In a poetry-fiction hybrid form Robertson takes us through the lost wandering of a vet traumatized by his experiences during D-Day. The narrative is scumy and violent and bleak. It is about a hopeless country deteriorating in parallel with the protagonist's interior. It is about a country made up of outsiders and the lost cause of any war. The subtitle is A Way to Lose More Slowly and that feels right. Perhaps the femme fatale was the righteous cause of the war.

I appreciate the beauty here but I don't welcome the pessimism. I had to really concentrate to get through to the last page. Maybe that's just me burnt out on America lately.