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Paperback
First published January 1, 2014
Many of the prisoners had ghostly pink indents on their fingers where a wedding ring once sat. Such a thing proved that they were beloved, once. Most were married, once. Further back, they had all been rocked to sleep, once. At some point in time, the hot words of love had been whispered in their ears, and once, long ago, in what seemed like another life, they had all been the center of someone else's universe. They were the sun. They were the stars and light. They were the molecules of God himself.But the commentator role slips easily into that of philosopher, and here Hicks is undeniably impressive, especially in the book's final chapters. Although he imagines a daring escape attempt (as there were at Sobibór and Treblinka) and even allows a few survivors, he totally avoids any kind of optimistic ending. Here, in his afterword, he explains why:
But how can we explain such things through words? Whenever we try to do this, we find ourselves in a world where the old rules of storytelling do not apply. Any Holocaust story that makes us smile at the end is full of the false belief that something can be learned from all of the murder, that there is some scrap of goodness amid the ash. Perhaps this is human nature, the search for the good, but to focus on acts of kindness or on moments of enlightenment is to turn away from the horror of the Holocaust. It is to search for the flickering candle in the darkness when, really, the darkness itself is the story.He is right: this is not a story that can be told in words, only through facts. And if the author needs to invent a fictional framework to give those facts greater impact, then all strength to him.