idea of attaching someone else’s wings to our own shoulders and instead train ourselves to let wings sprout from our own shoulders.
This is true of any literary work, but ‘War and Peace’ in particular loses almost all its meaning when reduced to a plot summary. No matter how accurately you summarize the plot, it is akin to summarizing our lives as “born, lived, died.” The meaning of life does not lie in those objective facts themselves. The meaning of life lies in the act of living itself. Life is the concrete experience of embodying, feeling, crying, and laughing as we live.
The meaning of this novel—and indeed, of all novels—varies infinitely depending on how the reader interprets it. It is just as true that, among the countless people who have ever lived on Earth, not a single one has lived exactly the same life. In that sense, a book is the universe and life itself. Moreover, ‘War and Peace’ contains a vast array of lives that entice us, move us, and sometimes even provoke our aversion.
Let me say it again: do not jump to conclusions. Do not try to forcefully extract the work’s message. Refrain from reading it in a way that judges which characters you like and which you do not. Whether the moving passage comes from Andrei’s mouth, Pierre’s, or the author’s own voice, simply nod in agreement, close the book for a moment, and reflect deeply.
For example, there are passages like the following.

“Ah, how wonderful it would be if everything were as simple and clear as Maria thinks! How wonderful it would be if only I could know where to find salvation in this life, and what to expect in the next! How wonderful it would be if I could pray right now, ‘O God, have mercy on me!’ Ah, nothing is certain. The only things I can be sure of are that what I can understand with my intellect is trivial, that this unfathomable, unknown something is the only thing that is great, and that it is probably the only reality and the only thing that is truly great.”

Pierre’s Realization and Inner Transformation

“What about love for one’s neighbor? What about self-sacrifice?” Pierre cried out loudly. “I absolutely cannot agree with you. Living merely to avoid doing evil, living merely to avoid regret—that alone is woefully insufficient. I’ve lived that way until now. That’s why I’ve wasted my life. Only now have I begun to live for others. No, at least I’m trying to do so. And only now have I realized what happiness is. I absolutely—yes, absolutely—cannot agree with you. Perhaps you yourself think differently from what you’ve just said.”
At the height of that reflection, the things that had tormented him so, everything that had held him in such a strong grip, suddenly seemed to be bathed in a cold white light, as if their shadows, perspective, and contours had vanished. His entire past flashed before his eyes like a series of images. Until now, he had seen things through a lens and artificial light, but now, having removed that lens, he was looking at them exactly as they were—clumsily scribbled pictures—under the bright sunlight of midday.
“Yes, that’s right! Those false illusions were what excited me, captivated me, enchanted me, and tormented me.” He thought as he watched the key scenes of his life unfold like a slideshow through that cold, white light—a vivid awareness of death. “Those crude images once seemed beautiful and mysterious. Honor, contributions to society, love for women, and even love for my homeland—how deeply meaningful these images seemed to me! But when I hold them up to the cold, white light that has just begun to shine this morning, how insignificant, pale, and trivial they appear!”
During his time in the camp, Pierre realized that human beings are born to be happy, and that happiness lies, however modestly, in the fulfillment of one’s desires. Yet, during the three-week march, he came to understand another truth that brought peace to his heart: the truth that nothing in this world is truly terrible. He realized that human beings can never be completely happy or free, and therefore cannot be completely unhappy or completely enslaved either. He did not grasp this truth through his intellect, but through his very life and through his soul.
He realized that there are limits to both suffering and freedom, and that those two limits lie very close to one another. He realized that the suffering of a person lying in a rose garden, distressed because a single petal has fallen, is no different from that of a person lying on damp ground, distressed by the creeping cold. To him, the suffering he had once endured from dance shoes that were too tight on his feet was no different from the suffering he was now experiencing while walking barefoot. Whether he was happily married by his own will or now confined to a stable in the middle of the night, he had just as little freedom in either case.

Historical Perspective and Composition of the Work

When it comes to historical events, we generally assume that they were driven by the will of those in the most prominent positions—that is, the heroes. However, if we delve just a little deeper into the essence of historical events, we can see that it was not a single hero who led the many who participated directly in the event, but rather that he was led by the many.
Some might ask, “What does it really matter how we interpret the meaning of a historical event?” No, in fact, such people are likely in the majority. But the difference between someone who claims that Western nations turned toward the East solely because Napoleon wanted it and someone who argues that it happened because it was inevitable is as great as the difference between someone who says the celestial bodies revolve around the Earth and someone who says that the Earth and all other celestial bodies are moved by some unknown force.
There may certainly be a most decisive cause that brought about historical events. But we can only identify that cause by taking into account other causes that we cannot yet comprehend. We can only discover the cause of historical events by abandoning the attempt to find it solely in the will of a single hero. It is the same principle as having to abandon belief in the geocentric model in order to discover the heliocentric model.
Let’s stop here. There are countless passages that stand out on their own and plunge us into deep reflection. As we ponder these passages, we add depth and broaden the scope of our own lives—not the lives of others, but our own. So go ahead and be utterly captivated by all the protagonists in this novel—who endlessly agonize, reach conclusions, reject them, gain new insights, and carry on living in the world—and feel free to mock them to your heart’s content, empathize with them to your heart’s content, feel aversion toward them to your heart’s content, suffer to your heart’s content, and rejoice to your heart’s content.
What if you become Andrei at times, Pierre at others, and Nikolai at still others? What if, at times, you’re consumed by a thirst for glory like Andrei, only to come to view all worldly matters as futile? What if, at times, you’re ashamed of your aimless life, just like Pierre? And what if, in the process, you find joy and happiness in the very fact of being alive? What if you’re a reckless young man like Nikolai, chasing only the glitz and glamour? And what if you eventually become an exemplary and diligent person? What if, at times, you fall for Maria, a woman of wisdom and faith, only to be captivated by the vibrant and energetic Natasha, or find your ideal in Sonya, the embodiment of devotion and sacrifice?
If you still feel something is missing, talk it over with those close to you. The topics for conversation are endless. Who knows? Perhaps my shoulders will start to tingle as my own wings begin to sprout…
Let me add just one more thing. The epilogue of ‘War and Peace’ consists of two parts. However, the second epilogue seems somewhat detached from the work as a whole. This is because it is a section where Tolstoy expounds at length on his philosophy of history, which differs in nature from the narrative flow of the novel.
Furthermore, the conversation between Pierre, Nikolai, and Denisov that appears at the end of the first epilogue may also seem superfluous to some readers. Moreover, the ending—which concludes with the resolution made by Andrei’s son, Nikolenka—might feel somewhat out of place. However, once you understand Tolstoy’s original motivation for writing the novel, you can make sense of that ending.
Tolstoy had originally conceived a novel dealing with the Russian reform movement that took place in December 1825. While gathering material, he discovered that this revolutionary movement was closely linked to Napoleon’s invasion of Russia in 1812, and as a result, he ended up writing ‘War and Peace’, set against the backdrop of the years 1805–1820. The story of the 1825 revolution, which was his original intention, remained unfinished; consequently, the epilogue is sometimes interpreted as the opening section of the work as originally conceived. Throughout the novel, Tolstoy links the Decembrist uprising to Pierre, and Andrei’s son serves as a device connecting the narrative to future events.

Adaptations, Tolstoy’s Life, and Literary Status

‘War and Peace’ has been adapted into operas and numerous films. Among the best-known adaptations is the 1956 film starring Henry Fonda and Audrey Hepburn, while the 1965 Russian film adaptation won the Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film.
Due to the work’s length, television dramas have been a particularly active medium for adaptations. In a 1972 drama produced by the BBC in the UK, Anthony Hopkins played the role of Pierre and won the BAFTA Award for Best Actor that year; a seven-part series was also produced in Russia, and in 2016, the BBC aired another six-part adaptation.
Tolstoy was born in 1828 in Yasnaya Polyana, Russia, as the fourth son of a distinguished count. He lost his mother at the age of eight and his father at fifteen, and was raised by relatives living in Kazan. While studying law at Kazan University, he dropped out in 1847, citing health and family issues, though in reality he had become disillusioned with university education.
After leading a dissolute life in Moscow and St. Petersburg, he enlisted in the army in 1852. During his military service, he published his first novel, ‘Childhood’, to critical acclaim; he subsequently solidified his reputation as a writer by penning ‘Boyhood’ and ‘The Sebastopol Stories’. He was discharged in 1856.
In 1862, he married Sophia, the daughter of a court physician, and the following year began writing ‘War and Peace’, which he completed and published in 1869. In 1877, he began serializing ‘Anna Karenina’ in a magazine, publishing it the following year, and in 1899, he published ‘Resurrection’, which caused a major sensation.
Thereafter, despite his poor health, he continued to write prolifically, producing literary works such as ‘Father Sergius’, the play ‘The Living Corpse’, and the short story ‘Alyosha in the Jar’, as well as essays such as ‘Religion and Morality’, ‘On Shakespeare’, and ‘The Significance of the Russian Revolution’.
He passed away in 1910 while traveling, after a cold developed into pneumonia.
In addition to the authors cited earlier, countless contemporaries and later writers praised Tolstoy. Anton Chekhov often visited Tolstoy’s home and remarked, “As long as Tolstoy the writer exists, becoming a writer is both easy and joyful.” Matthew Arnold, a 19th-century British writer, commented, “Tolstoy’s novels are not works of art but a part of life.” Virginia Woolf praised Tolstoy as “the greatest artist,” while Thomas Mann described his works as “resembling nature.” Thus, the title “literary giant” fits Tolstoy far more naturally than the simple designation of “writer.”