The Cossacks
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Average rating3.8
"The Cossacks" by Leo Tolstoy (translated by Louise Maude, Aylmer Maude). Published by Good Press. Good Press publishes a wide range of titles that encompasses every genre. From well-known classics & literary fiction and non-fiction to forgotten−or yet undiscovered gems−of world literature, we issue the books that need to be read. Each Good Press edition has been meticulously edited and formatted to boost readability for all e-readers and devices. Our goal is to produce eBooks that are user-friendly and accessible to everyone in a high-quality digital format.
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Not his best work by a long shot but there are many positive aspects in this work that are a delight to Tolstoy fans
He began thinking of his former life and felt disgusted with him-self. He had been such an egoist, when he really had not needed any-thing. He kept looking around at the translucent foliage, the setting sun, and the clear sky, and felt as happy as he had that first moment. "Why am I happy, and what did I live for in the past?" he thought. "How I used to want everything for myself, how I schemed, all for nothing but shame and sorrow! But I see I don't need anything to be happy!" Suddenly it was as if a new world had opened. "This is what happiness is!" he said to himself. "Happiness is to live for others. How clear it is. The need for happiness is within every man-so happiness must be legitimate. One might try to attain happiness selfishly-in other words, seek riches, glory, luxury, and love-and yet circumstances might not allow one to attain these things. So these are the things that aren't legitimate, not the need for happiness. But what can always be attained, regardless of circumstances? Love and selflessness!"
He was filled with such joy and excitement at discovering this new truth that he jumped up, and in his impatience began wondering who he could sacrifice himself for, who he could do good to, who he could love. "As one needs nothing for oneself, why not live for others?" he thought.
For me as a programmer, going from reading most fiction to reading Tolstoy is like going from writing Java to writing Ruby. It just feels right, I feel more relaxed and at one with the world. I can't think of another author that apparently understands the thoughts and motivations of such a large swath of humanity and communicates them so simply and perfectly.
The Cossacks isn't as expansive as War and Peace or as dramatic as Anna Karenina, but it is a story worth reading. It has its share of suspense and murder, of philosophy and humor of nature and depravity, of love and heaving bosoms and of course, beautiful writing.
