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Sparta
Going from peace to war can make a young man into a warrior. Going from war to peace can destroy him.
Conrad Farrell has no family military heritage, but as a classics major at Williams College, he has encountered the powerful appeal of the Marine Corps ethic. "Semper Fidelis" comes straight from the ancient world, from Sparta, where every citizen doubled as a full-time soldier. When Conrad graduates, he joins the Marines to continue a long tradition of honor, courage, and commitment.
As Roxana Robinson's new novel, Sparta, begins, Conrad has just returned home to Katonah, New York, after four years in Iraq, and he's beginning to learn that something has changed in his landscape. Something has gone wrong, though things should be fine: he hasn't been shot or wounded; he's never had psychological troubles--he shouldn't have PTSD. But as he attempts to reconnect with his family and his girlfriend and to find his footing in the civilian world, he learns how hard it is to return to the people and places he used to love. His life becomes increasingly difficult to negotiate: he can't imagine his future, can't recover his past, and can't bring himself to occupy his present. As weeks turn into months, Conrad feels himself trapped in a life that's constrictive and incomprehensible, and he fears that his growing rage will have irreparable consequences.
Suspenseful, compassionate, and perceptive, Sparta captures the nuances of the unique estrangement that modern soldiers face as they attempt to rejoin the society they've fought for. Billy Collins writes that Roxana Robinson is "a master at . . . the work of excavating the truths about ourselves"; The Washington Post's Jonathan Yardley calls her "one of our best writers." In Sparta, with the powerful insight and acuity that marked her earlier books (Cost, Sweetwater, and A Perfect Stranger, among others), Robinson explores the life of a veteran and delivers her best book yet.
A Washington Post Notable Fiction Book of 2013
Conrad Farrell has no family military heritage, but as a classics major at Williams College, he has encountered the powerful appeal of the Marine Corps ethic. "Semper Fidelis" comes straight from the ancient world, from Sparta, where every citizen doubled as a full-time soldier. When Conrad graduates, he joins the Marines to continue a long tradition of honor, courage, and commitment.
As Roxana Robinson's new novel, Sparta, begins, Conrad has just returned home to Katonah, New York, after four years in Iraq, and he's beginning to learn that something has changed in his landscape. Something has gone wrong, though things should be fine: he hasn't been shot or wounded; he's never had psychological troubles--he shouldn't have PTSD. But as he attempts to reconnect with his family and his girlfriend and to find his footing in the civilian world, he learns how hard it is to return to the people and places he used to love. His life becomes increasingly difficult to negotiate: he can't imagine his future, can't recover his past, and can't bring himself to occupy his present. As weeks turn into months, Conrad feels himself trapped in a life that's constrictive and incomprehensible, and he fears that his growing rage will have irreparable consequences.
Suspenseful, compassionate, and perceptive, Sparta captures the nuances of the unique estrangement that modern soldiers face as they attempt to rejoin the society they've fought for. Billy Collins writes that Roxana Robinson is "a master at . . . the work of excavating the truths about ourselves"; The Washington Post's Jonathan Yardley calls her "one of our best writers." In Sparta, with the powerful insight and acuity that marked her earlier books (Cost, Sweetwater, and A Perfect Stranger, among others), Robinson explores the life of a veteran and delivers her best book yet.
A Washington Post Notable Fiction Book of 2013
386 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 2013
40 people are currently reading
1472 people want to read
About the author
Roxana Robinson
35 books226 followersRoxana Robinson is the author of eight works of fiction, including the novels Cost and Sparta. She is also the author of Georgia O’Keeffe: A Life. A former Guggenheim Fellow, she edited The New York Stories of Edith Wharton and wrote the introduction to Elizabeth Taylor’s A View of the Harbour, both published by NYRB Classics. Robinson is currently the president of the Authors Guild.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 177 reviews
July 20, 2016
Inspired by the romanticized accounts of war in the ancient world, classics major Conrad Farrell joins the Marines in an attempt to enter into the venerable brotherhood of honor, sacrifice, and courage forged in the heat of combat. Explaining his decision to enlist, Conrad naively tells his parents, "The classical writers love war, that's their main subject. Being a soldier was the whole deal, the central experience . . . It seems like it's the great thing. The great challenge" (22). And so Conrad goes to Sparta--the nickname for the Marine military base in Haditha, Iraq. However, he also goes to Sparta in the figurative sense, learning that what gave greatness to the ancient Greek city-state famous for its military might was also the chink in its armor: when you surrender everything to war, you lose something intrinsic and necessary for the survival of the human spirit.
Sparta is not about Conrad's time in Iraq, although there are several well-written flashback sequences that give us insight into what Conrad endured as a soldier. Instead, it is a powerful novel focusing on what happens when a warrior returns home. What is his place when his service is done, when the mission is complete, and when what he found in war was not glory or purpose or righteousness, but waste and hypocrisy? Roxana Robinson does a superb job of delineating Conrad's slow descent into existential darkness, finding it increasingly impossible to reconnect to an America and a family so materially comfortable and willfully insular that it knows nothing of what his time in Iraq was like. As he tells his father, "It's hard to describe. It's like I can't get in here. It's as though I'm standing outside. I can see everyone in here, rushing around and doing things, and I can't get in" (240).
Conrad's training as a Marine defines him, leading to a single-minded determination to fight against the anxiety, the fear, and the rage on his own; to seek outside help would be a sign of weakness and failure. He begins to see himself as a man divided: there is the Conrad who existed before the war, the one everyone expects him to be, and the soldier who is so defined by combat that he cannot exist in a world without it. As it becomes more evident that he is losing the battle within himself, Conrad's plight is made all the more distressing when he begins to seek help from a disinterested and unforgivably slow VA. While I know that many VA clinics are run by compassionate, engaged medical professionals, it is just as true that many are indifferent or ill-equipped to handle the task of treating our veterans. That any man or woman who has been willing to sacrifice for our nation should have to wait months for needed medical treatment or tolerate a slow-moving bureaucracy is a shameful condemnation of our society's refusal to respect and honor the human cost of war.
Robinson's creation of a soldier's struggle is certainly admirable and, for the most part, surprisingly convincing given that it's written by a female author outside of the military. Her real strength lies in depicting the complexity of the relationships: the silent agony of his family, the confusion of his girlfriend, the awkward interactions with former friends, and the painful communications with his fellow Marines (many of whom are also struggling, but valiantly trying to hide it from their former lieutenant). In particular, the sibling bond between Conrad and his younger brother and sister (a bond forged of shared experience and damaged by Conrad's isolated time outside of that bond) struck me as genuine and authentic. Robinson is certainly to be commended for the beauty of the writing, as well as the light she sheds on the emotional toll of war. Despite this, it does sometimes feel a bit too studied, too researched; it doesn't (brace yourselves for what you should have known would be the inevitable Tim O'Brien comparison) make me feel the effects in the way that The Things They Carried does. And while Robinson is an impressive chronicler of the minutiae of daily life--the ever changing earrings worn by Conrad's sister, the flotsam and jetsam that inevitably end up on the kitchen refrigerator, the festive decor of a Christmas table--such details strike me as decidedly feminine; granted, Conrad's training has taught him to home in on details, but these still seem like the things that make up the lives of women and might be briefly noted and then discarded as irrelevant by a masculine mind.
A brief history lesson on the Iraq War and on military life in Sparta are awkwardly shoe-horned into the narrative in the beginning, but once Sparta finds its focus in the mind of Conrad, it is a powerful and necessary reminder that not every soldier who comes home without injury is, in fact, whole.
Cross posted at This Insignificant Cinder and at Shelf Inflicted
Sparta is not about Conrad's time in Iraq, although there are several well-written flashback sequences that give us insight into what Conrad endured as a soldier. Instead, it is a powerful novel focusing on what happens when a warrior returns home. What is his place when his service is done, when the mission is complete, and when what he found in war was not glory or purpose or righteousness, but waste and hypocrisy? Roxana Robinson does a superb job of delineating Conrad's slow descent into existential darkness, finding it increasingly impossible to reconnect to an America and a family so materially comfortable and willfully insular that it knows nothing of what his time in Iraq was like. As he tells his father, "It's hard to describe. It's like I can't get in here. It's as though I'm standing outside. I can see everyone in here, rushing around and doing things, and I can't get in" (240).
Conrad's training as a Marine defines him, leading to a single-minded determination to fight against the anxiety, the fear, and the rage on his own; to seek outside help would be a sign of weakness and failure. He begins to see himself as a man divided: there is the Conrad who existed before the war, the one everyone expects him to be, and the soldier who is so defined by combat that he cannot exist in a world without it. As it becomes more evident that he is losing the battle within himself, Conrad's plight is made all the more distressing when he begins to seek help from a disinterested and unforgivably slow VA. While I know that many VA clinics are run by compassionate, engaged medical professionals, it is just as true that many are indifferent or ill-equipped to handle the task of treating our veterans. That any man or woman who has been willing to sacrifice for our nation should have to wait months for needed medical treatment or tolerate a slow-moving bureaucracy is a shameful condemnation of our society's refusal to respect and honor the human cost of war.
Robinson's creation of a soldier's struggle is certainly admirable and, for the most part, surprisingly convincing given that it's written by a female author outside of the military. Her real strength lies in depicting the complexity of the relationships: the silent agony of his family, the confusion of his girlfriend, the awkward interactions with former friends, and the painful communications with his fellow Marines (many of whom are also struggling, but valiantly trying to hide it from their former lieutenant). In particular, the sibling bond between Conrad and his younger brother and sister (a bond forged of shared experience and damaged by Conrad's isolated time outside of that bond) struck me as genuine and authentic. Robinson is certainly to be commended for the beauty of the writing, as well as the light she sheds on the emotional toll of war. Despite this, it does sometimes feel a bit too studied, too researched; it doesn't (brace yourselves for what you should have known would be the inevitable Tim O'Brien comparison) make me feel the effects in the way that The Things They Carried does. And while Robinson is an impressive chronicler of the minutiae of daily life--the ever changing earrings worn by Conrad's sister, the flotsam and jetsam that inevitably end up on the kitchen refrigerator, the festive decor of a Christmas table--such details strike me as decidedly feminine; granted, Conrad's training has taught him to home in on details, but these still seem like the things that make up the lives of women and might be briefly noted and then discarded as irrelevant by a masculine mind.
A brief history lesson on the Iraq War and on military life in Sparta are awkwardly shoe-horned into the narrative in the beginning, but once Sparta finds its focus in the mind of Conrad, it is a powerful and necessary reminder that not every soldier who comes home without injury is, in fact, whole.
Cross posted at This Insignificant Cinder and at Shelf Inflicted
May 9, 2015
I couldn't help but wonder if Roxana Robinson named her protagonist Conrad Farrell after Conrad Jarrett, from Judith Guest's Ordinary People: two sensitive, smart, accomplished young men brought down by emotional trauma, wracked by guilt and anger; two quiet, thoughtful novels that take us to characters' edges of sanity, while families look on, wringing their hands. Yet while Guest's narrative played out intimately, contained within a private family disaster, Robinson's stage is much larger, set against the backdrop of war.
Conrad Farrell has returned to his family's home in upstate New York after four years in Iraq. It is 2006 and while war continues to fester and rage in Iraq and Afghanistan, Lt. Farrell's mission is over. He is set adrift among people, whether in the bucolic idyll of Katonah or the self-important bustle of Manhattan, who cannot comprehend the things he has seen and done in uniform. Unspeakable acts of violence that play out in Conrad's mind over and over, robbing him of sleep and the ability to reason.
Robinson's portrayal of a soldier's experience with post-traumatic stress disorder is nuanced, wrenching, and authentic. The author offers a character who would seem able to manage a return to civilian life with relative ease. Conrad is highly-educated, with a degree in classics. He has a supportive, loving family, financial resources, he escaped Iraq without physical injury. On the outside he is fit and fortunate. Yet, instead of abating in the months following his return home, Conrad's PTSD worsens. The honeymoon period ends, everyone returns to their normal lives, but Conrad flails emotionally in a world that no longer makes sense. Loud noises and crowded rooms push him to panic attacks, he cannot stop himself from assessing the risk potential when he walks down the street or enters a restaurant, or sees cars on the freeway that resembles those found in Iraqi streets, set to detonate. Conrad has so completely become one with his experience in Iraq that even as he marvels at the wonder of hot showers, hot food, the beauty of his girlfriend's body, he longs for the sense of purpose that leading men into and out of danger gave him. Despite the grinding sand, heat, and ever-present fear of attack by IEDs and suicide bombers, the physical deprivations, and the maddening evidence that the war in Iraq was bungled from the start, Conrad misses being a Marine in Iraq.
Fascinated by the art of war, he signed up as an intellectual exercise, not a patriotic one, shocking his aging hippie parents by joining the military in the months prior to 9/11. Yet, Robinson focuses on describing the realities of a soldier's life, rather than reflecting on the irony of Conrad's decision. Inserted early and somewhat awkwardly in the novel are descriptions of the soldiers of the Greek city-state Sparta, whose training was so similar to Conrad's own, as well as a chilling play-by-play of the battle in the Iraqi city of Fallujah—documentary moments that stall the narrative, as if Robinson sat you down in a chair and made you read a series of articles before you could go on with the rest of the story. These sections are fascinating and serve to provide context, but feel a little forced.
It would be easy to say this is an anti-war novel, but I think Sparta is far more complicated, reflecting the realities of political culture. Where she leaves no doubt is the scathing portrayal of the Veteran's Administration. Conrad is treated abominably; after months on a waiting list, he is allotted just minutes with a doctor who spends more time on the phone than with his patient, then shoves a few prescriptions for anti-depressants at Conrad and tells him to check back in three months. For a suicidal soldier, three days may be too late.
Conrad's struggle is gripping and real. There are a few areas where I struggle to connect, namely with his family. Everyone is so worried about Conrad, but no one does much to reach out, other than his sister, who offers him a place to stay. His mother, a therapist of all things, doesn't seem to recognize PTSD in her son. She just wants to hug and feed him. And the author's tic of describing the clothing of every single character who appears, even for a moment, is very distracting. Why it's necessary to detail the earrings Conrad's sister wears, not just once, but every time he sees her, baffles me. But these are small complaints compared to the larger accomplishment of showing the emotional and intellectual inside of a soldier returning to civilian life.
In writing a powerful, accessible, engaging novel, Roxana Robinson does a tremendous service to the men and women who have offered their lives for this country. Many do not return home; the ones who do deserve our empathy, respect, and vehement insistence that the government which put them in harm's way fully support its soldiers once they are back home.
Conrad Farrell has returned to his family's home in upstate New York after four years in Iraq. It is 2006 and while war continues to fester and rage in Iraq and Afghanistan, Lt. Farrell's mission is over. He is set adrift among people, whether in the bucolic idyll of Katonah or the self-important bustle of Manhattan, who cannot comprehend the things he has seen and done in uniform. Unspeakable acts of violence that play out in Conrad's mind over and over, robbing him of sleep and the ability to reason.
Robinson's portrayal of a soldier's experience with post-traumatic stress disorder is nuanced, wrenching, and authentic. The author offers a character who would seem able to manage a return to civilian life with relative ease. Conrad is highly-educated, with a degree in classics. He has a supportive, loving family, financial resources, he escaped Iraq without physical injury. On the outside he is fit and fortunate. Yet, instead of abating in the months following his return home, Conrad's PTSD worsens. The honeymoon period ends, everyone returns to their normal lives, but Conrad flails emotionally in a world that no longer makes sense. Loud noises and crowded rooms push him to panic attacks, he cannot stop himself from assessing the risk potential when he walks down the street or enters a restaurant, or sees cars on the freeway that resembles those found in Iraqi streets, set to detonate. Conrad has so completely become one with his experience in Iraq that even as he marvels at the wonder of hot showers, hot food, the beauty of his girlfriend's body, he longs for the sense of purpose that leading men into and out of danger gave him. Despite the grinding sand, heat, and ever-present fear of attack by IEDs and suicide bombers, the physical deprivations, and the maddening evidence that the war in Iraq was bungled from the start, Conrad misses being a Marine in Iraq.
Fascinated by the art of war, he signed up as an intellectual exercise, not a patriotic one, shocking his aging hippie parents by joining the military in the months prior to 9/11. Yet, Robinson focuses on describing the realities of a soldier's life, rather than reflecting on the irony of Conrad's decision. Inserted early and somewhat awkwardly in the novel are descriptions of the soldiers of the Greek city-state Sparta, whose training was so similar to Conrad's own, as well as a chilling play-by-play of the battle in the Iraqi city of Fallujah—documentary moments that stall the narrative, as if Robinson sat you down in a chair and made you read a series of articles before you could go on with the rest of the story. These sections are fascinating and serve to provide context, but feel a little forced.
It would be easy to say this is an anti-war novel, but I think Sparta is far more complicated, reflecting the realities of political culture. Where she leaves no doubt is the scathing portrayal of the Veteran's Administration. Conrad is treated abominably; after months on a waiting list, he is allotted just minutes with a doctor who spends more time on the phone than with his patient, then shoves a few prescriptions for anti-depressants at Conrad and tells him to check back in three months. For a suicidal soldier, three days may be too late.
Conrad's struggle is gripping and real. There are a few areas where I struggle to connect, namely with his family. Everyone is so worried about Conrad, but no one does much to reach out, other than his sister, who offers him a place to stay. His mother, a therapist of all things, doesn't seem to recognize PTSD in her son. She just wants to hug and feed him. And the author's tic of describing the clothing of every single character who appears, even for a moment, is very distracting. Why it's necessary to detail the earrings Conrad's sister wears, not just once, but every time he sees her, baffles me. But these are small complaints compared to the larger accomplishment of showing the emotional and intellectual inside of a soldier returning to civilian life.
In writing a powerful, accessible, engaging novel, Roxana Robinson does a tremendous service to the men and women who have offered their lives for this country. Many do not return home; the ones who do deserve our empathy, respect, and vehement insistence that the government which put them in harm's way fully support its soldiers once they are back home.
July 25, 2013
I know it is unfair to become angry with sloppy writers just because there are books like this. Books that the author spent an enormous amount of time and energy to get just right. How is it possible for a woman to enter into a man's mind and body and understand? Perhaps it takes a woman to be able to understand the mystery. This book had me in tears by page 39, and it ended with tears. Tears of pain and tears of hope for the main character. Tears of anger and grief at what we ask of our young people and how little we give in return for their service.
Before I retired, I worked as a nurse at a VA hospital. I believe that had Conrad been one of our patients, he would have had a much better experience than what happened to him in the book. I thanked every patient I had for his or her service. I meant it, and so did my coworkers. Our patients were treated with attention and respect. Were our services perfect? No, but our patients told us over and over again how grateful they were that we were there for them.
I was lucky. I retired before the flood of the young ones coming in from the Middle East began, but I had enough contact to see that it was very bad. I hope services continue to improve, and I hope we as a country stop feeling the need to ask them to keep sacrificing their lives for no good reason.
Before I retired, I worked as a nurse at a VA hospital. I believe that had Conrad been one of our patients, he would have had a much better experience than what happened to him in the book. I thanked every patient I had for his or her service. I meant it, and so did my coworkers. Our patients were treated with attention and respect. Were our services perfect? No, but our patients told us over and over again how grateful they were that we were there for them.
I was lucky. I retired before the flood of the young ones coming in from the Middle East began, but I had enough contact to see that it was very bad. I hope services continue to improve, and I hope we as a country stop feeling the need to ask them to keep sacrificing their lives for no good reason.
July 14, 2013
This novel could just as easily be classified as non-fiction. In fact, the acknowledgements that Robinson gives to her sources at the end of her book indicate that it is a work of fact more than imagination. You might well think that only the names have been changed to protect the innocent. The story centers on some difficult years in the life of Conrad Farrell, an American Marine and a former classics major - which is both where the book's title, 'Sparta', finds its origins and Farrell finds his motivation to enlist. When the book starts, Farrell has just come back from Iraq and is trying to cope with PTS disorder. His traumas are realistic and gripping, as are the dilemmas and incomprehension faced by his family who are desperate for his life and their lives to carry on as 'normal'. Farrell moves towards suicide with Robinson racheting up the tension and getting this reader to fervently will one of the characters in the book to intervene before it is too late. Robinson weaves the factual background of American involvement in Iraq into her story (with the notable exception of a section about life in Haditha, which, although very interesting, stops the story in its tracks). This book is an absorbing read, well-researched and convincingly written.
July 25, 2013
I felt quite good beginning Sparta. My record with disaffected, disengaged Iraq war veterans was good - having read both Billy Lynn and The Yellow Birds and adored them both. It didn't end with Sparta, not per se. But it did come close.
First, the positives. It's well written, well researched. So I gather. I loved Conrad's trouble with the PTSD that overwhelms him, but something he can do nothing about. I liked his random, repeated flashbacks to Ramadi and Haditha. Most of the novel takes place with the third person narrator firmly in Conrad's damaged head, and for the most part I appreciated that.
But in the end, I'm let down by the same device. I cannot, for the life of me, figure out the motivations of his family, his girlfriend. I mean, what are they thinking? Why would an educated, supposedly involved family do squat when they can very well see their son isn't doing well? The mother is a mental health professional. She can't help him, but she should know someone who knows someone who can help him. Why would they simply leave it up to him? Would mama not recognize the symptoms? I'd have liked it better had they been portrayed as total douchebags rather than this. I cannot believe that a loving family would sit on their arses and assure themselves it would be better and their extent of helping their son would be to ask, maddeningly, if he was ok. The parents never shape up. The brother and sister, though younger, do a much better job, but it comes too late in the book to make a difference. Why such a delay? They see him all the time.
The girlfriend drove me crazy. Why in the name of anything good would she keep at the relationship when she didn't want to commit, didn't want to tell him about her other boyfriends (even if she had any serious boyfriends), while coyly bringing up the subject and alternatively whining that he wasn't sharing anything with her? I'm sorry, but this love I did not buy. I could understand if they actually tried being committed to each other for a while and didn't work, but there wasn't even a decent trial on her part. I cannot think of it anything more than a device to compound Conrad's shame, but for me it comes across as contrived. In the same contrived fashion, why would the random people he met (at the beach, at a restaurant) act like the very dregs of humanity? If my bag smacked someone in the face at a restaurant, I'd be apologizing profusely. I wouldn't be throwing attitude. I don't think you would need PTSD to want to beat up that particular woman.
This becomes worse for me when I factor in that I don't believe his family to begin with. Maybe this is cultural. Conrad's motives are suspect from the very beginning. He wants to join the Marines without going through his education, not even because of a terrorist attack or act of war, but because he is enamored by the idea of an ancient martial society (which failed). It's so hopelessly naïve, his parents should have seen through it. That they didn't have a conversation about it with him, is unbelievable to me. I'm not saying that they should have talked him out of it (and thus having no novel), I'm wondering about the fact that there was nothing that made serious points. They had two years too. I feel sorry for him, I don't think he ever had a chance. Some of his own choices are a bit odd too, and not just the hankering after an ancient civilization. When he continuously feels threatened by the press of people, by the noise, why would he not budge from NYC? Why torture himself? Why would a man who doesn't like being around people continuously crash in another's apartment?
Sparta frustrated me. I thought the scenarios were tailor made for showcasing the maximum horrible effects of PTSD. Which is all good in a way, but I wanted more. No, I didn't expect Conrad to heal miraculously (as he does at the end of this book), but I did want some idea that there was a support system. If there wasn't one in place, I wanted a better explanation as to why (people have moved on, they don't see him often to figure out what's happening, etc.). The only things that felt authentic were the PTSD, Iraq, the code of the Marines and the disinterested VA. Which is good, but not great.
First, the positives. It's well written, well researched. So I gather. I loved Conrad's trouble with the PTSD that overwhelms him, but something he can do nothing about. I liked his random, repeated flashbacks to Ramadi and Haditha. Most of the novel takes place with the third person narrator firmly in Conrad's damaged head, and for the most part I appreciated that.
But in the end, I'm let down by the same device. I cannot, for the life of me, figure out the motivations of his family, his girlfriend. I mean, what are they thinking? Why would an educated, supposedly involved family do squat when they can very well see their son isn't doing well? The mother is a mental health professional. She can't help him, but she should know someone who knows someone who can help him. Why would they simply leave it up to him? Would mama not recognize the symptoms? I'd have liked it better had they been portrayed as total douchebags rather than this. I cannot believe that a loving family would sit on their arses and assure themselves it would be better and their extent of helping their son would be to ask, maddeningly, if he was ok. The parents never shape up. The brother and sister, though younger, do a much better job, but it comes too late in the book to make a difference. Why such a delay? They see him all the time.
The girlfriend drove me crazy. Why in the name of anything good would she keep at the relationship when she didn't want to commit, didn't want to tell him about her other boyfriends (even if she had any serious boyfriends), while coyly bringing up the subject and alternatively whining that he wasn't sharing anything with her? I'm sorry, but this love I did not buy. I could understand if they actually tried being committed to each other for a while and didn't work, but there wasn't even a decent trial on her part. I cannot think of it anything more than a device to compound Conrad's shame, but for me it comes across as contrived. In the same contrived fashion, why would the random people he met (at the beach, at a restaurant) act like the very dregs of humanity? If my bag smacked someone in the face at a restaurant, I'd be apologizing profusely. I wouldn't be throwing attitude. I don't think you would need PTSD to want to beat up that particular woman.
This becomes worse for me when I factor in that I don't believe his family to begin with. Maybe this is cultural. Conrad's motives are suspect from the very beginning. He wants to join the Marines without going through his education, not even because of a terrorist attack or act of war, but because he is enamored by the idea of an ancient martial society (which failed). It's so hopelessly naïve, his parents should have seen through it. That they didn't have a conversation about it with him, is unbelievable to me. I'm not saying that they should have talked him out of it (and thus having no novel), I'm wondering about the fact that there was nothing that made serious points. They had two years too. I feel sorry for him, I don't think he ever had a chance. Some of his own choices are a bit odd too, and not just the hankering after an ancient civilization. When he continuously feels threatened by the press of people, by the noise, why would he not budge from NYC? Why torture himself? Why would a man who doesn't like being around people continuously crash in another's apartment?
Sparta frustrated me. I thought the scenarios were tailor made for showcasing the maximum horrible effects of PTSD. Which is all good in a way, but I wanted more. No, I didn't expect Conrad to heal miraculously (as he does at the end of this book), but I did want some idea that there was a support system. If there wasn't one in place, I wanted a better explanation as to why (people have moved on, they don't see him often to figure out what's happening, etc.). The only things that felt authentic were the PTSD, Iraq, the code of the Marines and the disinterested VA. Which is good, but not great.
August 3, 2013
I picked up this book right after having read "The Good Soldiers" by David Finkel. Both books are about the Iraq war, a war that happened for me on the television and in newspapers. No one personally known to me was involved in the war, so I was able to live my life pretty much without having to worry about what was going on there, beyond the occasional news conference given by President Bush. To be honest, I could barely stand to listen to him, and was against U.S. involvement in Iraq from the beginning, but I really didn't know that much about what was going on there.
These two books were an excellent way to get an idea of what it was like for the men who were fighting in Iraq. The Good Soldiers was non-fiction and told the story of a year of deployment for one particular battalion. Sparta is fiction and tells the story of one Marine after he comes back from his deployment and tries to fit back into "normal" life at home. Together, these books give a good overview of the experience of the typical U.S. soldier in Iraq and after.
In Sparta, Robinson does a great job of getting the reader into the mind of a boy-next-door who goes into the Marines with the best of intentions but who finds out that combat changes things. Not only does it change things in the obvious way, for instance, by blowing up entire buildings and ending people's lives, but it also changes people's internal narratives. Who they are, why they do the things they do, what they are capable of doing, what they value, what they want.
Nothing is the same for the protagonist when he finishes his four years of service. He tries to come home to his parents, but everything feels different and strange, because, of course, he is not the same person he once was. Anyone who has ever lived for a long period of time in another country will recognize the disorientation of the young soldier when he contemplates the way Americans take everything they have for granted. Clean, free water. Safe sidewalks, even at night. So many choices in the supermarket.
But of course the challenges for the returning soldier run much deeper. The author made me feel his despair when he didn't know how to talk to his friends or family about his experience. I cringed at the treatment he received--or rather, didn't receive--at the VA. My heart constricted when I realized his own code of conduct--be a tough Marine--was stopping him from seeking the help he so desperately needed.
This is a good book for anyone with a friend or relative who is a traumatized veteran. It is also a good book for anyone, like myself, who is simply seeking to understand the experience of those who went to Iraq in the name of every U.S. citizen. It really helped me put some concrete meaning behind the idea of hating the war, but not hating the vets who fought it.
These two books were an excellent way to get an idea of what it was like for the men who were fighting in Iraq. The Good Soldiers was non-fiction and told the story of a year of deployment for one particular battalion. Sparta is fiction and tells the story of one Marine after he comes back from his deployment and tries to fit back into "normal" life at home. Together, these books give a good overview of the experience of the typical U.S. soldier in Iraq and after.
In Sparta, Robinson does a great job of getting the reader into the mind of a boy-next-door who goes into the Marines with the best of intentions but who finds out that combat changes things. Not only does it change things in the obvious way, for instance, by blowing up entire buildings and ending people's lives, but it also changes people's internal narratives. Who they are, why they do the things they do, what they are capable of doing, what they value, what they want.
Nothing is the same for the protagonist when he finishes his four years of service. He tries to come home to his parents, but everything feels different and strange, because, of course, he is not the same person he once was. Anyone who has ever lived for a long period of time in another country will recognize the disorientation of the young soldier when he contemplates the way Americans take everything they have for granted. Clean, free water. Safe sidewalks, even at night. So many choices in the supermarket.
But of course the challenges for the returning soldier run much deeper. The author made me feel his despair when he didn't know how to talk to his friends or family about his experience. I cringed at the treatment he received--or rather, didn't receive--at the VA. My heart constricted when I realized his own code of conduct--be a tough Marine--was stopping him from seeking the help he so desperately needed.
This is a good book for anyone with a friend or relative who is a traumatized veteran. It is also a good book for anyone, like myself, who is simply seeking to understand the experience of those who went to Iraq in the name of every U.S. citizen. It really helped me put some concrete meaning behind the idea of hating the war, but not hating the vets who fought it.
July 31, 2013
"You don’t get it. I’d love to do this – what you say. Change. I can’t. Something’s not working. All you do is tear me apart. I’d like to be back here with you all, but I’m not. You don’t get it. I’m not here. I’m not home. I’m still there."
Conrad has returned from a second deployment to Iraq and left the Marines. He is now at home in Katonah, New York, and adjusting to civilian life in the US is not, at this point, possible for him. He suffers from Posttraumatic Stress Disorder, but PTSD is too glib a term for his experience.
Roxana Robinson’s Sparta is as good a novel about the problems of men (and women) returning from war, any war, as you will find. Beautifully written, perceptive, with skilled characterization, the novel isn’t easy to read but it is worth reading.
The story begins on an aircraft returning men to the US from Iraq. The trip is a bridge from there to here. But Conrad realizes he has sand in his lungs, dust that forms the very soil of the battleground that he is bringing back with him.
Conrad joined up after studying the classics at Williams College, inspired by the heroism of Sparta. He didn’t look ahead to the downfall of Sparta as its men became hollow from the experiences of battle.
And now that his military experience is over, Conrad, too, is hollow. He doesn’t know how to go back to the man he was before he left for war and he is unable to get the help he needs from the veteran’s hospital and doctors purportedly available, but in fact so strained for resources that they are of no real help at all.
A powerful book, beautifully written, with a meaningful message.
Conrad has returned from a second deployment to Iraq and left the Marines. He is now at home in Katonah, New York, and adjusting to civilian life in the US is not, at this point, possible for him. He suffers from Posttraumatic Stress Disorder, but PTSD is too glib a term for his experience.
Roxana Robinson’s Sparta is as good a novel about the problems of men (and women) returning from war, any war, as you will find. Beautifully written, perceptive, with skilled characterization, the novel isn’t easy to read but it is worth reading.
The story begins on an aircraft returning men to the US from Iraq. The trip is a bridge from there to here. But Conrad realizes he has sand in his lungs, dust that forms the very soil of the battleground that he is bringing back with him.
Conrad joined up after studying the classics at Williams College, inspired by the heroism of Sparta. He didn’t look ahead to the downfall of Sparta as its men became hollow from the experiences of battle.
And now that his military experience is over, Conrad, too, is hollow. He doesn’t know how to go back to the man he was before he left for war and he is unable to get the help he needs from the veteran’s hospital and doctors purportedly available, but in fact so strained for resources that they are of no real help at all.
A powerful book, beautifully written, with a meaningful message.
June 18, 2013
Roxana Robinson writes powerful novels. I remember loving This Is My Daughter, and also thought Cost was quite good. But she hit this one out of the park.
This is a very good, seemingly realistic, nuanced portrayal of Conrad Farrell's painful return from his four years as a Marine in Iraq. His scholarly family were stunned when he announced to them that he was going to join the Marines all those years ago. He was a Classics major in college, and was enthralled with the idea of Sparta from the ancient world, where every citizen doubled as a full-time soldier. When he joined the Marines, Conrad entered full of hope to gain those traits he so admired, honor, courage, and "Semper Fideles".
Upon his arrival home, he knows something is very wrong with him, as he cannot adjust. He suffers black rages, severe headaches and various other troubling symptoms. Trying to reconnect with his loving family, friends, and his girlfriend all prove to be too overwhelming. He doesn't know what is expected of him, cannot explain to them what really happened over there, and is also still very connected to the life he led in Iraq, and to the soldiers who served under him. Post Taumatic Stress Syndrome is very eloquently portrayed here, and this is a very moving and insightful book.
This is a very good, seemingly realistic, nuanced portrayal of Conrad Farrell's painful return from his four years as a Marine in Iraq. His scholarly family were stunned when he announced to them that he was going to join the Marines all those years ago. He was a Classics major in college, and was enthralled with the idea of Sparta from the ancient world, where every citizen doubled as a full-time soldier. When he joined the Marines, Conrad entered full of hope to gain those traits he so admired, honor, courage, and "Semper Fideles".
Upon his arrival home, he knows something is very wrong with him, as he cannot adjust. He suffers black rages, severe headaches and various other troubling symptoms. Trying to reconnect with his loving family, friends, and his girlfriend all prove to be too overwhelming. He doesn't know what is expected of him, cannot explain to them what really happened over there, and is also still very connected to the life he led in Iraq, and to the soldiers who served under him. Post Taumatic Stress Syndrome is very eloquently portrayed here, and this is a very moving and insightful book.
July 20, 2013
Everyone, everyone, absolutely everyone needs to read this book. It doesn't matter what you think of war, the Iraq War, Afghanistan, World War II, WMD. This is a profoundly moving and important book about what it means to come home from war. To live in two worlds--the world of war and the world of back home--and neither. To be let down by the government and system that turned you into a killer in the first place. To suffer as a soldier, a human being, a brother and son and lover.
I'll be thinking about this book for a long, long time.
I'll be thinking about this book for a long, long time.
March 17, 2013
Interesting ideas at play here though the book meanders in frustrating ways. At times, it reads more like a textbook than a novel. Robinson does a remarkable job of conveying the impossibility of PTSD, creating this dark sense of claustrophobia throughout the novel as Conrad tries to reenter his life after four years in the marines. I would have liked to see the characters, including Conrad, a bit more fully developed but this was a book well worth reading.
March 2, 2013
Four stars. (Five would be Middlemarch.) Brilliant and affecting.
February 3, 2021
Journey into the torments of veteran's psyche upon demobilization. We don't live in a warrior culture, but we encourage little versions of it in the Marines, Special Forces, etc. to fight America's seemingly endless wars. Heroics have shrunken in the age of unjust wars, for example, the dawning realization that political forces invented the invasion of Iraq for non-existent WMDs, faking the threat to push pre-existing notions of American hawks. Projecting power in the post 9/11 world is not easy proposition, and the army bears the brunt of the damage. Conrad, the soldier is smart but he cannot put the fragmented pieces of his understanding together after a few years service in Operation Iraqi freedom. Flinching, insomniac, distrustful and bewildered he returns home unable to pick up where he left off. Robinson's examination of PTSD is informed by a base in the classics, interpreting Sparta v. Athens in light of today's values. Oddly, the women in this story, girlfriend, mother, sister are not fully realized; it's not enough to have them sketch the outline of the suffering Conrad through their relationships to him. But the portrait of the vet is deeply empathetic, tuned in to the civilian assumptions that make life so difficult for the returning soldier.
March 3, 2018
The story of Conrad Farrell, who has been discharged from the Marine Corps and returns home, had me in tears. Conrad attempts to re-enter the world he left only to fine that infinitely impossible. He feels that everything has changed during his four years away and gradually awakens to a growing rage and the realization that something has gone wrong. Conrad has post traumatic stress disorder like so many others who have returned from tours of duty. The story is suspenseful, compassionate and perceptive. My heart breaks for all the parents and families who, like Conrad's, tried to understand and help their sons.
July 19, 2024
Did not finish. Tedious, pointless, pace was just off, theme felt too forced.
July 9, 2014
On so many levels, sadly, this book simply doesn't work. It is so riddled with wartime cliches that it's laughably predictable. On page 9, the author makes passing mention of "Olivera's whispering," "the pattern on the wall," etc, and I wrote in the margin: "Olivera is a dead Marine and the pattern on the wall is blood." When Ollie comes home initially and the hypervigilant Conrad doesn't hear him arriving (??), I braced myself for the inevitable flashback/cover of the PTSD victim--and I was not disappointed.
The prose is mindnumbingly repetitive. The author clearly doesn't trust herself to say it right the first time or she doesn't trust her readers to "get it" the first time, because she repeats almost every idea to the point that you may be moved to scribble in the margin, like I did, "FOR THE LOVE OF CHRIST, WE GET IT."
Her juxtaposition of journalism with fiction is jarring. Other writers have done this smoothly, but Robinson's attempt to place us in the historical moment is ham-handed, at best. It comes across as simple anti-war rhetoric.
I found myself making marginalia of her obvious sources for much of this work: Grossman's On Killing, Junger's War, and even Full Metal Jacket, for the love of Pete. (She acknowledges her non-fiction sources at the end of the book, at least.) Again, I applaud the fact that she did her homework, but I should not be able to so easily point to any given information and say exactly where she learned it.
I was most bothered, I think, by the fact that I didn't ever really like Conrad to begin with, then grew only more convinced that he was a shallow prick the farther into the novel I got. When you're going to spend 380 of 386 pages demonstrating the absolute assholishness of your main character, you need something your audience can cling to regarding his redeeming qualities. The fact that he was presumably a bright kid who joined the Corps for what our American myths tout as "all the right reasons" just isn't enough.
Redeeming qualities of this book: some insight into Fallujah and such that many may be unaware of, as well as some much-needed exposure of our VA system's shortcomings. Otherwise? Irritainment.
The prose is mindnumbingly repetitive. The author clearly doesn't trust herself to say it right the first time or she doesn't trust her readers to "get it" the first time, because she repeats almost every idea to the point that you may be moved to scribble in the margin, like I did, "FOR THE LOVE OF CHRIST, WE GET IT."
Her juxtaposition of journalism with fiction is jarring. Other writers have done this smoothly, but Robinson's attempt to place us in the historical moment is ham-handed, at best. It comes across as simple anti-war rhetoric.
I found myself making marginalia of her obvious sources for much of this work: Grossman's On Killing, Junger's War, and even Full Metal Jacket, for the love of Pete. (She acknowledges her non-fiction sources at the end of the book, at least.) Again, I applaud the fact that she did her homework, but I should not be able to so easily point to any given information and say exactly where she learned it.
I was most bothered, I think, by the fact that I didn't ever really like Conrad to begin with, then grew only more convinced that he was a shallow prick the farther into the novel I got. When you're going to spend 380 of 386 pages demonstrating the absolute assholishness of your main character, you need something your audience can cling to regarding his redeeming qualities. The fact that he was presumably a bright kid who joined the Corps for what our American myths tout as "all the right reasons" just isn't enough.
Redeeming qualities of this book: some insight into Fallujah and such that many may be unaware of, as well as some much-needed exposure of our VA system's shortcomings. Otherwise? Irritainment.
November 4, 2013
I wanted to read Roxana Robinson's book, "Sparta" because I recently saw her speak at the National Book Festival in DC in September. She was a quiet, unassuming person and very thoughtful in her research of this topic. But, perhaps my greatest motivator was the audience. Every veteran who stepped up to the microphone during her Q&A session gave her such sincere thanks for writing this book that I was moved by the whole experience of watching them. My father is a veteran and I knew I had to read this book.
I cried at the end. The writing is descriptive and the story develops slowly. A young man who is an idealist and loves the classics decides to join the Marines. The novel revolves around his return to the States and how difficult it is to resume his previous way of life after being a witness to 4 years of war in Iraq. I think the author was insightful in developing a fictional character who had a supportive, loving family. This makes his difficulty fitting back in seem as if it could happen to anyone - even those with a strong network of caring people. It is a crime that we do not support our veterans more. This book drives this message home - especially when he finally goes to get help. I have a daughter and 2 sons and the family dynamics "got" to me. Family is everything. Definitely would recommend this book.
I cried at the end. The writing is descriptive and the story develops slowly. A young man who is an idealist and loves the classics decides to join the Marines. The novel revolves around his return to the States and how difficult it is to resume his previous way of life after being a witness to 4 years of war in Iraq. I think the author was insightful in developing a fictional character who had a supportive, loving family. This makes his difficulty fitting back in seem as if it could happen to anyone - even those with a strong network of caring people. It is a crime that we do not support our veterans more. This book drives this message home - especially when he finally goes to get help. I have a daughter and 2 sons and the family dynamics "got" to me. Family is everything. Definitely would recommend this book.
October 2, 2024
A novel in which the protagonist, a veteran of war in Iraq, returns to his American home and severely melts down due to post-traumatic stress. His pain, and the pain of those around him, is persuasively rendered by Robinson. Recommended.
August 30, 2021
Vogue Magazine hailed Roxana Robinson’s Sparta as an “assiduously researched tale of war and disillusionment.” This is, more or less, an undeniable fact, an indubitable truth. Every page of the novel pulsates with history, whether it be ancient history or current affairs. There are long passages of text in the novel devoted to setting the historical stage, with stories and history lessons that would not feel out of place in a work of nonfiction.
Indeed, these elements would not feel out of place in a work of nonfiction, but they do feel out of place in a work of fiction. This novel, at least my reading of this novel, brings up certain questions about the role research plays in crafting a work of fiction. Sparta feels like a book in which the researching phase of the writing process never ended, in which facts encountered in research were left un-integrated into the larger narrative. Reading Sparta reminded me of the experience of reading a Dan Brown novel; not that the writing at the prose level is anywhere near Brown-level abominable, but that the story and the characters take a back seat in favor of a history lesson.
Indeed, these elements would not feel out of place in a work of nonfiction, but they do feel out of place in a work of fiction. This novel, at least my reading of this novel, brings up certain questions about the role research plays in crafting a work of fiction. Sparta feels like a book in which the researching phase of the writing process never ended, in which facts encountered in research were left un-integrated into the larger narrative. Reading Sparta reminded me of the experience of reading a Dan Brown novel; not that the writing at the prose level is anywhere near Brown-level abominable, but that the story and the characters take a back seat in favor of a history lesson.
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December 6, 2014Takes one deep into the mind and experience of Conrad Farrell, a young man who returns in 2005 from a four-year tour of combat duty in Iraq to suffer increasingly from emotional and psychological disturbance. Robinson casts Conrad against stereotype--he is the graduate of an elite Eastern liberal arts college and the child of politically left-wing parents. They can't fathom his choice to join the Marines, and his precarious state after his return leaves them--and his on-again, off-again girlfriend--alternating between pity and terror. Robinson's prose is supple and smart, and the nuances she makes one see in both the everyday (a dinner with parents out in the 'burbs, twentysomething conversation, the street life of Manhattan) and the sensational (a mind slipping out of one's control, scenes of battle) result in this being not just a gripping read but a humane and enlightening one.
June 11, 2013
I was hesitant to dive into this subject matter, but once I did -- by page 2 -- I was hooked on the main character, Conrad Farrell, and on Roxana Robinson's powerful protrayal of his inner state. Rarely do I find a piece of fiction about an important subject particularly compelling, but Robinson has managed to make this character attractive and sympathetic and to explore the terrible situation he finds himself in, including all of its public implications. In some ways, I think she's done what Steinbeck did in The Grapes of Wrath. She has created very human characters that you care about, but she's also telling a story of our times. I could not put this book down because I wanted to know what happens to this boy.
June 26, 2013
This is the third book I have read recently written from the perspective of a returning veteran. In this one, Conrad is a college grad who enlisted to serve, and returns from Iraq after four years. Robinson creates a fully developed character about whom I began to care deeply, as I came to care for his family and friends. She credits the realism of this vet's emotional damage to her many interviews with veterans as well as several written accounts of soldiers as they attempt to fit back into their old society. In the midst of these character's stories, she reveals much about the war itself as well as much about our own society!
July 8, 2016
I gave this four stars because it is very well written and tells an important story. That said, this is a very painful book to read. Robinson does a good job of researching and making the protagonists experience real. I continued reading it because I felt it was my duty as a citizen of this country to understand the toll of the Iraq War on our veterans. Both the suffering and the inadequate services provided to the veterans is something every American should understand.
August 3, 2016
This book's protagonist ensures you'll never approach war or veterans' experiences impersonally or unemotionally ever again. Well-researched in its coverage of the Iraq War and military protocol, it's an education for civilians on multiple levels. Most earnestly, Robinson portrays the conflicts of rejoining life after war, mercilessly depicting the deplorable conditions our veterans face when seeking treatment after their service. There's no idealized view of war or patriotism here.
April 7, 2014
This book did do a good job of taking you into the heart of PTSD I think. That being said, it brought up a lot of my anxiety issues while reading it which made it a bit difficult to read. There was also way too much profanity which was distracting to me. It made me want to do anything I can to help our soldiers who suffer from PTSD though.
February 11, 2016
Very moving novel written after interviews with veterans back from Iraq, author presents compelling character in Conrad, who is struggling to leave his past behind. Returning home hasn't turned out to be what he'd imagined while on active duty. And it seems as if he can't fit anywhere. Wonderful book.
July 29, 2024
One of the more profound, and troubling books I’ve ever read. I think I have learned some things that give me a different perspective on our returning vets and what they may be dealing with. I think this line from the book will remain with me for a long time. “The costs of war were great, both to the nation and to the soldiers.”
July 23, 2013
I can't find the words to describe this book. It shed so much light on so many things. Hoping to discuss it with my husband who was in Iraq four times. Heart-wrenching. I just wonder how many people are silently suffering like the main character, and I fear it is many.
February 10, 2014
Pretty intense book- as much non-fiction as fiction. Really enjoyed it and found it hard to put down and to not think about.
August 24, 2016
Conrad's pain was terrible and palpable; it gave me a stomach ache. As far as a book's effectiveness, this is all good, right? The ending was a cop out though.
June 24, 2024
won off of www.listia.com
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