Trotsky easily stands out as the finest Marxist writer of his generation, and his autobiography is no exception. For those expecting the swashbuckling tales of the October Revolution and subsequent civil war, the first third of the book can feel a bit slow, and we get way more information about his childhood than I was expecting. But after a certain point it starts to read a bit like a Russian novel, with casually endured tragedy, resigned peasants, and grown men randomly erupting into sobs. Everything is slow, everything remote. The only sign of the twentieth century is a lone mechanical grain thresher belching smoke in the shed. I got the repeated sense that the hum of the thresher came from another world, and the hum only gets louder as Trotsky moves further toward modernity: louder with the Dniester steamships, then the factories of Odessa, then the gasworks of New York City, culminating in the roar of his war train. While largely skipping over the abortive 1905 revolution, he fills in the 1910s with his numerous stays in jail (which he actually loved) and multiple escapes from Siberia. His relationship with Lenin comes to the fore again and again, as he joins and then separates with the man only to join him again in Petrograd. It truly is remarkable how many countries he managed to pass through in this preparatory phase, and a testament to the strength of the international workers’ movement that he always found the local social democratic organization and started agitating immediately. While the chapters on October are relatively short, it does give some fascinating tidbits not covered in his other books, such as the absurd lack of sleep, the fragments of conversation with Lenin, and the last-minute improvisations that led to his seizure of power. Astonishing then is the lengths he went to to avoid power as soon as he had seized it: it took repeated attempts by Lenin and the cabinet to get him to accept the all-important spheres of foreign affairs and running the army. It’s worth bearing in mind this this book was written immediately after he was exiled from the USSR, when the wounds were still quite fresh and the factional struggles very much alive. Every now and then we get a chapter that breaks the narrative and addresses the stalinist rewriting of history, but the details can come across as arcane programmatic disputes to modern readers. This is often done to establish his own claim to the ideological legitimacy of Lenin and highlight the manifold ways the contemporary Soviet administration had missed the mark. This goes beyond the mere political though, and his relationship with Lenin becomes one of the central themes of the second half of the book. No doubt some airbrushing takes place, and the differences that led to their estrangement do get glossed over a bit, but the mutual trust between them is remarkable and heartwarming. While never failing to do show deference to Vladimir Ilich’s monumental place in history, Trotsky shows the Bolshevik leader in a rare personal light, full of nervousness and warmth and even humor. They played little jokes on each other during cabinet meetings, to the extent that Lenin would convulse with barely-suppressed laughter; it’s so easy to forget the fundamentally normal humans behind the imposing black and white photographs. The civil war chapters are definitely the most exciting part of the book, and offer a glimpse at what could have been a separate work: the author only devotes so many pages to the topic because he planned to cover it in more detail as its own volume. Evidently he never got around to it. Nevertheless he offers tantalizing details about his work as War Commissar, covering in pretty good depth his leadership during the Battle of Kazan, in which he played a forward leadership role and came under fire several times. Even his celebrated war train gets a chapter of its own, and it’s pretty sick. Crisscrossing the fronts of the war, the train acquired an aura of its own, inspiring unsteady army units and striking terror into its opponents. While traversing the vastness of Russia in this capacity, the man still found time to start a separate newspaper just for the train, and distribute it to remote army detachments otherwise oblivious to the world outside Russia. After the high point of the defense of Petrograd, the ultimate tragedy of the memoir takes hold, with the slow-moving Stalinist reaction first taking the shape of “rudeness” and then a whisper campaign and the finally outright persecution. What a tragedy that Lenin dies when he did, for he seems to have been keenly aware of what was going on and begun to move against Stalin. Lenin’s death was the go-ahead for the destruction of the left within the party, yet the tactics used against the Trotskyists in the 20s seem almost quaint when compared with the later purges. While his subordinates could be disappeared, Trotsky himself could at first be isolated and harassed and frozen out (this began with Stalin’s “secret politburo”) due to his preeminent status as a war hero. Grigory Zinoviev’s subsequent break with Stalin and alliance with the left gave Trotsky all manner of juicy insights into just how insidious was the Stalin bloc’s campaign against him. Yet even when he finally gets exiled once again to Siberia, a crowd appears to try and stop the train, and even the agents sent to take him away are surprisingly polite, a far cry from the secret police yet to come. The book ends in 1930, as he waited in limbo in Istanbul, yet even then he remains oddly cheerful. Perhaps it was cope and posturing, but he presents himself as one who truly has risen above the petty politics of personality to become a man of history, unperturbable. This was such a treat to devour, as are all his works. He zigzagged from a anonymous Jewish farmer’s son to a local organizer to a wanted criminal in several countries before orchestrating the Bolshevik seizure of power and rising to “unlimited power” during the war, only to have it all slowly taken away again. And yet in that short life he played such a pivotal role in the first great experiment to take seriously the question of industrial democracy and economic planning and genuine equality for women and a world without empires. The circumstances surrounding the Russian Revolution are so exquisitely unique we very well may never get another chance like it. Thank god someone took a shot for all it was worth.