War and Peace is a long book (1224 pages, size 6 font, an epilogue AND a motherblanking appendix). It’s also an old book (published in 1862) and a heavy one too, both in terms of physical weight (I’m guessing 7 lbs.) and metaphysical girth. PLUS-SIZED EXISTENTIAL MUSINGS.

A million things have already been written about Tolstoy’s tome, and I’m sure they were more intelligent and illuminating than anything my soymilk-addled brain has to offer. That being said, I wanted to share a few thoughts, if for no other reason than I’m sitting in bed, it’s 4:12 in the morning, and all of my roommates are asleep.

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(1) War and Peace is an extremely depressing book. The narrator (an extension of Tolstoy himself) is one jaded motherfucker, a dude who continually fixates on the absurdity and horror of war, the futility of our attempts to understand the world, and the notion that free will is an utter illusion. According to Tolstoy, when we endeavor to locate causality in events, we encounter a logical rub, for every action that caused something (e.g. Napoleon conveying an order to his troops) was caused by an infinite number of something elses (e.g. the emperor’s health, the weather, the Russian army’s disorganization). People – especially historians – assign causality in retrospect, which is sort of like saying it had to be this way because it WAS this way. Which doesn’t make a whole lot of sense unless you think running around in circles actually gets you somewhere.

(2) In 19th century Russia, people seemed to fall in love pretty quickly. While a ten-minute hunting sequence is stretched out across FIFTEEN PAGES (my eyes are still thanking me for not pulling an Oedipus on my retinas), multiple characters legitimately realize and profess their love for one another within the space of TWO PARAGRAPHS. Someone needs to start bumping “Nice & Slow” on the Tsar’s boombox.

(3) Though it’s clear Tolstoy possesses an admiration of women (Natasha, the female protagonist, is a beautiful, charming, and selfless lady), nearly all of the female characters are formulated and defined by their relationships to MEN. That pissed me off. Hey Tolstoy GO READ SOME FREAKING BETTY FRIEDAN AND LET YOUR WIFE TOSS HER WONDERBRA IN THE CHIMNEY.

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There are lots of reasons to read War and Peace. Maybe you love Russian literature. Maybe you have an inordinate amount of free time. Maybe you regularly engage in soul-crushing activities. Maybe you want people to think you’re smart. Whatever the case, I think War and Peace is probably worth your while. Although I sincerely hated reading it about 40% of the time, it’s been pretty cool to look back at the novel as a whole and consider some of the insanely profound shit Tolstoy says.

Oh and if War and Peace is too long for you, check out The Death of Ivan Ilych, a novella also by Leo Tolstoy. It’s real good.