Friday, December 12, 2025

Book Review: "How to Think Like a Roman Emperor" by Donald Robertson

How to Think Like a Roman Emperor: The Stoic Philosophy of Marcus Aurelius (2019)
Donald Robertson (1972)
294 pages

In How to Think Like a Roman Emperor, Donald Robertson uses the education and life experiences of Roman emperor Marcus Aurelius to provide an engaging introduction to the ancient philosophy of Stoicism and how its elements have informed the modern techniques of cognitive-behavioral therapy (CBT). Based on this history, he reveals how incorporating a Stoic outlook into our own thinking can positively influence our daily experience.

Throughout his telling, Robertson references classical texts, including from Stoic philosophers, Roman historians, and correspondence between Marcus and several of his key tutors. Not surprisingly, Marcus’ own Meditations plays a central role. More a collection of reminders to himself than a narrative intended for a wider audience, these writings reflect Marcus’ understanding of Stoicism as a philosophy of life and how he sought to apply it to guide his daily behavior. (My review linked to at right.)

Robertson combines these references and his own professional experience as a cognitive-behavioral psychotherapist into an eminently readable mixture of history and science. Over the course of the book, he introduces key aspects of Stoic philosophy, shows how Marcus understood and applied them in ruling the empire, and then provides straightforward steps from Stoicism-infused CBT that people can employ in their daily lives to strengthen their own resilience in challenging situations.

The following quote both reveals Robertson’s approach, as well as introduces one of the central concepts of Stoicism: to think and speak about things that happen to us objectively

Marcus tends to refer to this way of viewing events as entailing the separation of our value judgements from external events. Cognitive therapists have likewise, for many decades, taught their clients the famous quotation from the [Stoic philosopher] Epictetus: “It’s not things that upset us but our judgements about things.” … This sort of technique is referred to as “cognitive distancing” in CBT, because it requires sensing the separation or distance between our thoughts and external reality. (77) 

This concept of cognitive distancing reappears throughout the text in a variety of applications of Stoic teachings (and corresponding techniques in CBT) to address events that can impact our thinking. The goal is to avoid catastrophizing, in our words and thoughts, “by practicing deliberately describing events more objectively and in less emotional terms.” Robertson notes, for example, that

Marcus follows Epictetus’s guidance when he reminds himself [in Meditations 8.49] that he should tell himself someone has insulted him in a matter-of-fact way, but not add the value judgement that it has done him any harm. … stick with the facts and don’t unnecessarily extrapolate from them. (72)

Many of the techniques Robertson presents constitute approaches to achieving such objectivity. Thus, he describes the Stoic idea of “contemplating the sage, in which Stoics would ‘imagine a role model whose strengths you’ve identified coping with a challenging situation. [They] asked themselves, ‘What would Socrates or Zeno do?’” (102) We can apply this in our daily lives, Robertson suggests, by bringing to mind in a difficult moment our own sage: a friend, a well-known person, or even Marcus Aurelius himself, based on what we have learned about his approach to the crises he faced. Indeed, Marcus can be a good choice, as few of us are likely to face, as he did, murderous and conniving courtiers, barbarian invasions or a civil war (this last maybe not so unlikely anymore, I suppose – though I lay myself open to the charge of catastrophizing…); if the techniques worked for Marcus in those situations, then there can be hope for us to successfully apply them in our more mundane daily challenges by reminding ourselves how Marcus would have handled it.

One helpful distinction the Stoics made, according to Robertson, was between our initial, instinctive response to an event and our subsequent reaction after having a moment to consider it rationally.

Stoics acknowledged that our initial emotional reactions are often automatic. We should accept these as natural, view them with indifference, and accept them without a struggle rather than try to suppress them. On the other hand, we should learn to suspend the voluntary thoughts we have in response to these initial feelings and the situation that triggered them. In the case of worrying, perhaps surprisingly, that’s usually just a matter of noticing we’re doing it and stopping. (210) 

Such a realistic attitude toward a person’s behavior, distinguishing between the essentially animal reaction that arises before we can marshal conscious consideration of the event, and how we then go on to thoughtfully deal with it provides the space for having some grace for ourselves and others in difficult situations. It reminds me a bit of a description of success in meditation I once heard: it’s not in never getting lost in thought – it’s in being able to quickly recognize that one’s lost in thought and coming back to the moment.

For me, having previously read Marcus’ Meditations, but otherwise not much about Stoicism and only a bit about CBT, How to Think Like a Roman Emperor provided an accessible introduction to both. One comes away with a history of Marcus’ life, including how he came to understand and translate Stoic philosophy into effective behaviors he could apply in the face of the many challenges he encountered. And, by tying the philosophical principles of Stoicism to the techniques of Cognitive-Behavior Therapy, Robertson provides readers with concrete ways to build such resilience into our own lives.


Other notes and information:

More quotes from this book, including descriptions of other Stoic techniques

As someone who enjoys learning about history, learning more from Robertson’s book about Marcus’ life and times was a pleasure in itself.

As part of <i>identifying a sage</i> for ourselves, Robertson proposes that:
Your first step is to write down the virtues exhibited by someone you respect.  Listing the qualities you most admire in another person, just as Marcus does in the first book of The Meditations, is a simple and power exercise.  


Have you read this book, others by this author, or even similar ones by other authors? I’d enjoy hearing your thoughts.
Other of my book reviews: FICTION Bookshelf and NON-FICTION Bookshelf

Thursday, November 20, 2025

Book Review: "The Lathe of Heaven" by Ursula K. Le Guin

The Lathe of Heaven (1971)
Ursula Le Guin (1929-2018)
184 pages

The problem with unintended consequences is not so much that the consequences were not intended, as that all too often they weren’t even imagined as possibilities, and so come as a complete shock. People tend to remain so focused on what they want to have happen – or, at least, expect to happen – that they don’t give proper attention to the full range of ways things could go wildly wrong.

Precisely such a failure of imagination lies at the heart of Ursula Le Guin’s wonderful novel The Lathe of Heaven.

As the story opens, George Orr has been found in the corridor of his apartment building desperately sick and nearly passing out. A medic arrives, who discovers that Orr has been taking a quantity and combination of medications beyond what the government allows. As a consequence, the authorities require him to submit to psychological treatment; eventually, he ends up in the office of a sleep treatment psychiatrist and researcher, Dr. William Haber.

During their first session, Haber learns that Orr has been taking medications in an attempt to avoid dreaming, as he has been tormented by what he calls effective dreams, which alter reality, with changes only he can notice. Repeatedly witnessing the often horrible consequences that quite naturally tend to result from the manic and uncontrolled nature of dreams – in particular the lives that suddenly disappear, not existing in the new reality his dreams have created – he has been desperate to suppress them.

Assuming Orr suffers from some sort of hallucinations due to lack of sleep, Haber proposes using a new machine he has been developing to monitor Orr’s sleep: he will hypnotize Orr, in order to suggest what he should dream and then put him to sleep, and he will then monitor his brain activity. Grasping at any hope for a cure, Orr submits to the treatment.

Already after the first such treatment, Haber comes to realize that his patient can indeed change the world with his dreams – it turns out that those with Orr when he has an effective dream can, like Orr himself, recognize that things have changed. Haber quickly recognizes the power Orr’s condition makes available, and he cannot resist the opportunity to use it to try and change the world.

Le Guin has set the story in the early 21st century, some three decades ahead when she wrote it. She imagines a bit of a dystopian future, with civilization reeling under the impacts of climate crises, overpopulation, pollution-induced epidemics and wars. Haber seeks to fix these problems through his guidance of Orr’s dreams. Of course, absolute power corrupting absolutely, he doesn’t forgo the opportunity to throw in a few perks for himself along the way.

While Orr realizes, and feels deeply, the lives impacted by his dreams, Haber, in the classic (and too often not inaccurate) stereotype of the idealist, only sees the possible benefits of his goals, convinced that it’s worth whatever cost. What he cannot overcome, however, and cannot ignore, is that his attempts to change the world by guiding the content of Orr’s effective dreams offer only a frustratingly inexact process. In a powerful metaphor for the many ways an idealist can fail to anticipate the eventual outcomes of their best laid plans, Orr’s dreams remain a hazy interpretation of Haber’s hypnotic suggestions, and so, while resulting in a version of what Haber seeks, they never turn out as he plans. Nevertheless, Haber remains undeterred; despite the often dramatic unintended consequences that accompany his desired outcomes, he cannot help but try again and again.

Though the challenge of making sensible use of a genie’s wishes is a common enough theme, Le Guin’s story reminds me most of W. W. Jacobs’ short story, The Monkey’s Paw. The eponymous item comes into a family’s possession with the understanding that it can grant three wishes. Already the first wish the family makes, while seemingly simple and straightforward, leads to dreadful tragedy; and when they try to use the subsequent wish to correct the outcome of the first, the results become only more horrible.

Le Guin traces a fine line in The Lathe of Heaven: as readers, our natural sympathies lie with Orr as he attempts to push back on Haber, even while trapped by his drug conviction into continuing treatment. But many a reader will also feel some connection to Haber – will sympathize with his desire to use this power that has fallen into his lap to make the world a better place. And the danger of that temptation and the recognition that we too might succumb to it in Haber’s place weigh heavy.


Other notes and information:

As a tangent, enjoy the incomparable Laurie Anderson’s musical take on the story The Monkey’s Paw, here.


Have you read this book, others by this author, or even similar ones by other authors? I’d enjoy hearing your thoughts.
Other of my book reviews: FICTION Bookshelf and NON-FICTION Bookshelf

Sunday, November 9, 2025

Book Review: "On Liberty" by John Stuart Mill

On Liberty (1859)
John Stuart Mill (1806-1879)
128 pages

In his essay On Liberty, John Stuart Mill argues for allowing people broad freedom of thought and action – as long as they do not thereby harm others. He begins by establishing the motivations for such a principle of individual liberty, describing the variety of benefits it provides to both personal and societal development. He then explores the political interests and social realities that too often end up limiting it – constraints that largely remain present today, almost two centuries later.

He opens by noting that “the struggle between Liberty and Authority [has been a] conspicuous feature in … history,” as peoples have sought “protection against the tyranny of the political rulers.” (5) Initially, this came in the form of limiting the span of dominion of absolute rulers; later came the implementation of representative governments ruling with the consent of the governed, generally through a periodic plebiscite. Mill concedes, however, that these changes have often simply resulted in a shift from the tyranny of a single ruler to a tyranny of the majority, enforced by “the will of [those] who succeed in making themselves accepted as the majority.”

While political control has the benefit, at least, of visible regulations and laws, Mill argues that there also developed a “social tyranny more formidable than many kinds of political oppression … penetrating much more deeply into the details of life, and enslaving the soul itself.” Together, these tyrannies – the political of laws and the social of customs – have continued to constrain human independence and so the ability to develop and flourish. (8-9)

A century later, Hannah Arendt made a similar observation on the rise of social constraints in her treatise The Human Condition (my review linked to at right), in which she traces the history of a momentous shift from the dominance of private life in antiquity to that of public life in more recent centuries. A consequence has been social limitation of the individual, in that

society expects from each of its members a certain kind of behavior, imposing innumerable and various rules, all of which tend to “normalize” its members, to make them behave, to exclude spontaneous action or outstanding achievement. … society equalizes under all circumstances, and the victory of equality in the modern world is only the political and legal recognition of the fact that society has conquered the public realm. (40, Arendt) 

It is precisely such imposed uniformity that Mill argues must be rejected, by allowing individuals broad latitude to act on their personal thoughts and opinions.

Noting that most would agree that limits should exist to the extent of political and social control over individuals, Mill explores the challenge of establishing a proper balance between control and human liberty. He proposes a fairly clear standard for defining this balance:

the sole end for which mankind are warranted, individually or collectively, in interfering with the liberty or action of any of their number, is self-protection … to prevent harm to others. (14) 

One should, he argues, be free to think and discuss and do what one wants, as long as it does not harm someone else. But the devil’s in the details, of course, no less today than when Mill wrote his essay: "how to make the fitting adjustment between individual independence and social control – is a subject on which nearly everything remains to be done." (9)


Before engaging on that point, however, Mill first lays out his arguments for the importance of permitting individual liberty. And he begins with what he acknowledges is the easier case – freedom of thought and speech.

Allowing these freedoms, he argues, enables discussions that foster a higher level of both personal and societal development. He explores in detail both the case of a particular individual’s contrarian (to established belief) opinion actually being true – in which case, by not allowing engagement with it a society loses the opportunity to correct its own error – and the case of an individual’s opinion being in fact erroneous – in which case, by not allowing engagement with it society misses out on the opportunity to maintain a clear understanding of the correctness of its current belief, simply leaving it as established dogma. As Mill notes:

it is owing to a quality of the human mind, the source of everything respectable in man either as an intellectual or as a moral being, namely, that his errors are corrigible. He is capable of rectifying his mistakes, by discussion and experience. Not by experience alone. There must be discussion, to show how experience is to be interpreted. (24-25)


As critical as it is to human development, however, Mill acknowledges that freedom of discussion does not always succeed in correcting false ideas. He highlights social constraints, in particular, as invidious and restrictive, and as too often hardened into dogma; he complains of his age that “people feel sure, not so much that their opinions are true, as that they should not know what to do without them.” (26-27) He particularly laments the social limitations on individuals that arise out of

the revival of religion [which] is always, in narrow and uncultivated minds, at least as much the revival of bigotry; and where there is the strong permanent leaven of intolerance in the feelings of people … it needs but little to provoke them into actively persecuting those whom they have never ceased to think proper objects of persecution. (36) 

Precisely such hardened beliefs, he finds, can fail to be changed by discussion.

I acknowledge that the tendency of all opinions to become sectarian is not cured by the freest discussion, but is often heightened and exacerbate thereby; the truth … being rejected all the more violently because proclaimed by persons regarded as opponents. (58) 

Nonetheless, he goes on to argue,

There is always hope when people are forced to listen to both sides; it is when they attend only to one that errors harden into prejudices, and truth itself ceases to have the effect of truth, by being exaggerated into falsehood. (58)


Having established the importance of freedom of thought and speech, Mill extends his reasoning to argue that “men should be free to act on their opinions … so long as it is at their own risk and peril.” (62) While allowing that freedom of action cannot be as broad as that of opinion, he nonetheless argues that overly limiting it stunts a person’s potential development; they become simple followers of established social doctrine.

I do not mean that they choose what is customary, in preference to what suits their own inclination. It does not occur to them to have any inclination, except for what is customary. (68)


When Mill describes the origins of the excessive limitations on individuals he finds imposed by society, a certain elitism enters into his account. He laments the loss of an earlier aristocracy able to largely ignore the opinion of the masses, and that had led at one time in Europe to “remarkable diversity of character and culture.” (80) In his time, he argues,

public opinion now rules the world. The only power deserving the name is that of the masses … that is to say, collective mediocrity. … [they] do not now take their opinions from dignitaries in Church or State, from ostensible leaders, or from books. Their thinking is done for them by men much like themselves. (73) 

 And he finds the force of public opinion

peculiarly calculated to make it intolerant of any marked demonstration of individuality, [and with] the general average of mankind … not only moderate in intellect, but also moderate in inclinations. (77)


Blaming this loss of individualism in Europe on the leveling impacts of expanding education, communication and commerce, Mill argues that

instead of [individuals with] great energies guided by vigorous reason, and strong feelings strongly controlled by a conscientious will, its result is weak feelings and weak energies, which therefore can be kept in outward conformity to rule without any strength or reason. (77) 

Some seven decades later, Spanish philosopher José Ortega y Gasset, in his essay The Revolt of the Masses (my review linked to at right), would take an even more strident view, declaring a preference for human development led by a select minority,

the man who demands more of himself than the rest,” as opposed to the masses “who demand nothing special of themselves, [and] for whom to live is to be every moment what they already are; … more buoys that float on the waves. (15, Ortega y Gasset)


Could one not argue, however, that the strong permanent … intolerance in the feelings of a people that leads them to attack those individuals who think and act outside social norms, can best hope to be addressed through expanded education, communication, and mobility, in the sense of exposing people to other norms? Not, certainly, that such opportunities always reduce intolerance, especially when social norms and constraints become enforced by the State through public education, as Mill describes later in his essay, in which he argues for the State requiring education of the young, yet against the State directing the content of such education. (117) But his implied solution of a return to aristocracy – in order to have people powerful enough to be in a position to actively explore their individuality in ways outside social norms, hardly feels comforting – especially as aristocracy tends to lead to domineering behavior that constrains individual liberty for the majority.

Though Mill repeatedly returns to his concern about religious dogmatism as the origin of much of societal intolerance to individual liberty, he does briefly identify a completely different source of the drive to conformity: the economic system. He notes that

There is now scarcely any outlet for energy … except business. The energy expended in this may … be … considerable. What little is left from that employment, is expended on some hobby; which may be a useful, even a philanthropic hobby, but is always some one thing, and generally a thing of small dimensions. (78) 

Just half a century later, Max Weber would write a powerful treatise on the origins of the dominance of the capitalist economic system over people’s lives. In The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism (my review linked to at right), he observes that 

The capitalist economy of the present day is an immense cosmos into which the individual is born, and which presents itself to him … as an unalterable order of things in which he must live [and that] forces the individual to conform to capitalist rules of action. (54, Weber) 

The ascent of economic power in society, then, completes the leveling of societies. While some distinctions may remain between peoples of different countries, as businesses have become global concerns, they have driven increasing commonality, in the name of optimizing efficiency. And, as Mill and Weber observe, this has further reduced the scope within which individuals can express themselves.


Shifting to address the question of the proper limits of individual liberty, Mill explores where the line may properly be drawn for deciding that an individual’s actions cause harm to another and so are to be constrained. He does this by considering a variety of cases, and while the conclusions he comes to for deciding these cases generally seem clear in intent, the reality of extrapolating them more broadly leads to distinctions more hazy and gray than clear and defined.

Thus, for example, he takes the case that

though doing no wrong to any one, a person may so act as to compel us to judge him, and feel to him, as a fool, or as a being of an inferior order. … a person may suffer very severe penalties at the hands of others, for faults which directly concern only himself; but he suffers these penalties only in so far as they are the natural, and … spontaneous consequences of the faults themselves, not because they are purposely inflicted on him for the sake of punishment. (85-6) 

Although Mill rules out punishment – by which, one presumes, he refers to violence, fines, imprisonment – he describes a variety of natural, spontaneous consequences of reaction that could arise in response to a person’s behavior that one disagrees with.

These essentially come to it being acceptable to ostracize someone for their perceived “deficiencies.” (85) Mill has in mind here

a person who shows rashness, obstinance, self-conceit – who cannot live within moderate means – who cannot restrain himself from hurtful indulgences – who pursues animal pleasures at the expense of those of feeling and intellect, (86) 

but these are indeed the obvious, easy cases. Though he elsewhere makes clear that he finds the society of his time – particularly the middle class – all too ready to condemn those who don’t follow their religious strictures, his elaboration here leaves a huge breach through which religionists can claim their right to punish a non-believer. For how easy it can come to find a non-believer as reflecting obstinacy, self-conceit, or to fail to restrain himself from hurtful indulgences. Mill’s argument very much seems to become one of, I’ll know it when I see it, in terms of identifying whether limitations placed on an individual for their behavior pass muster.

Setting aside such cases of people speaking and acting outside social norms, perhaps more challenging examples involve individuals acting in a way that affects others financially or physically, which Mill touches on only fleetingly. A simple, present-day example is someone who enjoys skiing (or some other sport); the risk of injury is real, and insurance companies spread that risk across their subscribers in the form of higher costs. One could imagine insurance costs dropping for everyone, if no one was allowed to participate in high-risk sports. But where would one draw the line for what is allowed?

A conceptually similar, but even more complex example involves addressing the climate change crisis. To what extent should a government be able to limit activities that contribute to worsening the crisis? Clearly, any one person’s activities will have an insignificant impact; millions, however, doing those same things certainly worsen the situation, and so invite regulatory constraints.

Mill seems to accept limitations as permissible in such situations, noting that if someone

has infringed the rule necessary for the protection of his fellow creatures, individually or collectively [the] evil consequences of his acts do not then fall on himself, but on others; and society, as the protector of all its members, must retaliate on him; must inflict pain on him for the express purpose of punishment, and must take care that it be sufficiently severe. (88) 

And, later,

For such actions as are prejudicial to the interests of others, the individual is accountable, and may be subjected either to social or to legal punishment, if society is of opinion that one or the other is requisite for is protection. (104) 

The reality, however, is that allowing such limitation on individual behavior still leaves the question of where to the draw the line. One approach could be that such constraints can only be, or at least can best be, defined through the democratic process – but both Mill’s own disparaging view of the overwhelming force of public opinion in politics and our own experiences in the present day don’t offer much confidence for relying on such a decision-making process.

Ultimately, however, Mill makes a powerful and persuasive case in On Liberty for the importance of individual liberty, for the benefit of both the individual themselves and society as a whole, whatever the challenges of determining what amount of political and social constraint makes sense. Instead of fearing opinions and actions of those who transgress established opinion (again, while not harming others in the process), we should celebrate their courage and service to society:

If there are any persons who contest a received opinion, or who will do so if law or opinion will let them, let us thank them for it, open our minds to listen to them, and rejoice that there is some one to do for us what we otherwise ought, if we have any regard for either the certainty or the vitality of our convictions, to do with much greater labour for ourselves. (51)


Other notes and information:

More quotes from this book

This edition contains three other essays (Utilitarianism, Considerations on Representative Government, and The Subjection of Women) which I haven’t read yet.


Have you read this book, others by this author, or even similar ones by other authors? I’d enjoy hearing your thoughts.
Other of my book reviews: FICTION Bookshelf and NON-FICTION Bookshelf

Monday, October 13, 2025

Book Review: "It's OK to Be Angry About Capitalism" by Bernie Sanders

It’s OK to Be Angry About Capitalism (2023)
Bernie Sanders (1941)
with John Nichols
305 pages

I’ve heard so many declarations over the years – both publicly and privately – about Senator Bernie Sanders’ apparently extreme positions. Even among those whose opinions I tend to have confidence in, their negative comments often seem difficult to square with what I’ve heard from Sanders himself, for example in the presidential debates some years ago. So, when I by chance came across his book It’s OK to Be Angry About Capitalism (shout out to The Regulator Bookshop in Durham, NC), I decided it was time to explore where the truth lies.

Dive into the text, co-written by John Nichols, a journalist for The Nation, and it quickly becomes clear that the attacks on Sanders in too much of the media – and parroted by those in the public inflamed by such reporting – tend to be hyperbolic exaggerations, if not outright mischaracterizations of his positions and proposed policies. The media criticisms of him seem driven not by facts, but rather by a fear that Americans hearing his actual proposals might begin to question what has been a carefully inculcated, dogmatic belief in unfettered capitalism and free market fundamentalism.

This deliberate indoctrination of the American mind creates a challenging deterrent to any nuanced conversation around Sanders’ proposals; historians Naomi Oreskes and Erik M. Conway provide a comprehensive and engaging exploration of its origins and development in The Big Myth: How American Business Taught Us to Loathe Government and Love the Free market (my review linked to at right), in which they argue that:

By promoting a false dichotomy between laissez-faire capitalism and communist regimentation, market fundamentalists [have made] it difficult for Americans to have conversations about crucial issues, such as appropriate levels of taxation or the balance between federal and state authority, or even how to appraise the size of the federal government objectively. (118, Oreskes and Conway) 

As Oreskes and Conway conclude, anything that violates the free market fundamentalist ideology becomes characterized as a threat to our country.

Take, for example, Sanders’ comment “I don’t think that billionaires should exist,” (96) which some in the media have trumpeted as proof he’s anti-capitalist. In fact, as he notes regarding his proposals just a few pages later: “This isn’t about creating a rigid system that discourages creativity and innovation. There’s nothing wrong with a business or an entrepreneur making a profit.” (100) His actual concern lies with the corrosive effects of the extreme wealth inequality now experienced in the US.

In particular, Sanders argues that “the rich [have been] consolidating their influence over American Government and political life,” (102) controlling not only the economy but also the political system, and then using that control to change the rules in ways that allow them to further increase their wealth and so power. And Sanders’ position on this is hardly extreme: Financial Times journalist Martin Wolf has described, in his trenchant book The Crisis of Democratic Capitalism (my review linked to at right), the critical role that democracy and capitalism play in each other’s success, arguing that if independence between them is not maintained, the
delicate balance between politics and market can be destroyed, [through either] state control over the economy [or] capitalist control over the state. (29, Wolf) 
Wolf goes on to point out that rising inequality in recent decades has fueled populism in high-income democracies, including the US, which autocrats are exploiting to dismantle democratic institutions, and so tip democratic capitalism over into authoritarian capitalism. In essence, then, the same concerns Sanders expresses.

The inequality Sanders describes, as well as the reduction in social support that has accompanied it and the adjustments in taxation that could address it, have been well-documented, perhaps most thoroughly by economist Thomas Piketty in his comprehensive study Capital in the Twenty-First Century (my review linked to at right).  And even a recent Fox News poll has shown that 73% of American voters “favor the government increasing taxes on the wealthy [to] strengthen the country’s social programs.”  Certainly, even if one disagrees with Sanders, it’s clear that his concerns about the social and political impacts of increasing inequality and his proposals for dealing with them through increased taxation on the wealthy lie well within the mainstream of democratic capitalism.

While major media outlets in the US can simply avoid engaging deeply with journalists and economists who propose such policies, when a politician does so, the hyperbole machine cranks up to protect the status quo for the wealthy. And, as Sanders points out elsewhere in the book, increasing media consolidation into the hands of a handful of wealthy businessmen in the US has given them ever more control over that narrative. Nonetheless, he emphasizes that his

point is not to demonize oligarchs. … They tend to work hard and take risks; they’re often innovative. … Inequality isn’t about individuals; this is a systemic crisis. (105) 

His solutions are intended not as penalties against individuals, but rather as correctives to a system that has become increasingly out of balance.

Sanders makes a similar case for the need to fix our health care system, noting that “in America, we spend almost twice as much per capita on health care as the people of any other country,” and yet our health care system in the US “rank[s] close to the bottom of major industrialized nations in outcomes.” He goes on to detail the variety of crises facing health care in the US, including “85 million Americans … underinsured or uninsured.” (124-126)

Sanders points out, however, that “the current American health care system is working exactly the way it was designed to operate – for the people who own it.” (123) This quite obvious, yet pointed conclusion parallels a similar observation by biologist and science writer Colin Tudge in his excellent book The Time Before History: 5 Million Years of Human Impact, in which he notes that “the agricultural systems of the [modern] world are not actually designed to feed people.” For both our agricultural and our health care systems, the focus is on profit; in any trade-off between increasing profits and improving health outcomes, it’s clear how our economic system requires the decision to fall.

Generally, when the issues with the US health care system have been reported, they often seem to be treated as an unavoidable reality, instead of a pressing issue that needs resolved. Sanders, however, makes a straightforward proposal: build on what already works, by expanding Medicare over a five year period to cover the entire US population. He notes that, beyond giving everyone health coverage, it would benefit businesses by ending their need to provide employee health care coverage, it would remove the for-profit system that currently perverts health care outcomes, and it would mean that the under- and uninsured would no longer be left with only a last-resort, extremely expensive (for taxpayers) visit to the emergency room to address what could have been dealt with earlier at much less cost. He cites a Congressional Budget Office report as concluding that, depending on the approach, “a single-payer program would save the American people between $42 billion and $743 billion every year.” (151)

Here, again, the media and political pushback to his health care proposals, and similar ones from Elizabeth Warren, has less to do with the facts of the issue than with the deep pockets the health care industry has – due to the profits they make off the existing system – to propagate stories creating irrational fears over any change that threatens those profits. The result only reinforces Sanders’ concern about how wealth translates into the ability to craft public and political opinion in a way that increases that wealth, to the detriment of democracy.

Sanders notes that his proposals for dealing with both the social and political impacts of inequality and the health impacts of the for-profit health system are neither radical nor untested – variations of them have been in place and effective in many other major industrialized countries for decades. The US itself had significantly higher top end marginal tax rates in the middle of the 20th century, including during the economically strong 1950’s; and the majority of industrialized countries have universal health care coverage.

Similarly, practical solutions have been implemented globally (including in the past in the US) for other issues he addresses in his book, such as the high cost of education and dramatically increasing media consolidation. In each case, the facts of the situation are beyond dispute, while Sanders’ proposed policy solutions, even if one has disagreements with them, are hardly radical, untested or extreme.

Along with policy prescriptions to address particular issues, Sanders also describes the more systemic challenges we face, in an economy based on free market fundamentalism. He argues that

Our struggle is to end a system that evaluates “worth” as a measure of market profitability, a system in which we are asked to believe – based on salaries paid – that the star athlete who helps a billionaire team owner increase his bottom line is “worth” more than a thousand teachers who help children escape poverty. (106) 

Philosopher Michael J. Sandel makes this same argument in his excellent book The Tyranny of Merit (my review linked to at right), in which he notes that our idolization of merit has led to a false belief among the successful that what they have achieved is only due to their own actions – that they have merited their success – and an equally damaging and false sense among those who have not succeeded that it is due to their own failings. Sandel describes how

In market-driven societies, interpreting material success as a sign of moral desert is a persisting temptation. It is a temptation we need repeatedly to resist. One way of doing so is to debate and enact measures that prompt us to reflect, deliberately and democratically, on what counts as truly valuable contributions to the common good and where market verdicts miss the mark. (213, Sandel) 

By re-orienting our understanding of where value lies, we can begin to adapt our economic system in ways that address the negative impacts of ballooning wealth inequality.

Beyond Sanders’ examination of the current social, economic and political situation in the US and his proposals for addressing his concerns, an appealing moment in the book for me was his nuanced characterization of the significant number of those who voted for Trump. Because so many Democrats don’t seem to get it, I’ll take the liberty of an extended quote here, from early in his book: 

[Trump] did especially well in white, rural, economically depressed parts of the country. Why? Why did working-class people, many of them struggling economically, vote for Trump? Why was he able to hold rallies in the middle nowhere that drew tens of thousands of enthusiastic followers?

I know some pundits and politicians respond to those questions by suggesting that all of Trump’s supporters are racists, sexists, and homophobes; that they really are “deplorable” and there is nothing to be done. Sorry, I don’t agree. And I should know. I have been to almost every state in this country and, unlike corporate pundits, have actually talked with Trump supporters. Are some of them racists and sexist who vote for bigotry? Absolutely. But many are not.

I think the more accurate answer as to why Trump has won working-class support lies in the pain, desperation, and political alienation that millions of working-class Americans now experience and the degree to which the Democratic Party has abandoned them for wealthy campaign contributors and the “beautiful people.”

These are Americans who, while the rich get much richer, have seen their real wages stagnate and their good union jobs go to China and Mexico. They can’t afford health care, they can’t afford childcare, they can’t afford to send their kids to college and are scared to death about a retirement with inadequate income. Because of what doctor’s call “diseases of despair,” their communities are even seeing a decline in life expectancy.

Many of these voters have spent their lives playing by the rules. They worked hard, very hard, and did heir best for their kids and their communities. During the worst of the pandemic, they didn’t have the luxury of sitting behind a computer at home doing “virtual” work. They were putting their lives on the line at jobs in hospitals, factories, warehouses, public transportation, meatpacking plants, and grocery stores. They kept the economy going, and many thousands of them died as a result.

Many of these so-called racist Americans voted for Barack Obama, our first Black president, and for “hope” and “change” and “Yes We Can.” And they voted to reelect him. But their lives did not get better.

After almost fifty years of stagnation, Democrats were in charge – but we did not raise wages for workers. After a massive amount of illegal corporate anti-union activity, we did not make it easier for workers to join unions. We did not improve job security. We didn not address corporate greed for the massive levels fo income and wealth inequality. We did not provide health care fo all or lower the cost of prescription drugs. We did not make childcare and higher education affordable. We did not address homelessness or the high cost of housing. We did not make it easier for working people to retire with security and dignity. We did not reform a corrupt campaign finance system.

Today, tens of millions of Americans feel deep anger toward the political, economic, and media establishment. They look at Washington and corporate media and see rejection and contempt. They see not only a government that is ignoring their needs but politicians busy attending fundraising events with the rich, who have no clue as to what the lives of the great majority of Americans are about.

The absurdity of the current-day situation is that Trump – a phony, a pillar of the establishment, a billionaire, and an anti-worker businessman – has been able to fill that political vacuum and tap into that anger. (8-10) 

If the extent of this anger remains unrecognized and so unaddressed by Democrats, it does not bode will for their success in upcoming election cycles.

It’s disappointing that those who disagree with the kinds of policy proposals Sanders makes in It’s OK to Be Angry About Capitalism too often resort to hyperbole and mischaracterizations about them, as opposed to debating them on the merits. One can interpret this, however, as a sign of the weakness of their counterarguments. By fearmongering about his proposals, his opponents don’t have to acknowledge that most if not all of them have been successfully implemented elsewhere, nor must they present coherent arguments for why these same prescriptions couldn’t benefit the American people also. Unfortunate, finally, that he was denied the opportunity to make his case as the Democratic candidate for president in the 2016 election.


Other notes and information:

This video of Sanders at a rally presents a condensed version of his concerns, his proposals, and their success elsewhere.


Have you read this book, others by this author, or even similar ones by other authors? I’d enjoy hearing your thoughts.
Other of my book reviews: FICTION Bookshelf and NON-FICTION Bookshelf

Thursday, September 25, 2025

Book Review: "Tomás Nevinson" by Javier Marías

Tomás Nevinson (2023)
Javier Marías (1951-2022)
Translated from Spanish by Margaret Jull Costa
643 pages

In his final novel, Tomás Nevinson, the late Spanish author Javier Marías explores questions of identity and morality, including the profound connections between them and the ways in which they guide our decisions and actions.

He writes in the book’s Acknowledgements that the story represents “not so much a continuation as a ‘companion piece’” to his 2017 novel Berta Isla (my review linked to at right), in which the eponymous title character struggles to deal with the repeated disappearances for long periods of time of her husband, Tomás – only slowly coming to realize that he works as a spy. When he finally retires, she cannot bring herself to allow him back into the family, to rebuild the connections that have been broken.

The new novel opens some years later, at which point Tomás, now the protagonist, has settled back full-time into the embassy position in Madrid that had been his cover when active as a spy. Living just a short distance from his family, his relationship with them remains tenuous at best, and he has settled into an unassuming routine, one far more prosaic than his previous adventures.

When his former handler, Tupra, asks to meet him, Tomás warily agrees. His hesitation proves warranted, as Tupra asks him for a favor: take on one more job using his talents as a spy. The assignment involves going undercover to identify from among three women living in a small city in northwest Spain the one who had been involved in bombings a decade earlier and has since gone into hiding under an assumed identity. Though he half-heartedly resists agreeing to Tupra’s request, the pull to reenter his old career becomes difficult to ignore in the face of the mix of boredom and melancholy he has felt since leaving behind his former work.

Once he accepts the assignment, however, he faces an unexpected twist: if he can’t find sufficient evidence to incontestably convict the woman he identifies as the terrorist, he will have to kill her to make sure she does not go on to potentially commit another such act. While accepting in principle that secret service work can involve such extra-judicial killings – he himself had killed two people during his earlier career – he has never killed a woman and struggles with the idea of doing so now. As the mission proceeds, with his handler ramping up pressure on him to identify the terrorist and eliminate her, will Tomás bring himself to carry through on the actions to which he’s committed himself?

As has been the case throughout Marías’s many novels, however, the plotline here acts as a simple scaffolding upon which he layers ruminations about myriad aspects of the human condition. The action, such as it is, proceeds slowly, any particular event interspersed with Tomás’ introspection about his life and the lives of those around him. And, as always in his novels, it’s hard not to take these internal monologues as Marías using his protagonist as a conduit for his own thoughts.

I recently read a description of Marías’s writing as prolix. Although I understood the gist of the meaning from context, I looked up the word, which Merriam-Webster defines as “unduly prolonged or drawn out: too long” and “marked by or using an excess of words.” It’s not hard to see why those put off by Marías’ writing might characterize it this way. In any given scene, even in his short stories, the action and dialogue are accompanied by long stretches of the protagonist’s or narrator’s thoughts – which can be driven by that action or dialogue, but can just as likely be stream of conscious digressions triggered by events often tangential to the plot.

So it is in the present novel as, after a couple of dozen opening pages that set the moral stage for the novel’s climax, the meeting of Tomás and his handler that kicks off the action lasts nearly a hundred pages. Their exchanges are interspersed with long stretches of Tomás’ thoughts of his past life with Tupra as his handler and contemplations about his current situation as a retired spy unable to fully reconnect with his family – and, throughout, running commentary on the anonymous public around them.

Even for me, having read a fair number of Marías’s works and come to enjoy his style and his observations, this latest – last – novel took things to a challenging extreme. During the conversation referred to above, for example, I gradually came to feel that it was never going to end. And then, deeper into the novel, the climax that had already been set-up in the opening pages seemed a long time coming, only finally occurring at nearly the end of the story. Unlike every other of Marías’s novels I’ve read, in which I’ve generally found myself hoping they wouldn’t end, I have to admit that I found myself grinding it out a bit to finish this one.

When I combine that with what seemed to be bits of repeated text (or, at least, I had this feeling at various points – I didn’t go back to try and check, I admit, but I tend to have an overdeveloped antenna for such things), it opens the possibility that perhaps Marías didn’t have a chance to polish this work, which came right at the end of his life. (As the Stefan Zweig wrote in The World of Yesterday, “in my work as a writer, the most useful for me is actually the act of leaving things out.”)

But all that aside, I lament the loss of this great writer, and I certainly look forward to going back and finally reading those of his books that I haven’t gotten to yet.


Other notes and information:


Have you read this book, others by this author, or even similar ones by other authors? I’d enjoy hearing your thoughts.
Other of my book reviews: FICTION Bookshelf and NON-FICTION Bookshelf

Saturday, August 23, 2025

Book Review: "Frankenstein" by Mary Shelley

Frankenstein (1818)
Mary Shelley (1797-1851)
326 pages

Many years ago, I watched the 1931 movie of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. At some point later, I heard that the novel differed significantly from that version, which left me curious; only now, however, have I finally gotten around to reading it. Not surprisingly, I suppose, given its fame, the story is much more engaging and intriguing than I had expected from what I had seen.

While I (vaguely) recall the movie featuring a monster – Frankenstein’ monster – chased by mobs of fearful and angry townspeople, the novel presents a much more intimate struggle of deadly sparring between Dr. Frankenstein and the being (as Shelley refers to him) he has created. Shelley’s full title – Frankenstein; or the Modern Prometheus – points toward her main theme here: a scientist, Victor Frankenstein, who becomes so fixated on his quest of “bestowing animation upon lifeless matter” (64) that only after he succeeds in his work do its implications finally, too late, become clear to him.

The story opens with a series of letters another scientist, Robert Walton, writes to his sister, seeking to alleviate her concern for his safety as he pursues his dream of discovery. Walton describes his desire to sail north from Europe to the still unknown North Pole, where he believes the long days have created a land in which

snow and frost are banished; and, sailing over a calm sea, we may be wafted to a land surpassing in wonders and in beauty every region hitherto discovered on the habitable globe. Its productions and features may be without example, as the phenomena of the heavenly bodies undoubtedly are in those undiscovered solitudes. What may not be expected in a country of eternal light? … I shall satiate my ardent curiosity with the sight of a part of the world never before visited, and may tread a land never before imprinted by the foot of man. (8) 

Given that most readers will come to the novel familiar with its broad outlines, it’s hard not to see in these opening letters from Walton the dangerous hubris of Frankenstein – well ahead of the point in the story at which Shelley makes it evident.

As Walton’s ship flounders in increasingly thick ice and his crew begin begging him to turn around, they spot “a being which had the shape of a man, but apparently of gigantic stature, [who] sat in [a] sledge and guided the dogs, [and] we watched … until he was lost among the distant inequalities of ice.” (22) Shortly after, a second sled comes along, driven by a traveler struggling with the cold who introduces himself as Victor Frankenstein. The balance of the novel consists of Frankenstein – having recognized in Walton a fellow soul in the dogged pursuit of a seemingly impossible dream – telling his tale, the heartrending, cautionary story of his own obsession.

Frankenstein relates the events that led to his creation of the being, lamenting the passions that overtook him and that prevented him from considering the potential ramifications of achieving his goal. Then, telling of his revulsion at the appearance of what he had created, he goes on to describe the increasingly bitter conflict between them that results and the traumas he has experienced.

As Prometheus suffers for having provided fire to humankind by being chained to a rock and having an eagle arrive each day to eat his immortal liver, Frankenstein’s story reveals how he has been chained, figuratively if no less irrevocably, to the being he created. Yet, Shelley does not settle for a simple story of good versus evil. Frankenstein feels he’s brought forth a monster, but at the same time comes to recognize the humanity underneath the exterior that he finds so revolting, and his own responsibility for the suffering his creation faces.

The being himself in fact reveals, toward the end of the story, sentiments not so distant from those of so many who have travelled to foreign places and been met as the other

'Once my fancy was soothed with dreams of virtue, of fame, and of enjoyment. Once I falsely hoped to meet with beings who, pardoning my outward form, would love me for the excellent qualities which I was capable of unfolding. I was nourished with high thoughts of honor and devotion …

I desired love and fellowship, and I was still spurned. Was there no injustice in this? Am I to be thought the only criminal, when all humankind sinned against me?' (320-1) 

Far from the movie’s presentation of a lumbering, unwitting brute scarcely aware of its own strength, readers encounter in Frankenstein’s creation someone self-educated and full of feeling, but also profoundly traumatized by the repeatedly hostile reactions of everyone he encounters.

Ultimately, however, Shelley’s novel revolves around its title character and the seemingly bottomless depths of his passion for discovering the unknown. Frankenstein spends long days describing to his newfound companion Walton the “great and unparalleled misfortunes” (29) he has suffered from the moment he completed his creation, including the family and friends who have died because of him, because of his actions. And, hearing Walton’s own plans, he repeatedly implores him to not make the same mistake he has: “Unhappy man! Do you share my madness? Have you drunk also of the intoxicating draught/ Hear me – let me reveal my tale, and you will dash the cup from your lips!” (27)

And yet, toward the end of the story, Shelley makes evident the full extent of the obsession that drove Frankenstein to create the being. Despite all he has experienced and suffered, despite lamenting his own audacity, and despite all his repeated cautions to Walton, when the ship’s crew again agitates for turning back, seemingly on the point of mutiny, Frankenstein browbeats them, saying 

'What do you mean? What do you demand of your captain? Are you, then, so easily turned from your design? Did you not call this a glorious expedition? And wherefore was it glorious? Not because the way was smooth and placid as a southern sea, but because it was full of dangers and terror; because, at every new incident, your fortitude was to be called forth, and your courage exhibited; because danger and death surround it, and these you were to brave and overcome. For this was it a glorious, for this was it an honourable undertaking. You were hereafter to be hailed as the benefactors of your species; your names adored, as belonging to brave men who encountered death for honor and the benefit of mankind. And now, behold, with the first imagination of danger, or, if you will, the first mighty and terrific trial of your courage, you shrink away, and content to be handed down as men who had not strength enough to endure cold and peril; and so, poor souls, they were chilly and returned to their warm firesides. Why, that requires not this preparation; ye need not have come thus far, and dragged your captain to the shame of a defeat, merely to prove yourselves cowards. Oh! Be men, or be more than men. Be steady to your purposes and firm as a rock. This ice is not made of such stuff as our hearts may be; it is mutable and cannot withstand you, if you say that it shall not. Do not return to your families with the stigma of disgrace marked on your brows. Return as heroes who have fought and conquered, and who know not what it is to turn their backs on the foe.' (311-2)

There lies a thin line between the passion needed to achieve new discoveries and understandings, and what Shelley lays bare in Frankenstein: the blindness of obsession and the destructive consequences that can result. If you’ve only ever seen that old black and white movie version of her novel, please do crack open the book.


Other notes and information:

Thomas Piketty, in his amazing work Capital in the 21st Century, describes how, in order to compensate for the lack of hard economic data from earlier centuries, he uses literature of different periods to interpret how people lived and worked, and what they could afford. 
 
The description Frankenstein’s being gives of the many months he secretly observed the lives of a family in a cottage in the woods with their garden and their daily routines gives just such a glimpse into life in Europe around 1800, on the eve of the industrial revolution.
It validates the description Jean-Marc Jancovici and Christophe Blaine give in their excellent World Without End: An Illustrated Guide to the Climate Crisis, of the dramatically different – really, unrecognizably different – lives people led before the abundance introduced by the significant energies from fossil fuels changed, and continues to change, our world. (My reviews of both books linked to at right.) 



 

Have you read this book, others by this author, or even similar ones by other authors? I’d enjoy hearing your thoughts.
Other of my book reviews: FICTION Bookshelf and NON-FICTION Bookshelf

Friday, August 8, 2025

Book Review: "El abismo del olvido" ("The Abyss of Oblivion") by Paco Roca and Rodrigo Terrasa

El abismo del olvido (The Abyss of Oblivion) (2023)
Paco Roca (1969)
Rodrigo Terrasa (1978)
295 pages


Along with grisly pitched battles and destructive city-sieges, the Spanish Civil War (July 1936 – April 1939) also included wide-spread violence far from the frontlines. Although the two sides – supporters of the elected Republican government and of the rebel nationalist military junta that rose up against it – quickly established control over particular regions of the country, many cities, towns and villages behind the lines experienced what often became a kind of vigilante violence. This included killings not only to eliminate partisans of the side not in power in that area, but also, under the cover of the general political and social disruption, to settle old scores.

During the war, both sides perpetrated such violence. But, after the war, the fascist dictatorship continued summary executions of those accused of clandestinely supporting the Republic, and some townspeople took advantage of the opportunity to incriminate and have executed those who had sided with the Republic during the war and against whom they harbored a grudge.

Estimates of the numbers killed during and after the war remain the subject of significant scholarly disagreement. Many people disappeared, with some executed while others fled for their lives. Those killed had their bodies unceremoniously dumped into common graves – the records of their death often deliberately destroyed in an attempt to hide the extent of these transgressions.

Post-dictatorship Spain has experienced a long running debate about how to deal with these mass graves – fosa in Spanish; things came to a head with the passage in 2007, by the then ruling left-wing party, of the The Law of Historical Memory, authorizing government funds for families who sought to exhume the remains of family members. Although families of the victims welcomed the opportunity to get closure through a proper identification and burial of their loved ones’ remains, many on the right decried the law as unnecessarily opening old wounds.

Although the topic has remained a political football, with right-wing governments in Spain eliminating funding and left-wing government’s reinstating it, some graves have been exhumed. In the graphic novel The Abyss of Oblivion (El abismo del olvido ) Spanish cartoonist Paco Roca and journalist Rodrigo Terrasa tell the story of the exhumation of one such mass grave, fosa 126 in the town cemetery of Paterna, in Valencia, as a way of illustrating the past horrors and present-day opportunities for dignity and reckoning such exhumations represent for Spanish families who had a loved one executed.

By using the graphic novel format, the pair transform what could have been a dry chronicle of history into a powerful, visual story, one that brings to life people who so long ago disappeared into the anonymity of a mass grave. It reveals, too, their relatives’ long years of suffering, as well as their tireless efforts to bring closure to their decades of trauma.

The story opens with the execution of 15 men in September 1940, more than a year after the end of the Spanish Civil War, and their burial in fosa 126, one of 180 such mass graves in the cemetery in Paterna alone. The scene then shifts to some sixty years later, as archeologists begin their exhumation of the grave; as one archaeologist notes, they approach their work with dual goals:

'The first is to recover and identify the bodies for those family members who want to obtain them…. The second function of the excavation [is to] document it as the archeologists we are, with engagement and scientific rigor … as if this was a crime scene.'

‘Which it is,’ [points out a colleague]. (40)


 Shifting smoothly between past and present, Roca and Tarrasa explore the histories of several of the men in the grave site, and in parallel the lives of their descendants. They build their narrative around one family in particular – exploring the life of one of the men executed and his daughter’s long struggle to get permission to have the fosa in which he is thought to have been buried exhumed. She seeks to have her father’s remains recovered and identified, so she can bury them next to her mother.

And, like the dual goals of the archeologists, the story Roca and Tarrasa illustrate serves two purposes. On the one hand, they tell a powerful history of the evils of the fascist regime as it continued to seek out and persecute anyone thought to be an enemy, as well as the depravity of those among its flunkies who leveraged their positions to have those they disliked arrested and executed. The story pointedly demonstrates the pervasive environment of fear created – which was, of course, the regime’s intent.

By tying the narrative to particular families, however, the pair manage to rescue at least some few of the vast number of the executed, and their families, from the abyss of oblivion that had engulfed them. By telling their history, both in the text but also through illustrations of their home life and the events they experienced, the story gives voice to the lives they lived. And it reveals how much the victims and their families lost, from the moment of arrest up to execution, and through the long decades that followed. It also explores the courage of those who quietly found ways to undermine the regime’s attempts to cow people into submission as well as the enduring strength of the families who for so many years kept the memory of their loved ones alive.

The events of the civil war now lie more than eight decades in the past, and the subsequent dictatorship fell over half a century ago; the why and the what and the how have been extensively covered in numerous tomes of history, perhaps none more famous than Hugh Thomas’ The Spanish Civil War (my review linked to at right). While historians continue to debate many of the details, one of the enduring legacies of the war has been the disagreement between those who want to leave the history buried and those who feel it is important – for themselves and for the country – to remember. In that sense, unlike histories of the war and the dictatorship, this graphic novel provides a window into a tension that continues to exist in Spain, especially in rural communities, where people often have intimate knowledge of who did what.

While at times heartrending, Roca and Tarrasa also tell a story of hope and strength. Of how so many people caught in the violence and destruction of autocracies and dictatorships managed to persevere. And of how, to adapt a quote attributed to Martin Luther King, the arc of the moral universe though long, does indeed sometimes bend toward closure, if not necessarily justice.


Other notes and information:

As an epilogue, a short prose essay, with a sprinkling of photographs, details the facts of the case of the main characters in the story.


Have you read this book, others by this author, or even similar ones by other authors? I’d enjoy hearing your thoughts.
Other of my book reviews: FICTION Bookshelf and NON-FICTION Bookshelf