His voice, presence, and generosity filled the room. He was a man who made possibilities realities. He was a well-traveled man of taste and sophistication. He was like a memorable Charles Dickens character. Robert Redfern-West, I’ve only just learned, passed away almost one year ago. We first had contact probably in 2004 when I saw a small add for book ideas on James Joyce (I think it was). I had only just finished my Ph.D. in modern British literature six years earlier and was coming up for tenure. I contacted Robert at the firm he started, Academica Press, and asked if he’d be interested in a book on D.H. Lawrence. He guided me into what would become Character and Consciousness: George Eliot, Thomas Hardy, E.M. Forster, and D.H. Lawrence (2005). His publishing house was already established, and I went on to do three more books mentored by Robert, always working very closely with him.
We spoke and emailed on many occasions. He was very funny,
helpful, and always good-humored. He never spoke ill of anyone. I recall one
early conversation. I was in my college office in Brooklyn, and we were talking
by phone about a book project while he tooled around in a sports car on the
West coast. Always well-dressed, he was not a showy man, not conceited or vain,
but he knew how to enjoy life. One holiday year he had me and Fredericka for
drinks at a pub in Manhattan, and then we went across the street to his hotel
suite with his wife and some other authors to chat up the night. What academic publisher
would do that for those who labor in the trenches?
In spite of the distance that physically separated us, I was
fortunate to meet Robert a few times. Once we met in the atrium of a new
building near midtown Manhattan between Fifth and Madison avenues. I signed a
contract and still remember him waving the papers in the air in satisfaction.
Another time, we met at a nice hotel across from Central Park – he was in town
and just wanted to share coffee and conversation. I have never had any
publisher exhibit such hospitality and friendliness. He told me that if he
could, he always liked to meet his authors. Who does that now? I learned a lot
from Robert, so in my own editorial ventures I always try to get to know a
little about each author.
Robert would send postcards and a physical royalty check,
writing with a flourish. He composed a letter for me in my bid for promotion
and tenure. He assisted me and Fredericka when we started Bibliotekos. He
helped market some of the Bibliotekos anthologies to libraries and had ideas
for my two paperback Austen editions. He’d send emails with subject lines like,
“Murmurs in the Gods…?” or “Avanti!”; he was fond of signing his emails “More Anon.”
He encouraged me to attend conferences on notices he’d see posted. The personal
touch was important to Robert and what has been lost in publishing.
Even when he was ill some years ago (though I didn’t know
much), Robert never grumbled or complained. In fact, he was always positive and
looked on the bright side – what wonderful weather we have, he’d say. We cannot
replace Robert West, but I’m sure anyone who had contact with him will carry
his legacy of steadfast devotion to scholarship in the arts and humanities.
In gratitude, dear Robert, Gregory F. Tague
Palo Alto Online Lasting Memories has more about Robert,
which you can read here: https://obituaries.paloaltoonline.com/obituaries/memorials/robert-redfern-west?o=8868
Image from N.Y. Times
