How did I not see that lofty sky before?
Friday Fireside #13 | Reflections on hosting a year-long slow read of War and Peace
Hi, Simon here from Footnotes and Tangents. Every Friday, I light a welcoming fire and invite slow writers and slow readers to gather in a place of creative curiosity. Welcome to Friday Fireside.
Today I share some personal reflections on running my first big book group, a slow read of War and Peace in 2023. If you are interested in joining us next year, check out last week’s introduction.
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A Saturday in late November, 2023. Cold blue skies send me south, in a train that cuts through hills and hoarfrost to meet the slow readers for the first time.
Signal failure outside York. Behind me, a woman shares an anatomy of ailments with her travelling companion. And everyone else in earshot. In front, lads open their third beer. It is 9.30 am in England.
It is strange to be without my children for the day. Like I have slipped back into another time, and I glimpse shades of former selves looking for seats in the Quiet Coach.
I am headed south to Manchester. On the fold-down table in front of me, I thumb through the next two chapters of War and Peace. Every day has been like this, since January. The rhythm and the ritual. The heartbeat of a story.
And somewhere in another seat in another country, another reader turns the page. The same page. And we two, share together the story unfolding, with hundreds more. Barely a book club now, more like a constellation of bright, wandering, wondering stars.
Despite the delay crossing the Pennines, I am early. I skirt the Christmas market, five minutes from the station. The low sun has caught a clump of trees in its eye. And they are burning gold and bristling in a gentle breeze.
Gladsome and mysterious. Those were the words Tolstoy used today. He was speaking of stars, but I am looking at leaves, and thinking of readers reading, all around the world.
I want to cry, but I laugh instead.
Six of us meet on the third floor up, in an old department store that's now a warren of boutiques and indie traders. Our worn and tabbed Tolstoys sit side by side, with the coffee and the cake.
I suspect the books of conferring, and swapping notes on their owners. Each translation with its own accent. The brash Briggs and the melodious Maude.
I am delighted. Putting faces to names and a profile pic. Listening to stories and trying hard to shut up, so giddy am I. So hungry to be with others from the same road, who'll understand where my heart's been all these months. And where my head is now.
What have I learned from twelve months of War and Peace?
So many began intimidated. Daunted by the book’s thickness. It’s reputation. It’s blizzard of names.
I was intimidated by the read-along itself. It had all got out of hand. Just a few of us had become quite a lot of us, alarmingly fast. And on New Year’s Day, my Instagram messages wouldn’t stop as more, and more, requested to join the Discord server.
What if people hated the book? Hated the slow read? Hated the discussion? How could I herd a thousand people through a thousand pages of War and Peace? What would happen if everyone started speaking at once?
I soon realised you can’t please everyone. But also that I had nothing to fear. Most people were happy to read without joining the chat. And those who did, were, for the most part, civil, friendly and engaged.
Some readers thrived in the forum I set up on Discord. Others got lost in it and asked for an Instagram chat. I set one up. I cross-posted to my stories, to Threads, and finally to Substack.
On reflection, this was a well-intentioned mistake. Everyone had their preferred platform, and I was overly keen to make sure each reader had the best possible experience. I think this was probably admirable, but unachievable. And it has meant a lot of extra work.
There were other challenges. War and Peace is a book for our times, and inevitably readers wanted to draw parallels between the story and the news from Ukraine and the Middle East. These are fraught topics with feelings running high. I think I erred on the side of caution here, steering conversation away from the mire of current events. Another host might have been more pugnacious, dynamic, thicker-skinned. But I am me, allergic to confrontation. And wanting always to maintain a space where the quietest can still hear themselves think.
What I did not expect was the joy of seeing others slowly discover a great book. Waking up to the hum online of delight at the day’s fresh revelations. To see hesitant sceptics grow into earnest enthusiasts for characters who grow on you, chapter by chapter, day by day.
What I did not expect were the messages of thanks, and the stories of discovery. How reading together and reading slowly, and reading at all, had sent ripples through people’s lives and into the world. Whenever I wonder if it was all worth it, it is those personal stories that I remember most. It has been worth it.
What I did not expect was how the rhythm of the reading would reunite me with the moments moving through me, the ground beneath me and the sky up above. There’s a lot of sky in War and Peace. The stars turn silently in the heavens as the world falls through hell below.
When I saw the moon this morning, I heard Natasha. When I watched the clouds, I thought of Andrei. When the stars came out, I spoke to Pierre. Gladsome and mysterious.
The train crosses the Tyne in the tail of the evening. Newcastle has beaten Chelsea 4-1, so spirits are high as I head home. The town is jubilant. Tolstoy sits snug in my bag as the lights turn green. Not long now, I think, considering the creases on the old book’s spine. Not long now, we’re nearly home.
Just a few chapters left.
Thank you for reading or listening. This letter has gone out to double the number of subscribers as last week’s introduction to the 2024 War and Peace read along. I am hugely grateful to everyone who put the word out. It seems to have worked!
Over the next month, I will be setting up the resource pages for both read-alongs:
If you are joining either or both, make sure your notifications are turned on here to ensure you don’t miss any updates.
If you’re new here, check out this post where you can introduce yourself and meet other members of the community:
Come meet the slow readers
Dear readers, Last week, I invited you to read Wolf Hall with us in 2024. I have been overwhelmed by the response. I’m excited, exhilarated and mildly terrified by how many of you would like to spend a year in the company of Master Secretary and myself.
This is a great reflection, Simon. What you're doing is very special!
My second-hand copy arrived today. Really looking forward to getting started in January. it's a book that I've bought before, attempted, failed, been intimidated by, and gave away. So looking forward to having a guided run through this one.