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LitPicks - June '08
War-Torn Lives: Lives and families and communities torn apart by World War II. This month's stories are tales of survival—of a German girl, French men and women, and a Jewish boy in Auschwitz. At times grim, each story offers a transcendent vision of humanity.
A Lighter Touch | Wonderfully
Written | Great Works
The Book Thief
Markus Zusak, 2005
552 pp.
By Molly Lundquist
Okay, so now we're reading children's books? — which is how Random House classifies this work. But, in fact, librarians who originally put the book on the Young Adult shelves are now moving it into Adult Fiction—and for good reason. It's a terrific read for the 30-and-counting crowd!
The Book Thief tells the story of a young girl living with a foster family, from 1941-44, in Molching, Germany, a village outside Munich and home to the Dachau concentration camp. Liesel, an endearing and engaging heroine, experiences profound love as well as the profound horror of war and Nazi Germany.
Mostly, it's a book about books and the power words have to shape our world: they're capable of creating a vision of a better world—or a hell on earth. Liesel, who arrives in Molching unable to read, gradually learns by painting words on a wall (a marvelous symbol). She comes to treasure books—so much so that she's compelled to steal them.
There's so much to like about this book—starting with the narrative voice of Death, who tries to gain our sympathy (works so hard—never gets a vacation). Awed by humans' generosity as well as cruelty, Death recounts Liesel's story with ironic detachment, making an occasional joke along the way, but always with the sad observation that we humans are the cause of our own suffering. Death insists that he/she (?) comes, only when called, to gather up the souls.
Our Reading Guide for the book contains discussion questions, but with or without them, this book should generate rich conversation.
See The Book Thief Reading Guide.
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Suite Francaise
Irene Nemirovsky, 1941; published 2004; Eng. trans., 2006
715 pp.
By Molly Lundquist
Suite Francaise is especially poignant because of its legendary background: author Irene Nemirovsky died at Auschwitz in 1942; 60 years later, her manuscript was rediscovered by one of her daughters.
All this is set forth in the two appendices, which make for as gripping a story as Nemirovsky's fiction. It's hard to read Suite Francaise without that background knowledge breaking through.
Suite Francaise is actually two stories, which were originally envisioned as a quintet (or "suite"). Both stories follow the plight of various characters as they negotiate their perilous paths through German-occupied France.
In the first story, various sets of characters flee Paris in 1940, while the German onslaught puts the French army on the run. As panic drives them into the countryside, the Parisans become refugees in their own country—nowhere to hide, nowhere to sleep, little to eat. Selflessness and cruelty exist side by side.
Sadly, however, Nemirovsky's characters turn out to be one-dimensional cartoons: rich = bad; poor = good. The result cheapens what is otherwise a fine portrayal of an historical moment.
The second story, which takes place in an occupied French village, is the better of the two—it's more focused, more intimate, less contrived, and the characters more compelling. As villagers struggle to co-exist with their German occupiers, humanity rears its gorgeous head above the fray of war. Enemies somehow find common ground for generosity, even friendship. Is this collaboration, accommodation, or human nature? A good question for discussion.
Be sure to see our Reading Guide for Suite Francaise.
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Night
Elie Wiesel, 1958
144 pp.
By Molly Lundquist
One could write a great deal about this book—the first ever published from a concentration camp survivor. But whatever I write will seem trite compared to the words Elie Wiesel has written.
In a slender volume, Wiesel relates his experience as a young boy as he and his family are transported from their village in Hungary to Auschwitz in Poland. "Transported" does no justice to the horror of that journey—or what comes later.
Yet young Wiesel and his father are told they are among the lucky as they escape the ovens and are taken to a work camp. The brevity of the narrative is in contrast to the immensity of suffering.
The value of Wiesel's account is that he takes us with him, allowing us to bear witness—at a safe distance. Through his straightforward prose style, devoid of emotionalism, we are exposed to profound human degradation. Yet we come away with an overwhelming sense of awe for human strength—the strengths of will, faith, and love—not only for those few survivors, like Wiesel, but for all those who perished.
Download our Reading Guide for Night.
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