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When I was born, Robert G. Mehlman was at the peak of his glory. He was more than a major talent. But within five years there wasn’t much of that glory left, and my mother sometimes compared him to a…
He never mentions it by name. It might have been Trebibor or Majdawitz, Soblinka or Birkenhausen. He talks about “the camp,” as if there had been just one.
“After the war,” he says, “I saw a film…
Emmanuel Hollander worked at, and believed in progress, but progress was not a religious notion for him, as it was for his future wife. He was an engineer and knew that every machine began as a…
Rosie thought about father—a repressed anxiety that never disappeared altogether and lingered as a dark shadow behind a light and joyful life, like the pale backdrop to a colorful stage—but she did…