Author Archives: robinandrew0804

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About robinandrew0804

Robin Andrew is my pen name; I’m a runner, a writer, and a parent, from a small town in central Colorado. As a youngster, my biggest athletic aspiration was to not be the last person picked when teams were chosen for games. Since taking up running for stress relief (right about the time our kids entered their teen years - go figure) and fun, I’ve run fifteen marathons and dozens of other events, on both pavement and trails. This site is my way of sharing the joy and sense of accomplishment I’ve found in simply putting feet into motion, plus a few other bits and pieces of what I find interesting and worth caring about.

A Word to Aspiring Writers – The Marvelous Elizabeth Strout

Normally, these ‘Books Worth Keeping’ posts focus on a single work recently encountered and found (in one necessarily limited and idiosyncratic opinion) to be worth remembering and sharing.  This time around, although I’m spurred by a specific book (“Tell Me Everything”), the subject is its author.

In this reader’s view, anyone who aspires to be a writer would do well to read Elizabeth Strout’s novels and consider deeply what she does and how she does it.  Under the guise of limited lives in a limited setting, Strout illuminates the unlimited breadth and variety of what it is to be human. Out of deceptively ‘ordinary’ situations and circumstances, she mines complexity and contradiction (apologies to Robert Venturi for stealing your phrase) as her utterly believable characters struggle to understand themselves and the selves of those with whom they live, die and, especially, love.

Many other authors and books* are similarly revealing and rewarding, but few are as consistently insightful, illuminating and uplifting. 

Elizabeth Strout’s works are a treasure.

*Mary McGary Morris’s A Dangerous Woman, Clare Messud’s The Woman Upstairs, and Michael Dorris’ A Yellow Raft in Blue Water come quickly to mind, as do the works of Emma Donoghue, Kate Atkinson, William Boyd, Ian McEwan and… Thankfully, the list goes on and on.

Still Life, Sarah Winman

The romantic novel as still life painting – an unlikely assortment of exquisitely-rendered events (the objects) carefully arranged for maximum effect (starting with Evelyn and Dorothy in 1944, then moving forward in jumps and fits, then returning to Evelyn in 1901), the entire assemblage framed by the city of Florence in all its history and culture and gastronomic variety. 

When I search the text for ‘still life’ I find reference to all the still life paintings Evelyn inherited; thought by some to be no more than decorations, to her they are the grail, which seems perhaps a comment on the genre as a female space. Another instance, also, in which she, having become an art professor, theorizes on the genre’s power as coming from, not in spite of, the seeming triviality of individual objects or domestic situations which actually contain specific phrases of the overall painting’s meaning and purpose.  How it freezes time, raises up the contributions of those who provide for others (as opposed to the ‘movers and shakers’). And a final instance of the two words together in the passage  “…Empty bowls.  Rotting fruit.  Passing time.  But still life in all its beauty and complexity…” thus making clear the author’s multiple intents: still life as a genre of painting, life as a collection of individuals interacting and connecting as do the objects in a still life painting, an account rendered in the manner of a still life painting and, ultimately, that ‘life’ is still ‘life,’ whether one is old, or disappointed, grieving or alone or has serendipitously found what they’ve been looking for all along.

(Worth noting the large number gay characters; more than would be expected solely because of the novel’s interest in art, literature and other creative pursuits.  Clearly the result of many decisions by the author, who herself came out in the 1980s, and a welcome reminder that human variety is not a product of the late twentieth century.  Noted also that not quite all the hetero relationships in the book are constrictive, doomed and/or abusive, but the tally certainly trends in that direction.)

_______

Eight months after reading this novel and recording the notes above, I came across the title again and was not certain whether or not I had read it.  Reading my notes at this remove, I’m struck by how interesting and satisfactory they make the book sound and yet I did not recall it (sincere apologies, M. Winman). Entire reason I started writing notes like these was the hope of no longer doing that… 

Is it time, perhaps, to slow down and not consume so many books but rather to savor the few?  But what other way to find those few, given that recommendations and reviews are so unreliable?  And isn’t that dilemma just what life itself is all about?  One has to experience its entirety – the exciting and the tedious, the success and failure, the love and the rejection, the yin and the yang and the black and the white and the good, the bad and the ugly – in order to learn what is truly astonishing and beautiful and we wish we had done a better job of savoring and holding onto – what will be so difficult to say goodbye to when one finally shuffles off.

Maybe it’s simply time for me to re-read some of those books which a first read confirmed to be worthwhile. 

Like Sarah Winman’s Still Life.

U-flying-O’s!

Started yesterday on the front porch, breathing in the scent of fresh rain – our first in several months – and reading about the Executive’s use of our armed forces to summarily execute a boatload of what it claims (without substantiation) were ‘terrorists’ because they were transporting drugs headed (again, without substantiation) to consumers in our nation.  This despite the Constitution’s clear directive that it is Congress, not the Executive, who has the authority to commit the nation to war.

At the same time, we have clear statistical indicators that the economy is heading downward and the budget deficit upward despite the supposed magic bullet of a massive tax increase – in the form of tariffs – being arbitrarily imposed on the masses (us all) without Congressional authorization, and an upcoming deadline to pass a funding bill in order to avoid another government shutdown with all that that implies.

Not to mention extortionate prosecutions of news, educational, scientific and legal institutions for the sin of exposing the Executive’s actions to logic, fact and the laws by which all the rest of us must abide.

So it was of interest, scanning headlines before heading inside for another cuppa, to see that Congress was, at that very moment, using the People’s time, facilities and dollars for a hearing on whether or not the military is hiding evidence regarding UFOs.

Can there be any better illustration that this Congress has abdicated its role in governing the nation, than this – that with so many intensely real and vitally urgent issues of authority, accountability and simply doing their jobs, our representatives are pursuing rumors about U-flying-Os!

P. S. – That day ended with news of the killing of activist and influencer Charlie Kirk.   Terrible news; a tragic destruction of life and an unjustified act of pointless violence, regardless of his or anyone else’s political opinions.  Here’s hoping the killer is quickly apprehended and brought to justice to discourage any others from similar acts.

Thank you, Washington Post!

Just yesterday I read Clare Malone’s All the Billionaire’s Men (New Yorker, 2025-05-26) reviewing Jeff Bezo’s stewardship of the Washington Post. The article raised worthwhile concerns about his commitment to the paper’s independence and integrity, his apparent capitulations to Mr. Trump and his MAGA illusion (epitomized by Amazon’s $40m licensing deal for a puff documentary about Mrs. Trump), and implicitly, whether the Post could continue to be a beacon against darkness. Serious issues to this subscriber and daily reader (online) of the Post.

Today, the Post published Karen DeYoung’s and Cate Brown’s exclusive reporting (contributed to by Heva Farouk Mahfouz) headlined ‘Gaza postwar plan envisions ‘voluntary’ relocation of entire population‘ revealing a well-developed draft of one truly atrocious postwar plan for Gaza which the administration appears to be considering with great favor.

There’s much to be said about such a venal land grab, right now however, I’d like to thank the Washington Post newsroom, staff, editors and – assuming its Ownership continues to support such journalism – Mr. Bezos. As our government bends to the whim of a single autocrat, with policies developed in secret sessions among unelected plotters – when they do not spring fully formed from the ruler’s daydreams alone – we the people depend on committed and professional journalists to reveal what is really going on.

Thank you, Karen DeYoung, Cate Brown, Heva Farouk Mahfouz, the entire Washington Post staff and editorship and you too, Mr. Bezos, for keeping the lights on.

Robin Andrew

Dark at the Crossing, Elliot Ackerman

Ackerman, takes a risk here, venturing into the mind of an Iraqi-American attempting to join the Syrian resistance to Bashar Al Assad’s brutal regime.   Published in 2017, this may have just predated the current literary judgement that any such attempt at empathetic fiction constitutes an unjustifiable act of appropriation.  For this reader, the complexity he portrays in both the would-be fighter and the rest of his cast – all but one of whom are also of Middle Eastern nationalities and ethnicities – justifies the premise.  No, this is not the novel a native Iraqi or Syrian might have written, but neither is it an opportunistic rip-off spawned in ignorance.  Ackerman’s record as a journalist and as a Marine (decorated for actions during tours of duty in both Iraq and Afghanistan) gives him enough credibility, in my view. Besides, his writing of his book in no way prevents anyone of other background from crafting their own. (That he gets published and someone else might not is more properly a comment on the nature of the publishing industry/market than on the right of any author to spend their days following their own visions.)

Moving past all that, Dark at the Crossing presents a convincing and valuable portrait of the desperation endemic to a wartime refugee movement – boys living on handouts along the side of a highway, families hoping to subsist on what they can grow from a single envelope of seeds, a mother’s love warped beyond repair by the unmanageable violence of urban insurrection, lives casually dispatched by blasé warriors barely out of adolescence and under no close command.

More deeply, this dramatic and eventful story is concerned with the question of why men fight such wars.  Yes, there are individuals or moments in which the desire to topple an illegitimate regime is clear and pure, but often the motives are more muddled. Revenge against previous cruelties and atrocities is a deep strain, the need to be active in one’s fate rather than a passive victim seems another.  Also, and perhaps wrapping around all those, is the need to become part of something which feels simply too large to ignore: when your entire world is burning, is there not a moral obligation to pick up a bucket, no matter how small?  Is that not actually an act of love – for those who might be saved today, tomorrow, next year or next decade?

In that, the novel recalls Chris Hedges’ War is a Force That Gives Us Meaning (though Ackerman does not judge such a search for meaning nearly as harshly), and also John Krakauer’s Where Men Win Glory (despite a perspective which could hardly be more different, its depiction of the personal cost such impulses can exact raises similar issues).

For raising and considering such questions, Dark at the Crossing is more than worthy of the time it takes to read and the fraction of an inch it now occupies on my shelf.

How to Get Filthy Rich in Rising Asia, Mohsin Hamid

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Posing as satire of the Western world’s self-help book genre, this clever volume starts out strong (“Look, unless you’re writing one, a self-help book is an oxymoron.  You read a self-help book so someone who isn’t yourself can help you, that someone being the author.”) and finishes even stronger.  There is a stretch about three quarters through its slender 220 pages that treads close to familiar crime and corruption thriller terrain, but happily that is only a dalliance, employed by Hamid to bring his protagonist down to earth and set up the final chapters wherein we realize what sort of wealth is really being promoted here, and in what way this book truly proposes to help its readers help themselves.

Along the way, we get a glimpse of what life is like for many hundreds of millions across the globe.  A lesson given greater impact by being written in the second person, casting the reader as protagonist (“The whites of your eyes are yellow, a consequence of spiking bilirubin levels in your blood.”) This choice is particularly effective at impressing readers from prosperous northwestern-quadrisphere cultures (such as myself) with the realities of life for those who indirectly support our affluence (“The virus affecting you is called hepatitis E. Its typical mode of transmission is fecal-oral.  Yum.”)  Later, when a different range of emotions arise among characters in circumstances superficially different from our (my) own, this second-person setting makes plain the conclusion that we are all the same underneath, no matter how different our economics make us seem at first glance.

Lest this sound like a civics lesson, I want to emphasize that the writing throughout is full of wry insight and humor.  To that, the final chapters add great warmth and sympathy for the human condition and an understanding of love, aging and the grace with which those can be faced – when complex and imperfect beings rise to their best potential.  An unexpected and very welcome reward at the end of a brisk and entertaining trip.

Ultra-impressive work by Hamid, who is fast becoming a favorite author.  Originally from Pakistan, he has dual English citizenship, degrees from Princeton and Harvard Law and experiences in the worlds of corporate law and McKinsey consulting to complement his South Asian frame of reference. Author of five novels so far and at least one work of non-fiction (Discontent and its Civilizations: Despatches from Lahore, New York and London, 2014), his is a voice which deserves to be heard, and widely.

Paris Undercover

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Paris Undercover – A Wartime Story of courage, Friendship and Betrayal, Matthew Goodman (2025)

At times inspiring, at others horrific, this is an impressive example of historical scholarship and its value in setting the record straight – as opposed to its all too prevalent effect of skewing history to the writer’s preferences.

In the midst of WWII the Etta Shiber’s purported memoir Paris-Underground is published in New York describing the exploits of herself and Kitty Bonnefous, two female resistance workers in Nazi-occupied France.  How that book came about, how much it was fact and how much fiction, and what were the effects its publication, are this current book’s subjects.

Part One of this volume gives us a factual record of the women’s actual lives and actions, up through Etta’s capture trial and imprisonment by the Nazis, thru her eventual release and arrival in New York. (At least I believe this is the factual version.  Given what follows, I do wish Goodman gave us a more explicit assurance to that effect.  In particular, his choice to open with the moment of Etta’s arrival in New York and then backtrack to their exploits confused me when, in Part Two, he informed us that is the way in which Etta’s book was structured.)

Readers looking for a pleasant and inspiring book could perhaps stop right here, and be somewhat satisfied.

Part Two is Goodman’s account of how Etta’s book came to be, how it was or was not written and by whom (there are differing accounts), and the impacts it had on her life..(This is where Goodman details that book’s departures from fact, and where I became a bit confused as to whether what I’d previously read was the true facts, or a replaying of the wartime book’s fabrications.  Perhaps a more diligent reader would not experience any confusion, but I did). What does seem clear though, is that Paul Winkler, himself a Jewish refugee from France, had the leading role as publisher and assembler and probably came out farther ahead financially than anyone else did.  Certainly the book sold well, and Etta Shriber did not get much for it.  What is also clear is that the book’s publication would certainly cause the Nazis to revisit Kitty’s case with even more sadistic vigor than before, likely with deadly consequences for her and others.

By the end of this section, one is angry with Winkler and others, but mostly on the edge of one’s seat, impatient to learn where Kitty has been imprisoned how she has fared while this profit-oriented sideshow was taking place in the safety of North America.  An excellent demonstration of how even a nonfiction book can be structured to maximize its suspense.

Part Three: Into the Night and Fog is the crux of Goodman’s work, a detailed account of Kitty’s imprisonment and mistreatment, the effect of Etta’s book on her such, the terrible  privations she and other prisoners of the Nazis had to endure to survive and even after being ‘freed’ by Soviet troops and, at long last, Kitty’s eventual return to the land of the living, where she lived to very nearly 80 years of age, at last enjoying some comforts and peaceful pleasures despite the debilitating effects of her ordeal.

(Given the chaos and destruction endemic to wartime, especially the end of a World War, it is amazing that Goodman is able to reconstruct this period in such detail and anecdote.  Since the overall purpose of the current volume is to expose the fabrications of Etta’s earlier book, it would have been worthwhile for him to address head on how he is able to be so comprehensive and how he avoided inserting his own imaginings in it, though the extensive Acknowledgements, Notes and Bibliography do help in this regard.)

As with other accounts of wars and particularly the Nazi Reich, one comes away from Paris Underground near despair at the eagerness of some men (and a few women, too) to inflict unnecessary pain and agony on other humans.  And, at the same time, amazed at the ability of many humans to survive mistreatment and hardships that would seem, if described in the abstract, unendurable.

A compelling and thoroughly worthwhile read, but not pleasant, and not for the faint of heart.

 The Netanyahus: An account of a Minor and Ultimately Even Negligible Episode in the History of a Very Famous Family, Joshua Cohen

Started reading this in the mistaken belief that it was non-fiction and was immediately put off by the narrator’s (and, I assumed, author’s) arrogant attitudes and artificial style of speech. Once I realized it was fiction, those became crucial elements of the narrator’s character and the entire story, rather than obstacles.  A chastising lesson in the difference between forms and the expectations they set up in a reader – and the responsibility of the reader to know what sort of a book e is opening up!

That said, this impressive novel is not without its challenges.  Cohen is knowledgeable and compelling on Jewish culture and Zionist history and politics. His “Credits” make clear this is based on a real incident involving real individuals; the literary critic and educator Harold Bloom, whom Cohen knew well in his last years and on whom he loosely bases his narrator, Ruben Blum; Benzion Netanyahu, a Polish born scholar of medieval Judaism and activist for the creation of the State of Israel – and the father of Israel’s current strongman, Benjamin ‘Bibi’ Netanyahu (who appears briefly, as a child); and, to a lesser but critical degree, Benzion’s father/Bibi’s grandfather, Nathan Mileikowsky, a Russian born activist, Rabbi and author.  The incident – Benjamin showing up at Blum’s university for an interview with his wife and children unexpectedly and chaotically in tow – is also real, though to what degree is up for debate.

The first half of the novel is serious to the verge of textbook, if a bit satirical, showing us the attitudes of Blum and the surrounding culture (nineteen fifties/sixties backwaters US academia) toward Jews.   One note that struck this reader was how closely the described intentions of Zionist theorists appear to confirm the contentions of Rashid Khalidi’s The Hundred Years’ War on Palestine, which I had begun prior to reading Cohen’s book and am still working my way through (it’s dense).  In this view, it has always been the intent of core Zionists to possess not just what the UN mandated, but all of what have been called, at one time or another, Palestinian territories (reduced today, through a rolling mix of annexations, wartime seizures and occupations, to Gaza and The West Bank – minus the many Israeli settlements already inserted within those boundaries).  The Balfour Declaration and subsequent legalistic measures to enact some sharing of those lands between Israel and the ‘non-Jewish residents’ (to avoid taking a side by describing them as ‘Palestinians’), which I naively believed bestowed a solid legality to the nation, have never been fully accepted by the more ardent Zionists.  Rather, they acceded to these grudgingly and only as temporary accommodations for short term benefits, with always the hope and/or intention that eventually the nation would take by force what it could not win politically.  That even the Balfour Declaration came about only because Zionists and settlers (who were mostly recent arrivals, rather than having been resident prior to the early 20th Century and Zionist movement) backed the British and other nations into conceding it through raids, sabotage and what some have called terrorism, foreshadowed this long-term belligerence.

The novel’s tone changes dramatically in its second portion, as the Netanyahus (or Yahus, as Blum comes to call them, in one of the author’s most amusing bits) arrive and what had been an academic exercise turns into a slapstick comedy of poor manners, poorer parenting, arrogant presumptiveness, cliché infighting between spouses and barbed daggers at academics in general.  For this reader, who finds nearly all ‘comic’ writing an oxymoron, that sectionis less successful and somewhat overextended.

The Netanuyahus is saved in part by the aforementioned orientation on Zionist history and in another part by the insight it provides into the making of one future Prime Minister.

To wit: if the actual Bibi Netanyahu comes from such stock as these fictional father and grandfather, then there seems no way in hell or heaven that he will ever honestly support the idea of a Palestinian state.  Coupled with his actions so far since the tragedy of October 7, 2023, this leads one to conclude there will be no other outcome of the present Israeli/Palestinian conflict than Israel’s elimination of the Palestinians as a people or political entity and the integration of all previously Palestinian-controlled lands into an increasingly theocratic, increasingly Orthodox and bindingly-Jewish state of Isreal. 

Benzion’s scholarly opinion that this tragedy is a result of Medieval Iberia’s choice to maximize economic advantage by portraying Judaism as a race rather than a religion makes it more tragic, not less.  History and religion are not so far apart as some of Cohen’s characters would like them to be.

An impressively erudite novel, depressingly timely.

P. S. – As Cohen tells us, the literal meaning in Hebrew of ‘Netanyahu,’ the surname which Benzion chose to replace his father’s (‘Mileikowsky’) is “gift of God.”  This suggests that the attitude of supreme arrogance and entitlement which Cohen portrays in the character modeled upon Benzion is likely very true to its original.

P. P. S. – Early on, Cohen depicts the anti-progressive bent of conservative strains in Jewish and early Zionist thought.  This reader was struck hard by the similarity of that reactionary and absolutist world view with that of America’s present-day nuovo-populists and MAGA fundamentalists.  One more reason for our Mr. Trump and his fundamentalist Christian supporters to side so strongly with Mr. Netanyahu’s Israeli policies, if their shared paternalism, avarice, brutality and need to perform Alpha Male masculinity were not sufficient.

Doublespeak Becomes our National Language

The events of January 6, 2021, wherein thousands overran security at the U. S. Capitol Building, directly and violently assaulted security forces then broke into and vandalized that pre-eminent Federal facility, all while threatening bodily harm and even death to the elected representatives doing the nation’s business there, did not require the then-President to take any action and were actually “a day of love,” in Mr. Trump’s words or “a normal tourist visit,” in those of Georgia Representative Andrew Clyde.

But:

The events of the last few days in Los Angeles, wherein crowds gathered in predominantly peaceful demonstrations, are “a rebellion or danger of a rebellion against the U. S. government”– the standard set by 10 U. S. C. 12406 of the Code on Armed Services which the administration has abused to justify creating a national crisis by deploying Federalized National Guard and active duty Marine troops – despite urgent assurances by both local and state authorities that there was no need to do so.

Doublespeak, George Orwell’s prescient creation, is alive and active in the words of those who now govern our nation.

(There’s no excuse for throwing rocks or anything else at police forces. No excuse for looting or vandalism either, but such criminal offenses are properly and regularly addressed by civil law enforcement forces. Assembling in public to voice and demonstrate common feelings about events in one’s community is neither rebellion nor incursion but a right guaranteed to all in the U. S. by our Constitution, our laws and abundant examples in our nation’s glorious history.

Mr. Trump, who famously declared “I love wars,” who tried to declare himself, “a wartime president” back in 2020, and is eagerly anticipating his opportunity to preside over a grand military pageant, made a tactical mistake by predicating his current reign on avoiding foreign wars. To escape this bind, it seems, he has decided it is in his political and economic interest to find himself a domestic war. Stones thrown in LA are merely the pretext for this latest escalation of his own aggrandizement.)

“Good night and good luck,” indeed.

Autocracy Now!? – a personal opinion

Following Mr. Trump’s second ascension to the Oval Office, Op Ed pages were flush with pundit pieces pondering whether our nation might be slipping toward autocracy.

Now, less than 10% thru the man’s political resurrection, the verdict seems clear. Since January 20th, 2025, we’ve:

Watched Mr. Trump invite elected leaders of sovereign nations to the White House on pretense of official business only to then enact staged humiliations (complete with laughably inaccurate accusations despite his having the entire resources of the Federal Government at his disposal to provide accurate information), all to generate “…great television…” in his perpetual self-promotion campaign.

Cringed at his lazy and feckless use of social media (“Vladimir, STOP!”), to ‘negotiate’ international disputes on which turn the lives and fates of millions, no doubt provoking scathing contempt among the hardened dictators who simply ignore his maunderings as they go about their bloody business.

Witnessed him elevate minor entertainment personalities to positions of real power despite their lack of relevant experience, and begun to see the damage their recklessness is inflicting both at home and abroad.

Cringed as his craven ‘spokespersons’ dodge, divert and dissemble to suggest his public pronouncements do not mean what their words plainly say and that reality is whatever their Don says it is, rather than what we perceive with our own eyes, ears and reason.

Seen him predicate foreign policy not on the basis of any lasting principle, nor of the Nation’s interests, but of his own need to appear ‘strong’ and to ingratiate himself with the most brutal and paternalistic figures on the world stage, currying their favor and reveling in the pomp and praise and gilded royal treatment they gladly dispense as a cheap price for neutering our nation’s hard-won soft power.

Observed him repurposing the Justice Department into a tool for personal vendetta, while neutering the rule of law wherever else it suits him through pardons, elimination of oversight and simply ignoring any statute, decision, precedent or custom he does not choose to follow.

In short, the question those Op Eds asked has already been answered: As of this writing and for all practical purposes, governance of the United States is no longer enacted by Congress, nor administered by the various Federal agencies and offices, nor constrained by the rule of law.

Those functions have, instead, been subverted to the whims of a single person whose overriding goal is to elevate his self-image above even the office of the Presidency while simultaneously feeding his obsessive greed and coagulating power in his name alone.

The autocracy is here, and it is U.S.

(The current questions are: how long will it last, and how badly will it end?)