![]() 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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