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384 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 2016
There was nothing going on, nothing at all. And even if there were - even if certain realignments and corrections were under way - they were certainly not in her control, nor indeed, in Frau Loewenthal's, and there was nothing to be done about it.
I am the wish child, the future cast in water. I am the thrown coin, the blown candle; I am the fallen star.
“On these nights, when the planes were almost too remote to hear, Sieglinde wished she could climb into her parents’ bed. But this was not a gypsy camp; this was not a den of dogs.”
Frau Müller: There’s no need. I meant nothing. It means nothing.
Frau Miller: Everything means something.
Frau Müller: The lies that fall from the sky – they are not suitable reading. You should not be reading them. They should be burned.
Frau Miller: Quite right. Quite right. And I do. But sometimes one notices a sentence here and there as one is gathering them to burn.
Frau Müller: One should stop noticing.
At the theatre there is standing room only for the Führer’s speech. The women hand over their furs to the coat-check girl, who cannot, it seems, trouble herself to smile, and may not even be German. They find their seats, which are ten rows back from the stage and afford an acceptable view of the lectern, until a vast individual with blond braids piled high on her head takes her place in front of them. It is difficult to see past the bulging hair, which the women agree must be false. Such persons need to acquaint themselves with mirrors, they remark, but they refuse to let her ruin their evening. Through their opera glasses they take in the one-man show, the feverish aria tumbling from the stage: swords and blood, blood and earth, betrayal and sacrifice, disguise, salvation: all the traditional and tragic themes. And how the women applaud! How they cheer. (p.41)