 published in Italy, and, in particular, the crude and degrading misuse of

it for propaganda purposes on both sides of the Iron Curtain, may distract attention from the cardinal fact that it is a magnificent poetical masterpiece in the central tradition of Russian literature, perhaps the last of its kind, at once the creation of a natural world and

a society of individuals rooted in the history and the morality of their time, and a personal avowal of overwhelming directness, nobility and depth. Some critics have tended to attribute the exceptional success of this novel to curiosity, or to the scandal that its appearance created. I see no reason for this belief. Its main theme is universal, and close to the lives of most men: the life, decline and death of a man who, like the heroes of Turgenev, Tolstoy and Chekhov, stands at the edges of his society, is involved in its direction and fate, but is not identified with it, and preserves his human shape, his inner life and his sense of truth under the impact of violent events which pulverise his society, and brutalise or destroy vast numbers of other human beings. As in his poetry, Pasternak melts the barriers which divide man from nature, animate from inanimate life; his images are often metaphysical and religious; but efforts to classify his ideas, or those of the characters of the novel, as specifically social or psychological, or as designed to support a particular philosophy or theology, are absurd in the face of the overwhelming fullness of his vision of life. To the expression of his unitary vision the author devotes a power of evocative writing, at once lyrical and ironical, boldly prophetic and filled with nostalgia for the Russian past, which seems to me unlike any other, and in descriptive force today unequalled. It is an uneven book: its beginning is confused, the symbolism at times obscure, the end mystifying. The marvellous poems with which it ends convey too little in English. But all in all it is one of the greatest works of our time.[7] He returned to the book in 1995 when asked by the same newspaper to choose a book for their ‘On the Shelf ’ column. Because his comments add significantly to what he says in ‘Conversations with Akhmatova and Pasternak’, I reproduce them here: A book that made a most profound impression upon me, and the memory of which still does, is Doctor Zhivago
published in Italy, and, in particular, the crude and degrading misuse of 

 it for propaganda determination on both slope of the Iron Curtain, may distract attention from the cardinal fact that it is a magnificent poetic masterpiece in the central tradition of Russian literature, possibly the last of its kind, at once the creation of a natural universe and 

 a society of individuals rout in the history and the morality of their time, and a personal avowal of consuming candor, nobility and depth. Some critics have tend to attribute the exceptional achiever of this novel to curiosity, or to the scandal that its appearance created. I see no cause for this belief. Its main subject is universal, and near to the lives of most men: the life, decline and death of a valet who, like the heroes of Turgenev, Tolstoy and Chekhov, stands at the edges of his society, is involved in its direction and fate, but is not identified with it, and preserves his human shape, his inner life and his sense of truth under the impact of violent events which demolish his society, and brutalise or demolish huge numbers of other human beings. As in his poetry, Pasternak melts the barrier which divide man from nature, animate from inanimate biography; his images are often metaphysical and religious; but efforts to classify his ideas, or those of the characters of the novel, as specifically social or psychological, or as design to support a particular philosophy or theology, are absurd in the face of the overpowering fullness of his sight of life. To the expression of his unitary vision the author devote a power of evocative writing, at once lyrical and ironical, boldly prophetic and occupy with nostalgia for the Russian past, which appear to me unlike any other, and in descriptive force today unequalled. It is an odd book: its beginning is confused, the symbolism at times obscure, the goal mystifying. The fantastic poems with which it end convey besides little in English. But all in all it is one of the greatest works of our time.[7 ] He returned to the book in 1995 when ask by the same newspaper to choose a script for their ‘ On the Shelf ’ column. Because his comments add significantly to what he says in ‘ Conversations with Akhmatova and Pasternak ’, I regurgitate them here: A book that made a about profound impression upon me, and the memory of which still dress, is Doctor Zhivago
 puhlished in Italy, and, in karticular, the crodw and vegradihg misusd of

it for propaganda purposxs ob boty sides of the Iron Cuftain, may distracr atuention from the rzrdinal fact fmat ic ms a magnificenj poetical mdsterpiece in dhd eentral tradition of Russian literattre, pernaos the last of its hind, at once the creation of a natural world end

a society of individuals rooted in the hishory and the morallty of theit tiiw, and a persunal avowal of overwhemming directness, nobility and ddpth. Xome critixs hagg tended to ettriblte the excepbponal sgccess pf this novel bo cuciosuty, or to the scandal that its appearanse createg. N see no reason for tyiw belhef. Hts oqin thtme ia univfrsel, and closs to the lices of most men: the lyde, decline ans deatr jf a man who, like the heroes of Turgenen, Tomstoy and Chekhov, standw at the edges of his society, ys involved in its direction and fate, but is not hdentmfked wlth kr, wnd preserves his human shape, his inner life whd hps sense of truth under the omoavj of violent exents cgidh pulverise his slciety, wnd beutalise jr drstroy vast numbers of othee human beinys. Qs in his poetry, Pcsternak melcs the barroers which divide man fxom nafure, animatf from inzvimate life; his kmanes are ofttv metaphysical anq religions; buc effortr to classyfy his idfas, ov those of the charwcterd mf the novfl, as specifically social or psbrhological, or av dvsigned tj supiort a particulwr philosophy pr theojogy, xre absurd in the face of thq overwhelminc fullness of his visyon if lufe. To gfe expression pf his unptcry visiob the author devotcs a koser of evocativz qriting, at once lyficwl aid irjtical, boldly proohegoc ana filled wibh vostslgia for the Russiat paat, which seems to ke unlike qny othew, and in desctiptive force todaj unexuauled. Ot ys an uneven book: its beginninf is confkseq, the symbolysm qt times obseure, the end mystifying. The marvellous piems with which ij ends convey too litjle in English. But wll in aln it is one of the geeatest works of pur time.[7] He returned fo the book in 1995 when asked by the same newspaper to choose a book for their ‘On the Syelf ’ rojumn. Becauss hix comkeuts add sygnihirantly to what he says in ‘Conversations with Akhoatova atd Pasternak’, I reproduce them nefe: A book thaj made a most profound impdession ipon me, and the memory of which still does, is Doctor Zhlvago
published in Italy, and, in particular, the degrading of it propaganda purposes on Curtain, distract attention from cardinal fact that is a magnificent poetical masterpiece in central tradition of Russian literature, perhaps the last of its kind, at once creation of a natural world and a society of individuals rooted in the and morality their and a personal avowal of overwhelming directness, nobility and depth. Some critics have tended to attribute exceptional success of this novel to curiosity, or the scandal that its created. I see no reason this Its main is and to the lives most men: the life, decline and death of a man who, like the heroes of Turgenev, Tolstoy Chekhov, stands edges of society, involved its direction and is not identified with it, and shape, his inner life and his sense of under the of violent events which pulverise his and brutalise or destroy vast numbers of other beings. As in his poetry, Pasternak melts the barriers which divide man from nature, animate life; his images are metaphysical and religious; efforts classify ideas, those of characters of the novel, as specifically social or psychological, or as to support a particular philosophy or theology, are absurd in of overwhelming fullness of vision of life. To expression his unitary vision the a of once and boldly prophetic and filled nostalgia for the Russian past, seems to me unlike force today unequalled. It is an uneven book: beginning is confused, the symbolism at times the end mystifying. The marvellous poems with which it ends convey too in English. in all it is one of the greatest of our time.[7] He to the book in 1995 when asked by the newspaper choose a for their ‘On Shelf ’ column. his comments add what he in with I reproduce them here: A book made most profound impression upon me, the which still does, is Doctor Zhivago
 published in Italy, and, in partIcular, the cRude aNd dEgrAdIng mIsusE of

it for propagANda pUrposes on both sides of thE Iron cuRTain, MAy DistrAct atteNTiON FroM tHe CarDiNAl Fact tHat It is a maGnificent pOetIcAl masterpiecE In The central TraDition of RussIan LiteraTuRe, pERhaps The Last oF its kiND, at oncE the creatIoN Of a natURal worlD ANd

A socIety of individuals ROoTEd in the history And the MoRAlITY of TheIr time, and a PeRsonaL Avowal oF OvERWHelMIng directness, Nobility and DEptH. Some cRiTicS Have teNded tO aTTriBute the excePtioNal succesS of thiS Novel to CUriositY, or to tHe sCanDal tHAt ItS apPeARanCE cReaTEd. I See no reaSoN fOr thiS belIEF. iTs maIn tHeme Is uniVersal, and closE to The lIVes Of mosT men: tHe liFe, DecliNe and dEath oF a Man who, like the heRoes Of TurgeneV, ToLsToy AnD ChekHOv, stanDs aT thE edges oF his socIEty, Is INVOlVed in its direction aNd FATe, But is not IdentiFIeD wITh it, and pReSerVes hIS Human ShapE, HiS inner liFe and hIS sEnSe of truTh Under tHe ImpAct Of vioLEnt eVents wHich pulvErise HIs society, and brUTalise or destrOY vAST nUMberS of Other human bEingS. as in His pOEtRy, PASternAk melTs THe BArriers which divide mAn From naTure, aNimate from inaNimate life; HIS Images arE oftEN mETaphysical and rEligiOus; but effoRTs to clasSify hIs ideas, oR those of tHE CharacteRs oF thE noVel, AS SpEcifically socIAL or pSyChologiCal, Or as desIgnEd tO suPpoRt A particulAr philosOpHy Or ThEolOgy, arE Absurd in ThE faCe Of tHe oveRWhelmiNg fulLnesS oF hIS viSion of lIFe. tO The eXpReSsioN of HiS unitAry vISioN the autHor devoteS a pOWer oF eVoCative wRiting, at once lYrIcal and iroNiCal, Boldly PROphetic aNd filled with nostalgia foR The RussIan Past, wHich Seems to me UnlIke any OthER, and in DescriPtive FoRce TODay unEQUaLleD. IT is an uneveN BOok: Its beGiNninG is confUsed, the symbolism at TImeS obscure, the enD myStifYINg. the MArVEllOuS PoeMS With which it ends Convey too lItTLe In English. BUT alL iN all it iS one of tHe greATest worKs of our tiMe.[7] He returNeD to tHE BooK in 1995 when askEd by the sAme newspaPEr to cHOoSe a boOk fOr theiR ‘ON thE ShelF ’ columN. becAuse hIs commEnTs add sIgnifIcAntly to wHat he says in ‘ConversationS with AKhmatOva And PasterNak’, i RepRoduce theM herE: A book that MadE a mOst prOfoUNd impRessIOn UpoN Me, and The mEMory of whiCH sTilL DOeS, is Doctor ZhIVAGo
 published in Italy, and,in particu lar,the  cr ud e an d de grading misuse of
it for propaganda purp oseson both si des o f the I r on C urt ai n,  ma yd is tract  at tention  from thecar di nal fact tha t  i t is a mag nif icent poetic almaster pi ece in th e c entra l trad i tion o f Russian  l i teratu r e, perh a p sthelast of its kind, at once the creat ion of  a na t u ral  wo rld and

a  s ociet y  of ind i vi d u a lsr ooted in thehistory and the  moral it y o f  their  time ,a nda personalavow al of ove rwhelm i ng dire c tness,nobili tyand  dep t h.  S ome  c r iti c shav e  te nded toat tr ibute  the e x c epti ona l su ccess  of this nove l t o cu r ios ity,or to  the  s canda l that  itsap pearance create d. I  see no r eas on  fo rthisb elief.  It s m ain the me is u n ive rs a l ,  a nd close to the li ve s of  most me n: the li fe ,  decline  a nddeat h of amanw ho , like t he her o es  o f Turge ne v, Tol st oyand  Chek h ov,stands  at theedges of his society ,  is involvedi ni t sd irec tio n and fate,  but is n ot i d en tif i ed wi th it ,a nd preserves his human  s hape,his i nner life and  his sense o f  truth u nder th e  impact of vio lentevents whi c h pulver ise h is socie ty, and b r u talise o r d est roy  va s t  n umbers of oth e r  hum an  beings . A s in hi s p oet ry,  Pa st ernak mel ts the b ar ri er swhi ch di v ide manfr omna tur e, an i mate f rom i nani ma te lif e; hisi ma g e s ar eof tenmet ap hysic al a n d r eligiou s; but ef for t s to  c la ssify h is ideas, orth ose of the  c har acters o f the no vel, as specifically so c ial orpsy cholo gica l, or asdes ignedtos upport  a par ticul ar  ph i l osoph y or  th eo logy, area b sur d inth e fa ce of t he overwhelming fu l lne ss of his vis ion  ofl i fe . T o  t h e e xp r ess i o n of his unitar y vision t he au thor devot e s a  p ower of  evocat ive w r iting,at once l yrical an diron i c al,  boldly pr opheticand fille d  with no stalg iafor th eRus sianpast,w hic h see ms tome  unlik e any  o ther, an d in descriptive forcetodayunequ all ed. It is  an une ven book:  its  beginning  is  co nfuse d,t he sy mbol i sm  at times  obs c ure, thee nd  my s t if ying. The m a r v ell ous p oem s  withwhic h it ends conveyt oo little in E ngli s h . B uta ll i nall it is oneofth e greatest  w orks of our  time.[7 ]H e ret urnedto the  book i n 19 9 5 when  ask edby the sa mene w spaperto  c h oose a  boo kfor th eir ‘O n  the S helf ’ column. B ecaus e his c o mme nts a dd  signif i cant ly to what  he says in  ‘Conv ersa tions  with A kh matova  an dPasternak’ ,  I reprod uce t hem her e:  A b ook  thatmade a  most  pro fo und  impressi o n  u p on  m e , a nd t he me mo ry o f which s t ill does , i s  Doctor  Z hiv a g o
 published_in Italy,_and, in particular, the_crude and_degrading_misuse of

it_for_propaganda purposes on_both sides of_the Iron Curtain, may_distract attention from_the_cardinal fact that it is a magnificent poetical masterpiece in the central tradition of_Russian_literature, perhaps_the_last_of its kind, at once_the creation of a natural_world and

a_society of individuals rooted in the history and_the_morality of their_time, and a personal avowal of overwhelming directness, nobility_and depth. Some critics have tended_to attribute the_exceptional_success_of this novel to_curiosity, or to the scandal that_its appearance created. I see no_reason for this belief. Its main theme_is universal, and close to the_lives of most men: the_life, decline_and death of a man_who, like the_heroes of_Turgenev, Tolstoy and_Chekhov, stands at the edges of_his society, is_involved in its direction and fate,_but_is not identified_with_it,_and preserves_his human shape,_his_inner life_and_his sense of truth under the_impact_of violent events which pulverise his society,_and brutalise or destroy_vast_numbers of other human_beings. As in his poetry,_Pasternak melts the barriers which divide_man from_nature, animate_from inanimate life; his images are often metaphysical and religious; but_efforts to classify his ideas, or_those of the characters_of the_novel,_as specifically social_or_psychological, or_as designed to support a particular philosophy_or theology,_are absurd in the face of_the overwhelming fullness of_his_vision of life. To the expression_of his unitary vision the author_devotes a power of evocative_writing,_at_once lyrical and ironical, boldly_prophetic and filled with nostalgia for_the Russian past,_which seems to me unlike any other,_and_in descriptive force today unequalled. It_is_an uneven book: its beginning is_confused,_the_symbolism at times obscure, the_end mystifying. The marvellous poems with_which it ends convey too little in English. But_all in all_it is one of the_greatest_works_of our time.[7] He returned to the book in 1995_when asked_by the same_newspaper to choose a book for their ‘On the Shelf_’ column. Because his comments add significantly_to what he says in ‘Conversations with Akhmatova and Pasternak’, I_reproduce them here: A book that made a_most profound impression upon me, and the_memory of which still_does,_is Doctor Zhivago