Here we follow the life and trial of one man, in the throes of love and war at the turn of the century. And how's that for some light summer reading? 
 This one is tough to get through if you don't know something of Russian history, of which my knowledge is limited. But it was thirty years until it was published in Russia itself, due to some opinionated matters. But that's why we like it. 
 The plot switches between war and domestic life, and is often slow-moving. We're introduced to a lot of characters (especially in the first 100 pages) who ultimately mean very little. And for the immensity of Russia itself, it's too coincidental that they all randomly bump into one another over the years. 
 Pasternak is very obviously a poet. Not only because of Zhivago's poetry featured at the end, but also the beautiful descriptions throughout the book. I've read my fair share of Russian literature, but never before have I understood Russia like this. There's the bitter cold of Russia's winters, and the poverty of war. There's the bartering for food and living off boiled potatoes. 
 The wind swept the snow aside, ever faster and thicker, as if it were trying to catch up with something, and Yurii Andreievich stared ahead of him out of the window, as if he were not looking at the snow but were still reading Tonia's letter and as if what flickered past him were not small dry snow crystals but the spaces between the small black letters, white, white, endless, endless. 
 Zhivago himself is... something else. He's a doctor during wartimes, who's tried several times to no longer pursue it after the war, but gets continually sucked back in (whether willingly or not). He's in love with multiple women, bouncing between them like it's the most natural option. He does love his wife--he feels a sense of duty to her--but also loves his mistress, who happens to be married to a revolutionary, and it's all a big mess as love affairs tend to be. 
 Lara, the mistress, is the most interesting character of them all. Most of the other women characters are the same delicate flowers, but Lara is thick-skinned and opinionated. She has her swoon moments, but from childhood we know she's going to be problematic--which is the best kind of character. 
 This book has a rough start. I'm grateful for the cheat sheet of characters in the beginning to keep them all straight. But once you get past the lengthy introductions, something beautiful begins to take form. Once Zhivago himself takes the stage, there's something there that keeps you going and draws you to him, despite (or maybe because of) his imperfections.