Literary Review - David Cesarani on the disturbing role of women in the Nazi era
I was in the only newsagent I know that carries Literary Review this morning, and once again I found myself thinking how good a publication it seems. I must put a link to their website at the side.
Anyhow, checking the site this afternoon, it's got a review of an interesting sounding book that takes a bit of a revisionist view of the role of women in Nazi Germany. It's not pretty:
Making superb use of postwar investigations, interrogations and the transcripts of trials in both West and East Germany, Lower reconstructs the short, frequently brutal careers of 13 woman who served in the East, either on assignment or as volunteers. Some followed boyfriends or spouses, taking a job nearby or moving in with them. With a few exceptions, they took to genocide like little girls take to dolls....
Secretaries who typed up orders and instructions for ghetto clearances were already a species of 'desk murderer'. Yet some did more than just the paperwork. They joined the lads in the shooting, carousing with the killers in breaks between murder. Killing invaded sensual life. One woman recalled that after a day of executions men would return to base and require their female assistants to complete the after-action reports, leading to more than a spot of dictation. It was common for a secretary to become the girlfriend or mistress and then the wife of an SS man, sharing his bed and his murderous pastimes. In these relationships the boundary between the home front and the front line blurred. Already a racially determined process in the Third Reich - what Lower dubs 'racial mating' - marriages in the East 'became essentially partnerships in crime'. Handsome marital homes were available thanks to state-run pillaging, while slave labour provided a supply of (expendable) domestic servants. The power to kill heightened erotic experiences.
In some of the most shocking evidence that she has unearthed, Lower describes how race overrode supposedly natural maternal instincts. One woman, married to an SS officer, beat a Jewish child to death with her bare hands. Another, whose husband ran an expropriated estate, personally killed starving Jewish children who had escaped from a transport. She offered them sweets then shot them in the mouth. Her own child was three years old.
Update: I just had a read of
another review on the site: this one of a second volume of collected Hemingway letters. I haven't really read any major work by him (at high school, we read "The Old Man and the Sea", but I think that is considered one of his less significant efforts) but it's always sort of fun to read about authors who behaved badly. (And, indeed, it seems that all the big ones from the first half of the 20th century did.) In that vein, I enjoyed these paragraphs:
The first volume of the Letters, closes with a disastrous
setback to Hemingway's literary aspirations - the theft of all his
manuscripts, left unguarded by his wife, Hadley, in a suitcase at the
Gare de Lyon - and the second opens with another, no less crushing blow:
Hadley's pregnancy. Fatherhood was an unwelcome cramp on Hemingway's
style, as the intoxications of European travel and bohemian life in the
Latin Quarter gave way to the sober prospect of parental responsibility.
Plans were made to return to Toronto, where the couple quickly settled
into a new apartment and Hemingway started work as a staff writer for
the Toronto Daily Star.
The pall of domestic drudgery dogs Hemingway's letters of this time.
He wrote to Gertrude Stein with news of the baby's birth, adding, 'The
free time that I imagined in front of a typewriter in a newspaper office
has not been. There hasn't been any time free or otherwise for
anything.' To Ezra Pound he complained, 'I can't sleep just with the
horror of the Goddam thing. I have not had a drink for five days.' He
begged his friend to throw him the lifeline of a letter from Europe. The
complaints continued even after the family's move back to Paris. 'We
have been experimenting with living with a baby etc,' wrote Hemingway to
Pound, apologising for the lack of correspondence. 'Hadley sick in bed
for quite a while, me for a few days, baby hollers etc. Have tried to
write but couldnt bring it off.'