This is the fascinating memoir of a young French-Jewish woman who survives the Holocaust because of her quick wits, her Aryan looks, and a forged identification card. After Paris is liberated (about halfway through the book), the reader discovers the reason for the book's title: Marthe -- who was raised in the Alsace Lorraine area and is fluent in both French and German -- decides to work as a spy in German-occupied territory.
She recalls so many details that this book is a stunning, albeit horrifying look at France during the war, portraying in living color the good people and the bad. Although many of her experiences -- and those of her many family members -- painfully illustrate virulent and widespread French anti-Semitism (I really expected better from the French Red Cross!), the following stunning image was an exception:
"One by one as we approached (the border between occupied and Vichy France), the men stopped smoking and the women stopped talking, and they all turned to stare back at us. There was near silence as we squeaked along with our bicycle, watching them watching us.
"An old man in a dark shirt and working trousers stood up from his rickety old wooden chair as we passed his house and stared at us intently. I returned his gaze, my hands clammy on the handelbars. Without saying a word, he suddenly dropped onto one knee and, hand on his chest, lowered his head in prayer. Next to him, his wife knelt on both knees in the dirt and made the sign of the cross. At the next house, two men fell similarly to their knees and began praying for us, their soft murmurings carried to us on the summer evening breeze.
Another passage that conversely blew my mind, witnessed by Marthe as she was posing as a German towards the end of the war, was a Wehrmacht officer regaling a busload of German women with tales of grisly murder in Russia and Poland:
"'We'd take them from their villages, men, women, and children, and march them to a nearby forest or clearing, where they had to dig their own graves," he said, his eyes quite mad. 'Then we'd line them all up and open fire. You should have seen them run as we strafed them with bullets. Like little mice!'
"His stubby fingers did little running movements and he made a squaking noise with his mouth. All the women in the bus laughed openly as the officer threw his head back and roared at the memory. I felt sick to my stomach . . . "
Guess you had to have been there to get the "joke" but this passage legitimately challenges the state of complete ignorance claimed by many post-war German civilians regarding Germany's crimes against humanity. But even if these women, like many other German civilians, really didn't know exactly what had happened to the Jews, Poles, captured Soviets and Resistance workers, their ability to find humor in a scene of mass slaughter is quite telling.
Because Marthe, a remarkable young woman, was often very close to danger, both as a Jew on the run and later, as a very capable French spy, and because this book is so well-written, it's a real page-turner.