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Thank you. It's October 23, 1958, in Pyridokina, a small village near Moscow in the Soviet Union.

Sixty-year-old Boris Kasternak is almost home after an evening walk through the woods.

Rain pours through the canopy of pine needles above him, soaking his cap and overcoat.

Pasternak doesn't notice, though, his mind is consumed by the rumors that have been swirling since this afternoon.

As he approaches the small red cottage that he shares with his wife, Pasternak finds a gaggle of journalists waiting for him. They quickly raise their cameras and jockey for his attention. They've all heard

the same news Pasternak has that his novel, Dr. Chivago, has just won the Nobel Prize in Literature.

The journalist's clamor to know how he's feeling, but for once, Pastornak is at a

loss for words. He's humbled. His work is being recognized. It's a great honor, not just for him,

but for all of the Soviet Union. Unwilling to say anything more, Pastornak shrugs off the

journalists, then enters his cottage.

It's quiet inside, because since she heard the news, his wife Zenaida has locked herself in their bedroom and refuses to come out. Unlike Pasternak, she knows exactly how she feels about

the Nobel Prize and has told them as much. She's convinced it will bring nothing but death

and despair into their lives.

Pasternak pours himself a glass of wine because he knows his wife has a point. After all, Dr. Chavago

has been banned by the authorities for its supposedly negative portrayal of the Soviet regime.

But as far as Pasternak is concerned, his book is not about politics at all.

It's about what Pastornak always says are the most important things in life.

Land and sky, passion and creative spirit.

...