Robertson was born in Cleveland, Ohio and attended East High School. He briefly attended Harvard and Western Reserve University (now Case Western Reserve University) before working as a reporter and columnist.
Robertson won the Cleveland Arts Prize in 1966. The Society for the Study of Midwestern Literature presented him with its Mark Twain Award in 1991. The Press Club of Cleveland's Hall of Fame inducted Robertson in 1992, and he received the Society of Professional Journalist's Life Achievement Award in 1995.
Robertson died on his birthday in 1999, aged 70. He's buried in Logan, Ohio.
Un altro romanzo sorprendente di questo autore incredibile! Per me un piacere assoluto leggere Don Robertson. Che capacità è la sua di immergersi con questa maestrìa nella psicologia dei personaggi? Miss Ridpath non accetta che l'universo venga smantellato, no! Ne va del suo senso dell'ordine, e non importa che lei si ritenga fatta di carta stagnola in un mondo di gente di ferro. È questione di senso. E lei un senso proprio non riesce a non ricercalo. Una galleria di personaggi e di esistenze, ciascuna con qualche segreto, con una qualche maschera, ma ognuna trattata dalla penna di Robertson con rispetto e dignità. Capolavoro!
Well, they don't even give a precis of this one. As I remember -- and it was long time ago -- this had a lot to do with bridge (which I used to play quite a bit) and a juvenile delinquent and I'm going to see if I can find it again.
I wanted to give Robertson another chance after The Ideal, Genuine Man That story, for all its faults, had an interesting narrator who consumed himself in an unapologetically male voice. Ridpath follows the same structure: we build up a character in such a way that we can engineer their death. Everything about them will fit the imagined killing. It's a real chore to read, especially in the undercooked middle section where I said, out loud, "this guy is getting paid by the word." Like many of you I was turned onto Robertson because S. King enthusiastically praised these two books in the NYT. Months of my life were wasted. I foolishly did not allow myself to read anything else until I finished Ridpath. And so it mostly just sat on the coffee table, and nothing great was read.