The Dealer’s Tarot Game Review

I’m about a quarter of the way through reading War & Peace, Leo Tolstoy’s novel about Russian aristocracy during the Napoleonic Wars. This is my third attempt in twenty years at reaching the summit. “This time, I’ll make it,” Sisyphus muttered to himself. War & Peace is, as you may have heard or might even know from experience, a long, slow, and occasionally boring read. I am enjoying it, I would even go so far as to say that I love it, but I wouldn’t begrudge anyone who wasn’t interested.

My friend Jacinth, for example. “I think we as a society have moved past the point where reading such books makes sense,” he said. I get where he’s coming from. War & Peace is very much a creature of its time. It is hardly the only pre-20th century novel to weigh more than a healthy newborn, and much of that runtime is dedicated to information that seems wearingly unnecessary to the modern audience. I’m here for the hot goss—I have heard that Count Bezukhov is fallen ill, gravely so, and there is much uncertainty as to the state of his will, as apparently he wishes to leave all to his dear Pyotr Kirillovich who is, of course, illegitimate, and therefore ineligible to inherit, but they say there is a…

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