Robin Mookerjee

I never met or knew Dr. Mookerjee in real life, but came across one of his books during my dissertation research this spring. I genuinely admire and appreciate his work and contribution to the field of literary studies. His wit and intelligence shines through in such an easy way, even when writing about complex topics. I was just now trying to google additional work of his, and came across this obit. It was like a gut-punch; I am shocked and devastated to see this, and am heartbroken for...

Robin and I were friends from the school days of the McLean school (private junior high) and Walt Whitman High School in Maryland. We shared a twosome called the Neckties (in ohmage to Monty Python). I still listen to those lovely, funny songs. I'll miss him greatly.

I only learned of this recently when trying to reconnect with Robin. I am a Bard college friend and found photos of Robin. I can share them, if there is a way. So many wonderful memories. Such a sincere good person.

I still miss Robin very much, I think of his literary insight and sense of humor often.

Robin taught me a principle that I'll hold close to me forever...to say simple things. Thank you for everything you shared with me during your time in this mortal coil - Robin, I'll miss you.
Dylan Maiden, writing student (Sydney, Australia)

I am so very sorry to read this. Robin was a friend back in grad school at NYU. I have such good memories of those years, and Robin's wit and intelligence are a large part of those memories.

I worked with Robin at The New School from 2001 to 2004. Then we'd reunion once every few years. I fondly remember him taking the train out to Fairfield, CT for a long beach walk and visit during a teaching conference there. Last we had spoken by phone he and Lucy were about to get married and he felt so wonderful, he was positively ebullient. I feel so shocked and saddened losing him. If anyone knows more and is willing to share I'd love to hear. robenmail at gmail

Robin was a dear friend of mine, years ago when we were grad students at NYU. Some of his sensibilities impressed themselves on me back then, and I remain affected by them. Now, so many years later, I still on occasion see the world as I imagine he would see it, or glance him at the periphery of my vision, looking on, smiling, quizzical. And I smile, and am quizzical. I'll miss him a lot, now. But a sliver of his way of being in the world remains in me, and I'll treasure it.