ROBERT TOWNSEND

Robert E Townsend comes from a long line––father, grandfathers and great-grandfathers––of soldiers, American and pre-American. Slavic on his mother’s, deep-south redneck on the father's side, his parents managed money poorly and told stories well. Spare, pithy, lasting the duration of a Pall Mall cigarette, the tales were to entertain while teaching. No one is completely useless, he was told. He can always serve as a bad example. He learned that storytellers are treasured, liars are vexing and both are often one and the same. However, when the skilled liar is armed, crazed and planning Armageddon, ambiguity in matters of war and peace and life and death have vexed the earth.

His stories and novels arise from family history, fables and stories told around the kitchen table as well as his own experiences in America’s late 20th century ambiguous wars, deceptions and counter-deceptions. Fluent in Russian and German with a growing vocabulary in French, Townsend is a graduate of the University of Wisconsin (BA), studied at Freies Universitat Berlin (Certifikat), and received his MA from Georgetown University (Russian Area Studies).

Soldiers inside a bunker during wartime, wearing numbered uniforms.

Memories from the time of Stalin

I am reading interviews about Soviet repression that the Russia Memorial (with assistance from Orlando Figes) gathered.Memorial, controversial in Russia (Vladimir Putin suppressed Memorial, but its archives are preserved outside the...
Numerous pink flamingo lawn ornaments scattered on green grass near a building.

History 419, 42 years later

September 7, 2010 A clap of thunder ricochets down Park Street in the space between the Mosse Humanities Building and Chadbourne Hall. Winds off Lake Mendota drive sheets of cold...
A man in a coat stands near bodies on a wet city street during wartime.

for whom I write

Siege of Leningrad In the winter of 2008-2009, Patrice and I taught English in Moscow to young Russian business people between the ages 25-40. English is the world language of...
A serene field with autumn-colored trees under a clear blue sky.

On the Edge of Things

To grow up in the northwoods was to grow up on the edge of things. On Mother’s day, Highway 17 filled with cars heading north past patches of dirty snow...