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The first book I ever bought with my own money was a paperback of Dr. Zhivago. I purchased the book in a drugstore in Greenville, S.C. in the late summer of 1960. It cost ninety-five cents, and was a revelation. Reading the love story of Yuri and Lara, in that Cold War time, gave me a new idea of the possibilities of fiction. I saw that Pasternak had written not only to honor those lost, but to celebrate sanity and health, human potential, against the devastations of totalitarianism and ideology. I saw also that the book was a lament for the legacy of the church, the culture that had been handed down for so many generations. And I saw how fiction and poetry make the world, and history, immediate, palpable. I realized that novels were about details, surprise, unexpected truths. More important, they were about lives, about the gift of family, culture. The story of loss and suffering was really a celebration of the things around me I hadn't noticed before. The novel showed me the importance of attention, humility, compassion. Particular books affect us at particular times. I found Dr. Zhivago at just the right time, for it showed me how fiction brings the world to us, and connects us to those so distant, yet so much like ourselves. I saw how much I had to learn, and how much I already knew.

Reviewed by Robert M., Author

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