The Last Summer

The Last Summer (1965) by Boris Pasternak, Penguin Books
ISBN: none
Condition: Good
Sold by: Crappy Old Books

Here we have Boris Pasternak’s The Last Summer, a 1965 Penguin Books edition with no ISBN, because it comes from that earlier, freer age when a paperback could roam the world un-numbered, un-scanned, and blissfully unbothered by databases. Which feels fitting, really, for Pasternak, a writer whose work often gives the impression that history is barging in through the door while the soul is trying to have a quiet moment.

Now, before you get any ideas, this is not a cheerful beach read. The title may whisper “sunlit nostalgia”, but Pasternak is the kind of author who can make sunshine feel like a moral dilemma. If you’re looking for a book that politely entertains you and then tucks you in, you’ve wandered into the wrong part of the shop. If you want something that feels like a last warm day before the weather changes forever, you’re in exactly the right place.

This is Penguin-era seriousness, the sort of paperback that looks modest and then quietly rearranges your insides. Pasternak writes with that luminous, slightly haunted intensity where landscapes are never just landscapes and feelings are never just feelings. Even the calm bits hum, as if the world is holding its breath and literature has noticed.

Our copy is in Good condition, meaning it’s solid, readable, and has the sort of honest wear you’d expect from a 1960s Penguin that’s been in a few pockets, a few bags, and possibly a few moments of dramatic contemplation by a window. “Good” at Crappy Old Books is not a euphemism for tragedy. It’s a promise: this book has lived, but it’s still absolutely up for the job.

And what is the job? To sit on your shelf looking deceptively plain, then to be picked up on a quiet evening and make you feel like you’ve stepped into a world where memory, time, and meaning are all slightly sharper than you remembered. It’s the kind of book that doesn’t shout. It just stands there, quietly significant, until you realise you’re the one doing the trembling.

Sold by Crappy Old Books, naturally. We specialise in the slightly scuffed, the well-travelled, the paperback with character, the kind of copy that seems to have opinions about your life choices. If you want pristine perfection, buy something shrink-wrapped and soulless. If you want a vintage Penguin Pasternak that looks like it’s been read for the right reasons, this is your melancholy little treasure.

Take it home. Read it when you want to feel clever, slightly wistful, and just a bit existentially refreshed. You know. Summer. The last one. Probably.

Keep browsing: See more Modern Classics books Other books by Boris Pasternak