Best Translation of War and Peace

War and Peace was my ambitious introduction to Russian literature. I remember picking it up when I was a kid and understanding nothing. Later on I stopped halfway through. Really, I thought it was a Spanish book. The translation I picked up was Ann Dunnigan's; a translation that still strikes me as the most musical, as much as it was at times confusing. It was then when I realized translations existed, and there wasn't just one interpretation. If you are anything like me, you struggle to the point of obsession over which translation you should read. I personally, later on, finished from Briggs's translation as I agreed with his philosophy of fluidity in the native language rather than absolute fidelity. However, about halfway through, I realized that it might not be the best one. See, I have a habit of doubting and changing my entire course of path halfway through anything, so it was only natural for me to read the Oxford World History edition, Pevear and Volokhonsky, Dunnigan's, and Briggs's comparing some of my favorite parts. In total, I found, even though their is probably no such thing as a perfect translation, there definitely is a best according to what you favor in a book, so I'll rank them according to their strengths and then say my favorite at the end.

For those who value fidelity- Pevear and Volokhonsky

The first time I read Crime and Punishment I used this translation. I cant even lie, it was definetly a slog for me, yet still remains one of my fondest reads, solely because I was able to push through. As far as their philosophy when it comes to translating, its not something I agree with. They believe in absolute fidelity, or in not "smoothing" out the roughness of the original language. While they have been heavily praised for a while, recently they have been

For those who value a smooth sounding translation- Anthony Briggs

For those who want an old school sound- Nathan Haskall Dole

For those who love musicality- Ann Dunnigan        

For those who want a mix of fidelity and smoothness- Maudes Revised by Amy Mendleker

For those who value subjectivity- Constance Garnett

Translation Comparison Table

P&V	He opened his eyes, hoping to see how the fight between me French and the artillerists ended, and wishing to know whether or not the red-haired artillerist had been killed, whether the cannon had been taken or saved. But he did not see anything. There was nothing over him now except the sky—the lofty sky, not clear, but still immeasurably lofty, with gray clouds slowly creeping across it. “How quiet, calm, and solemn, not at all like when I was running,” thought Prince Andrei, “not like when we were running, shouting, and fighting; not at all like when the Frenchman and the artillerist, with angry and frightened faces, were pulling at the swab—it's quite different the way the clouds creep across this lofty, infinite sky. How is it I haven't seen this lofty sky before? And how happy I am that I've finally come to know it. Yes! everything is empty, everything is a deception, except this infinite sky. There is nothing, nothing except that. But there is not even that, there is nothing except silence, tranquility. And thank God!...”	Nikolai Rostov turned away, and, as if searching for something, began looking at the distance, at the waters of the Danube, at the sky, at the sun! How good the sky seemed, how blue, calm, and deep! How bright and solemn the setting sun! How tenderly and lustrously glistened the waters of the distant Danube! And better still were the distant blue hills beyond the Danube, the convent, the mysterious gorges, the pine forests bathed in mist to their tops... there was peace, happiness... “There's nothing, nothing I would wish for, there's nothing I would wish for, if only I were there,” thought Rostov. “In me alone and in this sun there is so much happiness, but here... groans, suffering, fear, and this obscurity, this hurry... Again they're shouting something, and again everybody's ran back somewhere, and I'm running with them, and here it is, here it is, death, above me, around me... An instant, and I'll never again see this sun, this water, this gorge...”
Briggs	He opened his eyes, hoping to see how the fight between the French soldiers and our gunner ended. Was the gunner killed or not? Did they get the cannons or were they saved? But he saw none of that. Above him was nothing, nothing but the sky – the lofty sky, not a clear sky, but still infinitely lofty, with grey clouds creeping gently across. ‘It’s so quiet, peaceful and solemn, not like me rushing about,’ thought Prince Andrey, ‘not like us, all that yelling and scrapping, not like that Frenchman and our gunner pulling on that cleaning-rod, with their scared and bitter faces, those clouds are different, creeping across that lofty, infinite sky. How can it be that I’ve never seen that lofty sky before? Oh, how happy I am to have found it at last. Yes! It’s all vanity, it’s all an illusion, everything except that infinite sky. There is nothing, nothing – that’s all there is. But there isn’t even that. There’s nothing but stillness and peace. Thank God for that!’	Nikolay Rostov turned away and began staring into the distance, at the waters of the Danube, at the sky, at the sun, as if he were looking for something. How lovely that sky looked, how blue and calm and deep! Oh, the brightness and magnificence of that setting sun! The warm glow of the water on the far Danube! Even lovelier were the distant hills that shone so blue beyond the Danube, the convent, the mysterious gorges, the pine woods misted over to their tops . . . everything so calm and happy . . . ‘I would ask for nothing, nothing in the world if only I could be there,’ thought Rostov. ‘In me, only in me and that sunshine, there is so much happiness, and here . . . all this groaning and agony, this feeling of dread, all the uncertainty, this rushing about . . . There they are, shouting again, everybody’s running back somewhere, and I’m running too, and here is death – hanging over me, all around me . . .One flash, and I’ll never see that sunshine, that water, that mountain gorge ever again . . .’
Dole	He opened his eyes, hoping to see how the struggle between the artilleryman and the Frenchman ended, and anxious to know whether or not the red-headed artillerist was killed or not, and the cannon saved or captured . But he could see nothing of it. Over him , he could see nothing except the sky, the lofty sky; no longer clear, but still immeasurably lofty, and with light gray clouds slowly wandering over it. “How still, calm, and solemn! How entirely different from when I was running,” said Prince Andrei to himself. “It was not so when we were all running, and shouting, and fighting; how entirely different it is from when the Frenchman and the artilleryman, with vindictive and frightened faces, were struggling for possession of the ramrod; it wasn't so that the clouds then floated over those infinite depths of sky. How is it that I never before saw this lofty sky? and how glad I am that I have learned to know it at last! Yes! all is empty, all is deception, except these infinite heavens. Nothing, nothing at all, beside! And even that is nothing but silence and peace! And thank God!"	Nikolai Rostof turned away and, as though he were searching for something, began to gaze into the distance, at the water of the Danube, at the sky, at the sun. How beautiful the sky seemed, how blue, how calm, how profound! How bright and magnificent the sinking sun! How caressingly brilliant the waters of the distant Danube gleamed ! And still more lovely were the far purpling mountains beyond the Danube, the monastery, the mysterious defiles, the pine forests, veiled to the top in a transparent mist. There it was, full of peace and happiness. "I should wish for nothing, wish for nothing, for nothing in the world, if only I were there," thought Rostof. "How much happiness I might have there in this sunshine, while here- groans, suffering, terror, and confusion and hurry. There again some one shrieks, and here we are all running for our lives and I am running with the rest, and here it is, here is death, all above me and around me. A moment, and perhaps never again shall I see this sun, this river, those defiles."
Mendleker	He opened his eyes, hoping to see how the struggle of the Frenchmen with the gunners ended, whether the red-haired gunner had been killed or not, and whether the cannon had been captured or saved. But he saw nothing. Above him there was now nothing but the sky—the lofty sky, not clear yet still immeasurably lofty, with grey clouds gliding slowly across it. ‘How quiet, peaceful, and solemn, not at all as I ran,’ thought Prince Andrei ‘—not as we ran, shouting and fighting, not at all as the gunner and the Frenchman with frightened and angry faces struggled for the mop: how differently do those clouds glide across that lofty infinite sky! How was it I did not see that lofty sky before? And how happy I am to have found it at last! Yes! All is vanity, all falsehood, except that infinite sky. There is nothing, nothing, but that. But even it does not exist, there is nothing but quiet and peace. Thank God! . . .’	Nikolai Rostov turned away and, as if searching for something, gazed into the distance, at the waters of the Danube, at the sky, and at the sun. How beautiful the sky looked; how blue, how calm, and how deep! How bright and glorious was the setting sun! With what soft glitter the waters of the distant Danube shone. And fairer still were the far away blue mountains beyond the river, the nunnery, the mysterious gorges, and the pine forests veiled in mist to their summits . . . There was peace and happiness . . . ‘I would wish for nothing else, nothing, if only I were there,’ thought Rostov. ‘In myself alone and in that sunshine there is so much happiness; but here . . . groans, suffering, fear, and this uncertainty and hurry . . . There—they are shouting again, and again they are all running back somewhere, and I will run with them, and it, death, is here above me and around . . . Another instant and I will never again see the sun, this water, that gorge! . . .’
Garnett	He opened his eyes, hoping to see how the struggle of the French soldiers with the artilleryman was ending, and eager to know whether the red-haired artilleryman was killed or not, whether the cannons had been taken or saved. But he saw nothing of all that. Above him there was nothing but the sky—the lofty sky, not clear, but still immeasurably lofty, with grey clouds creeping quietly over it. “How quietly, peacefully, and triumphantly, and not like us running, shouting, and fighting, not like the Frenchman and artilleryman dragging the mop from one another with frightened and frantic faces, how differently are those clouds creeping over that lofty, limitless sky. How was it I did not see that lofty sky before? And how happy I am to have found it at last. Yes! all is vanity, all is a cheat, except that infinite sky. There is nothing, nothing but that. But even that is not, there is nothing but peace and stillness. And thank God!…”	Nikolay Rostov turned away, and began staring into the distance, at the waters of the Danube, at the sky, at the sun, as though he were searching for something. How fair that sky seemed, how blue and calm and deep. How brilliant and triumphant seemed the setting sun. With what an enticing glimmer shone the water of the faraway Danube. And fairer still were the faraway mountains that showed blue beyond the Danube, the nunnery, the mysterious gorges, the pine forests, filled with mist to the tree-tops … there all was peace and happiness.… “There is nothing, nothing I could wish for, if only I were there,” thought Rostov. “In myself alone and in that sunshine there is so much happiness, while here … groans, agonies, and this uncertainty, this hurry.… Here they are shouting something again and again, all of them are running back somewhere, and I’m running with them, and here is it, it, death hanging over me, all round me.… One instant, and I shall never see that sunshine, that water, that mountain gorge again.…”

Conclusion