![]() While he diligently attended German classes, I spent my time bunking off at the cinema. I was in my early 20s and living in Berlin with my university boyfriend, an experiment that was turning sour as rapidly as we were running out of money. I read War and Peace again almost a decade later. But back then it was basically all about Prince Andrei. I probably would have mentioned there was a lot about the Napoleonic wars and thrown in a couple of other characters. Had you asked me that summer what War and Peace was about, I would almost certainly have replied it was a book about a man named Andrei Bolkonsky who loses his heart when he least expects to. This Andrei, riven with doubt and hoping that glory won on the battlefield will lend his life meaning, was the man. Yes, he might seem bored, a little arrogant and somewhat over-convinced of his own superiority, but beneath that languid façade beat a passionate heart. ![]() Later that summer, I would thrill to Rhett Butler’s refusal to give a damn and admire Ash Pelham-Martyn’s battle against prejudice and for his true love, but neither of them could hold a candle to Andrei. To my teenage mind there had never been a more perfect hero.
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