Neil Ascherson writes about Berlin in the current issue of the London Review of Books:
Berlin is a strange, parvenu capital which shakes itself and becomes unrecognisable every few generations. The little Prussian town suddenly becomes the pompous capital of an empire, which collapses into a defeated rump republic, which turns into the powerhouse of the Third Reich, which is bombed shapeless, then divided into two by a wall. And now united again, with a new government centre worthy of that old parvenu pomposity.
Reviewing Ian Buruma's book Stay Alive: Berlin 1939-45, he says of the city during the war:
Berliners were certainly aware that 'Jew trains' were leaving for somewhere whence no passengers returned. Buruma writes that "the desire to look away, to pretend ignorance, to be wilfully oblivious, must have been the norm, even among highly educated Germans."
As a British wartime child living near secret things and sites, I can remember easily respecting the instruction: "Just forget you saw that!" But years later in Germany, I learned how often young men on leave had confided hideous things they had seen to their mothers or sisters.
In the last year of the war, as Buruma confirms, the fear that gripped Berliners was not just of military defeat but of vengeance.
No comments:
Post a Comment