The feeling I have after reading this book is synonymous to the sensation of completing a marathon. It was long, frustrating at first, full of so many highs and lows of adrenaline. It even had a few boring and seemingly endless parts that I just mindlessly jogged through keeping the finish line in mind. My friends read it at the same time, together enduring the emotional and physical challenge resulting in cross eyed vision for a short time after hours of pouring through pages. And at the end of it all, when I'd finally reached that 817th page finish line, all I wanted to do was collapse on the ground under the warm embrace of an aluminum foil blanket and light a cigarette. Not that I've ever even attempted to run a marathon.

Bravo Tolstoy. This really is one of the greatest novels of all time.