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Summary
Summary
Drawing on newly declassified government files, this is the dramatic story of how a forbidden book in the Soviet Union became a secret CIA weapon in the ideological battle between East and West.
In May 1956, an Italian publishing scout took a train to a village just outside Moscow to visit Russia's greatest living poet, Boris Pasternak. He left carrying the original manuscript of Pasternak's first and only novel, entrusted to him with these words: "This is Doctor Zhivago. May it make its way around the world." Pasternak believed his novel was unlikely ever to be published in the Soviet Union, where the authorities regarded it as an irredeemable assault on the 1917 Revolution. But he thought it stood a chance in the West and, indeed, beginning in Italy, Doctor Zhivago was widely published in translation throughout the world.
From there the life of this extraordinary book entered the realm of the spy novel. The CIA, which recognized that the Cold War was above all an ideological battle, published a Russian-language edition of Doctor Zhivago and smuggled it into the Soviet Union. Copies were devoured in Moscow and Leningrad, sold on the black market, and passed surreptitiously from friend to friend. Pasternak's funeral in 1960 was attended by thousands of admirers who defied their government to bid him farewell. The example he set launched the great tradition of the writer-dissident in the Soviet Union.
In The Zhivago Affair, Peter Finn and Petra Couv#65533;e bring us intimately close to this charming, passionate, and complex artist. First to obtain CIA files providing concrete proof of the agency's involvement, the authors give us a literary thriller that takes us back to a fascinating period of the Cold War--to a time when literature had the power to stir the world.
(With 8 pages of black-and-white illustrations.)
Author Notes
Peter Finn is National Security Editor for The Washington Post and previously served as the Post 's bureau chief in Moscow.
Petra Couv#65533;e is a writer and translator and teaches at Saint Petersburg State University.
The Zhivago Affair is their first collaboration together.
Reviews (5)
Publisher's Weekly Review
Finn, an editor at the Washington Post who was the paper's Moscow bureau chief, and Couvée, a writer who teaches at Saint Petersburg State University, offer a detailed account of the events leading up to the 1956 publication of Doctor Zhivago, the only novel by Russian poet Boris Pasternak (1890-1960); the authors also describe Pasternak's subsequent effect on international politics. Along with tracking the manuscript as it traveled from Pasternak to his Italian publisher, Finn and Couvée provide a biography of the poet-novelist and an exploration of Soviet policy during the Cold War. The book also chronicles the machinations employed by the KGB to stop the publication of the manuscript and those of the CIA to aid its publication. Because of the nature of the factual material, veteran reader Vance isn't given much opportunity to display his way with dialogue. But he makes up for that with his facility for pronouncing Russian names and words, and by using his crisp, precise British delivery to clarify the complex twists and turns this real-life thriller takes. A Pantheon hardcover. (June) © Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.
Booklist Review
Boris Pasternak's greatest work of fiction escaped Soviet Russia in May 1956, when he handed the manuscript to an Italian Communist employed by Radio Moscow but secretly working for Giangiacomo Feltrini, a young Italian publisher interested in selling works from behind the Iron Curtain to Western readers. This is Dr. Zhivago, said the poet-turned-novelist to his visitor. May it make its way around the world. Then, he added, You are hereby invited to my execution. As was expected, the Soviet government refused publication of the novel, which suggestsbroadly humanistic and individualistic themes. But Soviet visitors to the Vatican City pavilion at the 1958 world's fair in Brussels could get a copy courtesy of the CIA, whose secret machinations to reproduce and distribute the novel represented an early instance of Cold War literary-political warfare. The CIA would later go on to produce thousands of copies of the book, printed in miniature paperbound editions for easy smuggling. Drawing on recently declassified CIA documents, Finn and Couvee present an engaging thriller, in which bureaucratic obstructions and Cold War politics threaten the publication of a controversial masterpiece of world literature.--Driscoll, Brendan Copyright 2010 Booklist
Guardian Review
Those were the days! We can tell our grandchildren about that glorious time when high culture used to matter, and the CIA and the KGB fought cold wars about it. But in the era of the worldwide web, who can take seriously the idea of smuggling books through the iron curtain? It seems so far away - you have to remind yourself that we weren't still travelling in horse-drawn buggies. For the CIA, it was "something of a caper" to try to flood the Soviet Union and its eastern European satellites with forbidden books and periodicals, to show them freedom in action and introduce them to the idea of cultural diversity. But there was American idealism in there too. It is harder to see any redeeming aspect in the Soviet response, which was purely defensive and involved a lot of bullying of their own writers. The Soviet view was that western culture, in its late capitalist phase, was degenerate and sterile, with the practitioners of high culture alienated from a popular audience. They thought they had done better in this respect, and in one aspect of the cold war culture wars - the musical one, with Shostakovich and Prokofiev matched against Milton Babbitt and atonality - they possibly had a point. Literature was another matter. Soviet literature was undergoing a post-Stalinist renaissance in the mid-1950s, associated with reform-minded journals such as Novy Mir, but the work that excited a Soviet public wasn't necessarily going to appeal to western readers, any more than it appealed to conservative Soviet bureaucrats. That is where the CIA and the western mass media achieved a miracle: they turned two works of Soviet literary realism, both semi-autobiographical, into international bestsellers and their authors into Nobel prize-winners. In the second case, Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn and his One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich, the subject was the gulag, which made the cold war relevance fairly clear, even though the work was in the "truth-telling" tradition of the Soviet thaw and had first been published in Novy Mir. But the first case, that of Boris Pasternak and Doctor Zhivago, was simply bizarre. How did a meandering epic novel by a Russian poet, essentially non-political and written in a style not much more modern than Galsworthy's Forsyte Saga, manage to sell millions of copies in the west, not to mention give birth to a major film (David Lean's 1965 version, with Omar Sharif and Julie Christie, notable for its snowy sleigh rides, fur muffs and "Lara's Theme")? Pasternak first came to international attention in the mid-1950s, when, after failing to find a Soviet publisher for his novel, he sent it to the rich, young, eccentric, communist publisher Giangiacomo Feltrinelli, in Italy. Denounced in the Soviet Union, it received enormous publicity abroad, partly through the efforts of the CIA, and this got Pasternak in deeper trouble at home. In 1958, he was awarded the Nobel prize for literature but had to turn it down, under Soviet pressure. A Soviet hate campaign followed, in which it became clear that the fact that Pasternak was a Jew, albeit from an assimilated family of Christian converts, mattered. Rejecting the option of emigration/expulsion, he stuck it out in his dacha in Peredelkino outside Moscow, where he died in 1960 at the age of 70. Prudent Soviet writers stayed away from the funeral, but foreign correspondents were there en masse. Pasternak was one of the silver-age Russian intellectuals who thought poetry was much more important than politics. Never a Communist party member, and with the black mark of parents and sisters who had emigrated back in 1920 against him, he nevertheless made a name for himself as a poet, became a member of the Union of Soviet Writers, and was eminent enough to be allocated one of the coveted dachas at the writers' colony at Peredelkino when it was built in the 1930s. Pasternak was notable for an almost unshakable self-esteem and a self-preoccupation so complete that it gave him a lifelong childlike quality. He wasn't particularly anti-Soviet; in fact, Stalin interested him: he would have liked to talk to him, one towering figure to another, about life, death and art. Stalin didn't have time for that, but he did recognise the artistic stature of "the cloud-dweller", as he once called Pasternak. Pasternak's only novel tells the story of Yuri Zhivago, a doctor brought up in the Moscow intelligentsia, and his passage through the Russian revolution and its aftermath, including a love story, which fate (or the revolution) blights. It wouldn't have been an easy sell in the Soviet Union, even in the 1956 thaw, but perhaps not an impossible one either. The fatal fragment was a meditation by Zhivago on the Soviet intelligentsia of which, in the late 1920s, he found himself a member: "Dear friends, oh, how hopelessly ordinary you and the circle you represent . . . all are. The only live and bright thing in you is that you lived at the same time as me and knew me." That was indeed Pasternak's view of his colleagues in the Writers' Union. Pasternak sent his novel to Novy Mir in 1956, and they turned it down. This was in contrast to the journal's response a few years later when Solzhenitsyn sent them his Ivan Denisovich and the editor waged an epic battle to get it into print. The trouble was that the Novy Mir people were reform-minded, but they were reform-minded communists who believed in the revolution. As the editors correctly pointed out: "The spirit of your novel is one of non-acceptance of the socialist revolution." His argument, as they saw it, was that the revolution had destroyed Russia's intelligentsia physically and morally, and brought nothing to the people but suffering. But "argument" is wrong for Doctor Zhivago, as Pasternak was describing a spiritual journey (his own) rather than offering a political evaluation; Novy Mir might have been more on target if they had said he treated the revolution as if it wasn't important. Pasternak had already been approached by an Italian communist journalist to let him take the manuscript to Feltrinelli so that translation could start for an Italian publication that would follow the Soviet launch. It was a risky idea, as Soviet writers were not allowed to publish abroad, and those who had done so in the past, such as Boris Pilnyak, had got into serious trouble. That was in Stalin's time, of course, and Feltrinelli and his agent were communists, which ought to make a difference. Nevertheless, it was an act of great recklessness when Pasternak, having been turned down by Novy Mir, gave the manuscript to the Italian go-between. Feltrinelli published it in Italian in 1957, without any prior Soviet publication and with no prospect of one. It was the beginning of a major international scandal. The CIA had decided that books were a weapon in the cold war, and exposure to different ideas would change communist societies. With generous funding for cultural promotion (most of it necessarily clandestine or through front organisations), the CIA became "one of the world's largest grant-making institutions", rivalling the Ford, Rockefeller and Carnegie foundations. A project for sending books into the Soviet Union and eastern Europe was launched in April 1956. At first, the CIA was thinking in terms of modern western classics in Russian translation (James Joyce's A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man; George Orwell's Animal Farm), along with Russian emigre Vladimir Nabokov's Pnin. But then British intelligence sent a microfilm of Doctor Zhivago (Pasternak was recklessly generous in giving out copies to visiting foreigners), and Pasternak's novel became the focus of the campaign. As Peter Finn and Petra Couvee write, books were carried by "emigres, priests, athletes, students, businessmen, tourists, soldiers, musicians and diplomats . . . sent to Russian prisoners of war in Afghanistan, foisted on Russian truck drivers in Iran, and offered to Russian sailors in the Canary Islands", as well as "being pressed into the hands of visitors to the Vatican Pavilion in Brussels and the world youth festival in Vienna". The Soviet reaction was outrage. It had been a decision of Khrushchev's Politburo not to publish this novel by a "bourgeois individualist", moreover a Jew, whose work was marked by "estrangement from Soviet life". The KGB had known about his contact with Feltrinelli from the beginning, and had made great efforts to prevent the Italian publication. Pravda denounced Pasternak; so did his colleagues in the Writers' Union - almost none of them said a word in his defence. Ordinary people read that a writer who lived in luxury on the people's money had betrayed his country for a handful of silver, and wrote in to express their indignation. Pasternak got abusive letters. One, purporting to come from Judas, said: "I only betrayed Jesus, but you - you betrayed the whole of Russia." Thugs threw stones at his dacha windows. His mistress, Olga Ivinskaya, who had served a gulag term in the late 1940s, acted as his business agent and found herself simultaneously a conduit to foreign journalists and the KGB. (After his death, she would be sentenced to eight years for foreign currency offences, which she had indeed committed, mainly on Pasternak's behalf.) Some years later, after his removal from office in 1964 gave him more time, Khrushchev read Doctor Zhivago for the first time, in a samizdat edition supplied by his son (and perhaps, more distantly, by the CIA). "We shouldn't have banned it," he said. "I should have read it myself. There's nothing anti-Soviet in it." That about sums it up. But the kind of Soviet stupidity that led to its banning was what made the whole CIA caper possible. One can see why the CIA - which, according to the authors of this book, is now admitting involvement for the first time, and gave them generous research access - might feel inclined to boast a little. As cold war operations go, this was one of the good ones: relatively little collateral damage; support for literature; international fame for the main protagonist, who thought his work deserved it; and, for the Soviet intelligentsia, a perhaps salutary lesson that, thaw or not, the old Stalinist traditions of scapegoating and collective persecution had still to be overcome. To order The Zhivago Affair for pounds 15.49 with free UK p&p call Guardian book service on 0330 333 6846 or go to guardianbookshop.co.uk. - Sheila Fitzpatrick Caption: Captions: Julie Christie and Omar Sharif in Doctor Zhivago (1965) Literature was another matter. Soviet literature was undergoing a post-Stalinist renaissance in the mid-1950s, associated with reform-minded journals such as Novy Mir, but the work that excited a Soviet public wasn't necessarily going to appeal to western readers, any more than it appealed to conservative Soviet bureaucrats. That is where the CIA and the western mass media achieved a miracle: they turned two works of Soviet literary realism, both semi-autobiographical, into international bestsellers and their authors into Nobel prize-winners. In the second case, Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn and his One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich, the subject was the gulag, which made the cold war relevance fairly clear, even though the work was in the "truth-telling" tradition of the Soviet thaw and had first been published in Novy Mir. But the first case, that of Boris Pasternak and Doctor Zhivago, was simply bizarre. How did a meandering epic novel by a Russian poet, essentially non-political and written in a style not much more modern than Galsworthy's Forsyte Saga, manage to sell millions of copies in the west, not to mention give birth to a major film (David Lean's 1965 version, with Omar Sharif and Julie Christie, notable for its snowy sleigh rides, fur muffs and "Lara's Theme")? The Soviet reaction was outrage. It had been a decision of Khrushchev's Politburo not to publish this novel by a "bourgeois individualist", moreover a Jew, whose work was marked by "estrangement from Soviet life". The KGB had known about his contact with [Giangiacomo Feltrinelli] from the beginning, and had made great efforts to prevent the Italian publication. Pravda denounced Pasternak; so did his colleagues in the Writers' Union - almost none of them said a word in his defence. Ordinary people read that a writer who lived in luxury on the people's money had betrayed his country for a handful of silver, and wrote in to express their indignation. Pasternak got abusive letters. One, purporting to come from Judas, said: "I only betrayed Jesus, but you - you betrayed the whole of Russia." Thugs threw stones at his dacha windows. His mistress, Olga Ivinskaya, who had served a gulag term in the late 1940s, acted as his business agent and found herself simultaneously a conduit to foreign journalists and the KGB. (After his death, she would be sentenced to eight years for foreign currency offences, which she had indeed committed, mainly on Pasternak's behalf.) - Sheila Fitzpatrick.
Kirkus Review
The derring-do-packed history of "one of the first efforts by the CIA to leverage books as instruments of political warfare."In the 1940s, poet and translator Boris Pasternak (1890-1960) set out to write an epic of the "incredible time" during the years surrounding Russia's revolution. The result was Doctor Zhivago, "a sad, dismal story," as he put it, about a poet-physician and his personal and political trials during four decades of upheaval and repression. Washington Post national security editor Finn and teacher and translator Couve chronicle the intrigue over the book's publication in Europe, its initial reception and the vociferous opposition it generated in the Soviet Union. Though Pasternak anticipated significant censure, he insisted that his manuscript be smuggled to the Italian editor who agreed to publish it and serve as international agent. The book, Pasternak said, had "become the most important thing in my life." He wanted it "to travel over the entire worldlay waste with fire the hearts of men." An immediate best-seller in Italy in 1957, it was acclaimed in Germany, England and France; the following year, the microfilmed manuscript arrived at CIA headquarters. The CIA had long been translating, publishing and sending to Russia books with a "humanistic message" of freedom of opinion and personal respect. "Books were weapons" in the Cold War, the agency maintained. Although publishing Zhivago proved convoluted and frustrating, the agency managed to send several hundred copies to the 1958 World's Fair in Brussels, where the Vatican Pavilion agreed to cooperate: From a table behind curtains at the back, Russian visitors eagerly grabbed their contraband. Soviet response was swift and crushing, intensifying after Pasternak was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1958. Denounced as a snob, a "bourgeois individualist" and a traitor, he was expelled from the prestigious writers' union and shunned even by those he had considered friends; his long-suffering wife and mistress feared for their lives.A fast-paced political thriller about a book that terrified a nation. Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Library Journal Review
Originally smuggled out of the country and released in translation by an Italian publisher, Doctor Zhivago caught the attention of the CIA as a potential weapon in the cultural front of the Cold War. Their interest intensified when the author, Boris Pasternak, was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1958 after the book was banned in the Soviet Union. Its release embarrassed and infuriated Soviet authorities. Pasternak's refusal to renounce the work resulted in his expulsion from the Union of Soviet Writers and nearly sent him to the gulag. Despite this audiobook's subtitle, this is really a biography of Pasternak that focuses on his last years as he and those around him dealt with the consequences of the publication of Doctor Zhivago; the role played by the CIA is a very minor part of the story. Narrator Simon Vance's crisp British accent helps enliven a sometimes overwrought tale. VERDICT Those expecting a cloak-and-dagger spy saga will be disappointed, but those interested in a case study of Soviet repression of heterodox authors will be gratified.-Forrest Link, Coll. of New Jersey, Ewing (c) Copyright 2014. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Excerpts
Excerpts
Chapter 1 Bullets cracked against the facade of the Pasternak family's apartment building on Volkhonka Street in central Moscow, pierced the windows, and whistled into the plaster ceilings. The gunfire, which began with a few isolated skirmishes, escalated into all-out street fighting in the surrounding neighborhood, and drove the family into the back rooms of the spacious second-floor flat. That, too, seemed perilous when shrapnel from an artillery barrage struck the back of the building. Those few civilians who ventured out on Volkhonka crab-ran from hiding spot to hiding spot. One of the Pasternaks' neighbors was shot and killed when he crossed in front of one of his windows. On October 25, 1917, in a largely bloodless coup, the Bolsheviks seized power in Petrograd, the Russian capital, which had been called Saint Petersburg until World War I broke out and a Germanic name became intolerable. Other major centers did not fall so easily as militants loyal to the revolutionary leader Vladimir Lenin battled the Provisional Government that had been in power since March. There was more than a week of fighting in Moscow, the country's commercial center and second city, and the Pasternaks found themselves in the middle of it. The family's apartment building was on a street that crested a hill. The flat's nine street-side windows offered a panoramic view of the Moscow River and the monumental golden dome of Christ the Savior Cathedral. The Kremlin was just a few hundred meters to the northeast along the bend of the river. Pasternak, who rented a room in the Arbat neighborhood, had happened over to his parents' place on the day the fighting began and found himself stuck there, eventually huddling with his parents and younger, twenty-four-year-old brother, Alexander, in the downstairs apartment of a neighbor. The telephone and lights were out, and water only occasionally, and then briefly, trickled out of the taps. Boris's two sisters--Josephine and Lydia--were caught in similarly miserable conditions at the nearby home of their cousin. They had gone out for a stroll on an unseasonably mild evening when, suddenly, armored cars began to careen through streets that quickly emptied. The sisters had just made it to the shelter of their cousin's home when a man across the street was felled by a shot. For days, the constant crackle of machine-gun fire and the thud of exploding shells were punctuated by "the scream of wheeling swifts and swallows." And then as quickly as it started "the air drained clear, and a terrifying silence fell." Moscow had fallen to the Soviets. Russia's year of revolution had begun the previous February when women protesting bread shortages in Petrograd were joined by tens of thousands of striking workers and the national war weariness swelled into a sea of demonstrators against the exhausted autocracy. Two million Russians would die in the carnage at the Eastern Front and another 1.5 million civilians died from disease and military action. The economy of the vast, backward Russian empire was collapsing. When troops loyal to the czar fired on the crowds, killing hundreds, the capital was in open revolt. On March 3, having been abandoned by the army, Nicholas II abdicated, and the three-hundred-year-old Romanov dynasty was at an end. Pasternak, who had been assigned to a chemical factory in the Urals to support the war effort, hurried back to Moscow. He traveled part of the journey on a kibitka, a covered wagon on runners, and warded off the cold with sheepskin coats and hay. Pasternak and his siblings welcomed the fall of the monarchy, the emergence a new Provisional Government, and, above all, the prospect of a constitutional political order. Subjects became citizens, and they reveled in the transformation. "Just imagine when an ocean of blood and filth begins to give out light," Pasternak told one friend. His sister Josephine described him as "overwhelmed" and "intoxicated" by the charisma of Alexander Kerensky, a leading political figure, and his effect on a crowd outside the Bolshoi Theatre that spring. The Provisional Government abolished censorship and introduced freedom of assembly. Pasternak would later channel the sense of euphoria into his novel. The hero of Doctor Zhivago was spellbound by the public discourse, which was brilliantly alive, almost magical. "I watched a meeting last night. An astounding spectacle," said Yuri Zhivago, in a passage where the character describes the first months after the fall of the czar. "Mother Russia has begun to move, she won't stay put, she walks and never tires of walking, she talks and can't talk enough. And it's not as if only people are talking. Stars and trees come together and converse, night flowers philosophize, and stone buildings hold meetings. Something gospel-like, isn't it? As in the time of the apostles. Remember, in Paul? 'Speak in tongues and prophesy. Pray for the gift of interpretation.' " It seemed to Zhivago that "the roof over the whole of Russia has been torn off." The political ferment also enfeebled the Provisional Government, which was unable to establish its writ. It was overwhelmed above all by the widely hated decision to keep fighting in the world war. The Bolsheviks, earning popular support with the promise of "Bread, Peace and Land," and driven by Lenin's calculation that power was for the taking, launched their insurrection and a second revolution in October. "What magnificent surgery," Pasternak wrote in Doctor Zhivago . "To take and at one stroke artistically cut out the old, stinking sores!" The Bolsheviks, in their constitution, promised Utopia--"the abolition of all exploitation of man by man, the complete elimination of the division of society into classes, the ruthless suppression of the exploiters, the establishment of a socialist organization of society, and the victory of socialism in all countries." Yuri Zhivago quickly is disillusioned by the convulsions of the new order: "First, the ideas of general improvement, as they've been understood since October, don't set me on fire. Second, it's all still so far from realization, while the mere talk about it has been paid for with such seas of blood that I don't think the ends justify the means. Third, and this is the main thing, when I hear about the remaking of life, I lose control of myself and fall into despair." The word remaking was the same one Stalin used when toasting his writers and demanding engineers of the soul. Zhivago tells his interlocutor, a guerrilla commander: "I grant you're all bright lights and liberators of Russia, that without you she would perish, drowned in poverty and ignorance, and nevertheless I can't be bothered with you, and I spit on you, I don't like you, and you can all go to the devil." These are the judgments of a much older Pasternak, writing more than three decades after the revolution and looking back in sorrow and disgust. At the time, when Pasternak was twenty-seven, he was a man in love, writing poetry, and swept along in the "greatness of the moment." Excerpted from The Zhivago Affair: The Kremlin, the CIA, and the Battle over a Forbidden Book by Peter Finn, Petra Couvée All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.Table of Contents
Prologue "This is Doctor Zhivago. May it make its way around the world." | p. 3 |
Chapter 1 "The roof over the whole of Russia has been torn off." | p. 19 |
Chapter 2 "Pasternak, without realizing it, entered the personal life of Stalin," | p. 31 |
Chapter 3 "I have arranged to meet you in a novel." | p. 47 |
Chapter 4 "You are aware of the anti-Soviet nature of the novel?" | p. 61 |
Chapter 5 "Until it is finished, I am a fantastically, manically unfree man." | p. 75 |
Chapter 6 "Not to publish a novel like this would constitute a crone against culture." | p. 85 |
Chapter 7 "If this is freedom seen through Western eyes, well, I must say we have a different view of it." | p. 99 |
Chapter 8 "We tore a big hole in the Iron Curtain." | p. 115 |
Chapter 9 "We'll do it black." | p. 129 |
Chapter 10 "He also looks the genius: raw nerves, misfortune, fatality," | p. 147 |
Chapter 11 "There would be no mercy, that was clear." | p. 161 |
Chapter 12 "Pasternak's name spells war." | p. 179 |
Chapter 13 "I am lost like a beast in an enclosure." | p. 197 |
Chapter 14 "A college weekend with Russians" | p. 211 |
Chapter 15 "An unbearably blue sky" | p. 227 |
Chapter 16 "It's too late for me to express regret that the book wasn't published." | p. 243 |
Afterword | p. 263 |
Acknowledgments | p. 267 |
A Note on Sources | p. 271 |
Notes | p. 275 |
Bibliography | p. 325 |
Index | p. 337 |