Love & War & Peace
My husband, Austin, is a man of unexpected passions, such as his lifelong obsession with cuttlefish and appreciation for the natural world, bread baking (no complaints from me!), and theology. If you know him though, you’ll know that one of his greatest passion (after me, obviously!) is a deep love for Russian literature. Back in the December of 2018 when I was just starting to realize what an incredible man he was and that I might have feelings for him, I asked Austin just why he loved Russian literature so much. For the next 45 minutes or so he explained his discovery of Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, Pushkin and others. Most of the conversation centered on his love of Tolstoy’s sweeping novel War and Peace. Austin’s passion for the book was undeniable. The way he saw himself in the novel’s characters - namely Prince Andrei and Count Pierre - was something that I would learn more about as time went on. His love for this novel struck me as something deep and profound. He wasn’t just someone talking about his favorite book, and certainly was not a book snob showing off his fine taste in literature. No, I recognized that War and Peace illuminated something about reality for Austin. From that moment I resolved that I needed to read the hefty work of War and Peace for myself.
It’s been over two years since our first conversation about Russian literature. We’ve had many, many more since. All this time, though, I’ve been intimidated by the novel’s length and failed to read it, until now. As we entered 2021, I committed to giving it a go, and now I can say that I have read War and Peace for myself. Now that I have, I wonder why I put it off reading it for so long! As the book drew me deeper into the struggles and joys of its characters, I felt myself drawn deeper and deeper into the heart of my husband. I could see our own love story splashed across the chapters. The passage where Prince Andrei meditates on a gnarled, wizened oak tree that transforms into a tree abundant with growth just as he is transformed by his new love for Natasha, reminded me of a letter Austin wrote me in 2019. Austin referenced this passage back in one of the letters he sent me the summer we were long distance. Suddenly that letter carried even more meaning, and the story of Andre and Natasha became even dearer, and as a result, even more heartbreaking.
Our best imitation of Andrei and Natasha.
Recently Austin suggested that we watch the BBC mini series of War and Peace together. A fan of period dramas (though this has significantly more battle scenes than your average Jane Austen film adaptation) I happily agreed. Like all BBC productions, the adaption is masterful — the acting, the costumes, the sets, all transport you into the world of 1800s Russian aristocracy. You feel the transformation of Andrei’s apathy into love, you walk with Pierre on his journey to find true worth. As Natasha grows from a naïve girl filled with dreams of love to a woman who knows true love and deep pain, you grow with her. Most powerful, though, was witnessing Austin recognizing his own transformation.
As we watched the scene where Andrei and Natasha reunite and reconcile, shortly before Andrei succumbs to his wounds, Austin found himself moved. “Do you think Andrei could have been happy if he had lived?” Austin asked after the episode ended. “Yes, I think he would have been,” I responded. Austin confessed that until now, he’d thought Andrei’s end was fitting, even complete. He’d found happiness and reconciliation, and finally peace. But now, Austin could see everything that Andrei and Natasha would lose in the hero’s death, as much as he could see all that he, himself, had gained. I realized in that moment that as much as our love and marriage has transformed me, it has equally so transformed him. And true, from a purely literary perspective, Andrei’s story is complete. The strings of his story tie in a neat bow. Yet, as we, a newlywed couple, watched Andrei pass away and Natasha piteously ask “where has he gone, where is he now?” we know exactly what the two lovers were denied. In that sorrow we found ourselves all the more thankful for the love and the joy that we share.
“Love hinders death. Love is life. All everything that I understand, I understand only because I love. Everything is, everything exists, only because I love. Everything is united by it alone. Love is God, and to die means that I, particle of love, shall return to the general and eternal source.”
War and Peace may be a novel about the tensions between war and peace in nations, and in the hearts of the characters alike. Yet, it is much more a novel about the power of love to transcend those tensions. It reveals that there is a force greater still than those that tear apart families and crush cities. There is a force that rises above human frailty, temptation, and anger. That force, as Andrei discovers on his deathbed, as Pierre recognizes as a prisoner of war, is love. Whether through the love of lovers or friends or even enemies, this divine and mysterious force is at the center of War and Peace. It is the great lesson that Tolstoy wishes to tell his reader. It took reading War and Peace for myself to realize and appreciate what it had taught Austin about love long before I met him. Even now that we have been married for 6 months, it is a story that is still teaching him, and me, about love. It reminds us just how precious our own love story is.
As much as War and Peace illuminated my husband even more fully, showing me an even more complete picture of his own journey to adulthood, it just as much illuminated an even more complete picture of life. The novel’s richness captures the human desire for love and belonging, fear of loss and rejection, even across the centuries and miles. It tells a story of pain and suffering, forgiveness and redemption. Yes, the vast array of characters (all of whom seem to have names evening in -ov) is overwhelming at times, but in them is every aspect of humanity. You can’t help but stumble across yourself at least once or twice. And isn’t that the sign of a great book? One that teaches you something new about yourself, no matter how many times you read it? How could Austin love such a book any less than he does? I love him all the more for it.
