Doctor Zhivago (2 page)

Pasternak had maintained friendships with some of the best of the proscribed writers of his time—Boris Pilnyak, Osip Mandelstam, Andrei Platonov, Mikhail Bulgakov, Anna Akhmatova—who are now acknowledged as among the major figures of twentieth-century Russian literature. He also befriended and encouraged younger dissident writers like Varlam Shalamov and Andrei Sinyavsky. But he was the first to oppose the Soviet regime and its ideology so openly and so effectively. And yet Pasternak was not at all a political man; the public realm and the conflict of ideologies did not interest him.
Doctor Zhivago
speaks in the name of something else entirely.

That “something else” caused a certain confusion among readers and critics in the West when
the novel first appeared. It was criticized for not being what it was never meant to be: a good, old-fashioned, nineteenth-century historical novel about the Russian revolution, an epic along the lines of
War and Peace.
It was also praised for being what it was not: a moving love story, or the lyrical biography of a poet, setting the sensitive individual against the grim realities of Soviet life. Western Marxists found that Pasternak failed to portray the major events and figures of the revolution—something he never set out to do. Others devised elaborate allegorical readings of the novel, though Pasternak stated explicitly, in a letter to Stephen Spender (August 9, 1959), that “a detailed allegorical interpretation of literature” was alien to him. Critics found that there was no real plot to the novel, that its chronology was confused, that the main characters were oddly effaced, that the author relied far too much on contrived coincidences.

These perplexities are understandable, but they come from a failure to pay attention to the specific composition of the novel, its way of representing reality, its way of making experience felt.
Doctor Zhivago
is a highly unusual book, an incomparable book in the most literal sense. Pasternak suggested its unique quality in his reply to a letter from an English schoolteacher:

To embody this “living, moving reality” required formal innovation, and therefore
Doctor Zhivago
had necessarily to be an experimental novel. But it is not experimental in a modernist or formalist way. Modernism is essentially defined by absence (Godot never comes). Pasternak’s vision is defined by real presence, by an intensity of physical sensation rendered in the abundance of natural description or translated into the voices of his many characters. Pasternak delights in the pathetic fallacy: in his world so-called inanimate nature constantly participates in the action. On the other hand, there is no historical or psychological analysis in his narrative, no commentary on the causes of events or the motives of characters. This gives a feeling of chaos, random movement, impulsiveness, chance encounters, sudden disruptions to the action of the novel. The trains and trams keep breaking down. But owing to the breakdowns, surprising new aspects of life appear. The Russia of three revolutions, two world wars, civil war, and political terror is portrayed in living detail, but from unexpected angles, and with no abstract ideological synthesis. Pasternak portrays happening as it happens, which is what Tolstoy also set out to do. But in
Doctor Zhivago
the seeming
chaos of events will suddenly be pierced through by forces of a higher order, coming from a greater depth in time—folkloric, cultural, ultimately religious—which are also really present, which reassert their continuing presence, in the most ordinary everyday life. Now, fifty years after its first publication, when the circumstances of the Cold War are more or less behind us, we may be able to read the novel in a new way, to see more clearly the universality of the image that Pasternak held up against the deadly fiction of his time. As Viktor Frank wrote in his essay “Vodyanoi Znak” (“Watermark: The Poetic Worldview of Pasternak,” 1962): “Pasternak rolled the stone from the tomb.”

Boris Leonidovich Pasternak was born in Moscow on February 10, 1890. His father, Leonid Osipovich Pasternak, was a painter and illustrator; his mother, Rozalia Isidorovna Kaufman, was a concert pianist. They belonged to the cultivated Jewish milieu of Odessa, and moved to Moscow only a few months before Boris, the eldest of their four children, was born. Leonid Pasternak had considerable success as an artist, taught at the Moscow School of Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture, and became an outstanding portraitist, which led to a close acquaintance with Leo Tolstoy, whose works he illustrated and of whom he painted several portraits, the last just after the writer’s death in November 1910 at the railway station in Astapovo. The twenty-year-old Boris accompanied his father to Astapovo on that occasion.

The young Pasternak showed considerable talent for drawing and might have become an artist himself, but in the summer of 1903, while the family was staying in the country, he chanced to meet the composer Alexander Scriabin, whom he overheard composing his Third Symphony at the piano in a neighboring house, and decided that his real calling was music. For the next six years, he devoted himself to a serious study of composition. But at a key moment in 1909, after playing some of his compositions for Scriabin, who encouraged him and gave him his blessing, he abandoned music. Meanwhile, he had discovered the poetry of Rilke and had joined a group of young admirers of the Symbolists that called itself Serdarda—“a name,” as he wrote later, “whose meaning no one knew.” And he had begun to write verse himself.

It was a member of Serdarda who persuaded Pasternak to give up music in favor of literature, but it was Scriabin himself who suggested that he switch his field at Moscow University from law to philosophy. He graduated
in 1913, after six years of study, including a semester at the University of Marburg under Hermann Cohen and Paul Natorp, but by then he had decided to abandon philosophy. In the summer after his final examinations, he stayed with his parents in the country, and there, as he recalled, “I read Tyutchev and for the first time in my life wrote poetry not as a rare exception, but often and continuously, as one paints or writes music.” His first book,
A Twin in the Clouds
, was published in December of that year.

Pasternak described these metamorphoses in his two autobiographical essays,
Safe Conduct
, written between 1927 and 1931, and
People and Situations
(published in English under the titles
I Remember
and
An Essay in Autobiography
), written in 1956. Different as the two books are in style and vision, they both give a good sense of the extraordinary artistic and philosophical ferment in Russia in the years before the First World War. The older generation of Symbolists had begun to publish in the 1890s, the second generation, which included Alexander Blok and Andrei Bely, in the early years of the twentieth century. Then came the new anti-Symbolist movements: the Futurists (Vladimir Mayakovsky and Velimir Khlebnikov, among many other poets and painters), whose manifesto,
A Slap in the Face of Public Taste
, was published in 1912; and the Acmeists (Nikolai Gumilev, Osip Mandelstam, Anna Akhmatova), who favored Apollonian clarity over Symbolist vagueness. In his essay “The Morning of Acmeism,” Mandelstam wrote banteringly:

Which gives at least a small idea of the lively polemics that went on in those years.

Pasternak first associated with the younger Symbolists around the journal
Musaget
and its publishing house. To a gathering of this group, in 1913, he read a paper entitled “Symbolism and Immortality.” The text was later lost, but in
People and Situations
, he summarized its main points:

These thoughts, or intuitions, were to reach their full realization decades later in
Doctor Zhivago.

In January 1914, Pasternak and some of his young friends shifted their allegiance from the Symbolists to the Futurists, forming a new group that called itself Centrifuge. There were other groups as well—the Ego-futurists and the Cubo-futurists, the latter including Vladimir Mayakovsky, whom Pasternak met at that time. These groups were all somewhat fluid and loosely defined, and their members kept forming new alliances and creating new antagonisms.

On August 1, 1914, the First World War broke out, which somewhat curtailed the skirmishing among literary movements. Pasternak was exempted from military service because of an old injury caused by a fall from a horse in 1903, which had left him with one leg slightly shorter than the other. He supported himself by working as a private tutor and later as a clerk in the office of a chemical factory. In connection with this work he spent the winters of 1915 and 1916 in the region of the Urals, which forms the setting for most of Book Two of
Doctor Zhivago.
During that time he wrote the poems of his second book,
Above the Barriers
, published in 1917. When news of the February revolution of 1917 reached him in the Urals, he immediately set out for Moscow.

In the summer of 1917, between the February and October revolutions, Pasternak found his true voice as a poet, composing poems that would go into his third book,
My Sister, Life
, one of the major works of twentieth-century Russian poetry. He knew that something extraordinary had come over him in the writing of this book. In
Safe Conduct
, he says:

Between that summer and the eventual publication of the book in 1922 came the Bolshevik revolution and the harsh years of War Communism, years of hunger, confusion, and civil war. In 1921, Pasternak’s parents and sisters immigrated to Berlin. (After Hitler’s accession to power they immigrated again, this time to England, where they remained.) Pasternak visited them in Berlin in 1922, after his first marriage, and never saw them again. He himself, like so many of his fellow poets and artists, was not opposed to the spirit of the revolution and chose to stay in Russia.

My Sister, Life
was followed in 1923 by
Themes and Variations
, which grew out of the same lyric inspiration. In the later twenties, Pasternak felt the need for a more epic form and turned to writing longer social-historical poems dealing specifically with the ambiguities of the revolutions of 1905 and 1917:
Lieutenant Schmidt
(1926),
The Year 1905
(1927),
The Lofty Malady
(1928), and the novel in verse
Spektorsky
, with an extension in prose entitled “A Tale” (1925–1930).
Spektorsky
covers the pre-revolutionary years, the revolution, and the early Soviet period, almost the same span of time as
Doctor Zhivago.
Its hero, Sergei Spektorsky, a man of indefinite politics, apparently idle, more of a spectator than an actor, is in some ways a precursor of Yuri Zhivago.

At the same time, Pasternak kept contemplating a long work in prose. In 1918 he had begun a novel set in the Urals, written in a rather leisurely, old-fashioned manner that was far removed from the modernist experiments of writers like Zamyatin, Bely, and Remizov. Only one part of it,
The Childhood of Luvers
, was ever published. He also wrote short works such as “Without Love” (1918) and “Aerial Ways” (1924), which sketch situations or characters that would reappear in
Doctor Zhivago.
And in 1931 he completed and published his most important prose work before the novel, the autobiography
Safe Conduct.

In 1936 Pasternak went back to his idea of a long prose work, this time to be narrated in the first person, and in a deliberately plain style, as the notes and reminiscences of a certain Patrick, covering the period between the revolutions of 1905 and 1917. Here there were still more foreshadowings of the later novel: Patrick is an orphan who, like Zhivago, grows up in the home of a family named Gromeko and marries their daughter Tonya; there is a woman reminiscent of the novel’s Lara Antipova, whose husband
is also a teacher in Yuriatin in the Urals; and Patrick, like Zhivago, is torn between his love for this woman and for his wife. Some sections from the notes were published in magazines between 1937 and 1939, but the manuscript was destroyed in a fire in 1941. The cover, which survived, bears two crossed-out titles:
When the Boys Grew Up
and
Notes of Zhivult.
The odd name Zhivult, like the less odd name Zhivago, comes from the Russian root
zhiv
, meaning “alive.”