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The Plateau
Winner of the American Library in Paris Book AwardNamed a Best Book of 2019 by BookPageDuring World War II, French villagers offered safe harbor to countless strangers—mostly children—as they fled for their lives. The same place offers refuge to migrants today. Why?
In a remote pocket of Nazi-held France, ordinary people risked their lives to rescue many hundreds of strangers, mostly Jewish children. Was this a fluke of history, or something more? Anthropologist Maggie Paxson, certainties shaken by years of studying strife, arrives on the Plateau to explore this What are the traits that make a group choose selflessness? In this beautiful, wind-blown place, Paxson discovers a tradition of offering refuge that dates back centuries. But it is the story of a distant relative that provides the beacon for which she has been searching. Restless and idealistic, Daniel Trocmé had found a life of meaning and purpose—or it found him—sheltering a group of children on the Plateau, until the Holocaust came for him, too. Paxson's journey into past and present turns up new answers, new questions, and a renewed faith in the possibilities for us all, in an age when global conflict has set millions adrift. Riveting, multilayered, and intensely personal, The Plateau is a deeply inspiring journey into the central conundrum of our time.
368 pages, Kindle Edition
First published August 13, 2019
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 41 reviews
February 13, 2020
The plateau and the village Le Chambon-sur-Lignon lie in central Southern France. It is an area remote, sparsely populated and densely forested. What occurred there during the Second World War is magnificently told in the book Lest Innocent Blood Be Shed by Philip Paul Hallie. I highly recommend it. Hallie’s book I have given five stars.
The question Maggie Paxson, the author of The Plateau, sets out to answer is this:
“During World War II, French villagers offered safe harbor to countless strangers—mostly children—as they fled for their lives. The same place offers refuge to migrants today. Why?”
The question is intriguing, and it resonates a positive, forward-looking approach.
Unfortunately, the question posed is not answered. In addition, one comes to see that the village is in fact not a place of safety. At the time when the author was there, a male student raped and burned a female student. This makes the village not the proper place for the author to carry out her study. The murder in fact contradicts the book’s message--that one should let bygones be bygones, that one should go forward with hope and love in one’s heart.
Secondly, the positive, forward-looking approach implied by the question to be studied is absent from the book. The author writes primarily about and for herself. She writes for catharsis. As an anthropologist she is distraught by the years she has spent working with people who have suffered irreparably. Looking at the world around her, at the violence, injustice and discrimination so rampant today, she is emotionally shaken. Struggling for equilibrium, she says she is studying how peace can be attained in the world, but in reality, it is peace for herself that she is seeking. Before peace and equilibrium can be attained, she focuses upon the horrors that so upset her.
In the writing of the book the author zigzags back and forth between topics. Which topics? General World War Two history, the author’s own life experiences, present day efforts to aid asylum seekers and the plateau’s Le Chambon-sur-Lignon village hero Daniel Trocmé, a distant relative of the author. During the war Daniel was in charge of a school harboring Jews. He sacrificed his own life in an effort to save them. Switching back and forth between the topics does not promote clarity and it results in repetition.
While the author states that she is seeking how to promote peace, she bemoans many well-known horrific historical events. The massacre committed at Babi Yar in the Ukraine is brought up not just once, but many times. For one seeking better ways, she takes a circuitous route! The author’s unhappiness and psychological instability come to the fore. She has an urgent need to explain her own misery and despair. The tone of the book and the writing us whiny. Reading this book is depressing because so many horrible things are repeated several times. She does one thing well; she succeeds in sharing her own pain, misery and despair with her readers.
I dislike the author’s style of writing—the whining, melodramatic and depressing tone, its long-windedness and the flipping back and forth between topics.
The book is introspective. The author is attempting to find answers on how to cope with the injustices and violence so prevalent in today’s world. She is looking for moral, spiritual and ultimately religious guidance. She sees herself as part Jewish and a follower of the Bahá’i faith. In her search for peace and a path toward a better world, her answer is terribly mundane. "Love is the lodestar!"
Along the path to this magnificent discovery, yes, I am being sarcastic, she theorizes and philosophizes. She makes herself out to be not merely an anthropologist, but a philosopher and historian too.
The author reads the audiobook. The words are spoken clearly. She is fluent in Canadian French. When the written text is whiny, so is her tone. The same is true for when it is preachy. One would have to say this is appropriate, although not particularly pleasant to listen to. I have given the narration three stars because it is easy to follow. She gets across clearly what she wants said.
This book has rubbed me the wrong way. It annoyed me initially by it being sold as a book of social science while it is in reality autobiographical in content. The author writes about and for herself. The further I read the more it annoyed me. I continued in the hope that the author would eventually have something of value to say. If you are looking for an inspirational book praising the value of love, goodness and kindness, then go ahead and read it. Writing a review about a book you do not like is not fun, but for the sake of others it must be done.
The question Maggie Paxson, the author of The Plateau, sets out to answer is this:
“During World War II, French villagers offered safe harbor to countless strangers—mostly children—as they fled for their lives. The same place offers refuge to migrants today. Why?”
The question is intriguing, and it resonates a positive, forward-looking approach.
Unfortunately, the question posed is not answered. In addition, one comes to see that the village is in fact not a place of safety. At the time when the author was there, a male student raped and burned a female student. This makes the village not the proper place for the author to carry out her study. The murder in fact contradicts the book’s message--that one should let bygones be bygones, that one should go forward with hope and love in one’s heart.
Secondly, the positive, forward-looking approach implied by the question to be studied is absent from the book. The author writes primarily about and for herself. She writes for catharsis. As an anthropologist she is distraught by the years she has spent working with people who have suffered irreparably. Looking at the world around her, at the violence, injustice and discrimination so rampant today, she is emotionally shaken. Struggling for equilibrium, she says she is studying how peace can be attained in the world, but in reality, it is peace for herself that she is seeking. Before peace and equilibrium can be attained, she focuses upon the horrors that so upset her.
In the writing of the book the author zigzags back and forth between topics. Which topics? General World War Two history, the author’s own life experiences, present day efforts to aid asylum seekers and the plateau’s Le Chambon-sur-Lignon village hero Daniel Trocmé, a distant relative of the author. During the war Daniel was in charge of a school harboring Jews. He sacrificed his own life in an effort to save them. Switching back and forth between the topics does not promote clarity and it results in repetition.
While the author states that she is seeking how to promote peace, she bemoans many well-known horrific historical events. The massacre committed at Babi Yar in the Ukraine is brought up not just once, but many times. For one seeking better ways, she takes a circuitous route! The author’s unhappiness and psychological instability come to the fore. She has an urgent need to explain her own misery and despair. The tone of the book and the writing us whiny. Reading this book is depressing because so many horrible things are repeated several times. She does one thing well; she succeeds in sharing her own pain, misery and despair with her readers.
I dislike the author’s style of writing—the whining, melodramatic and depressing tone, its long-windedness and the flipping back and forth between topics.
The book is introspective. The author is attempting to find answers on how to cope with the injustices and violence so prevalent in today’s world. She is looking for moral, spiritual and ultimately religious guidance. She sees herself as part Jewish and a follower of the Bahá’i faith. In her search for peace and a path toward a better world, her answer is terribly mundane. "Love is the lodestar!"
Along the path to this magnificent discovery, yes, I am being sarcastic, she theorizes and philosophizes. She makes herself out to be not merely an anthropologist, but a philosopher and historian too.
The author reads the audiobook. The words are spoken clearly. She is fluent in Canadian French. When the written text is whiny, so is her tone. The same is true for when it is preachy. One would have to say this is appropriate, although not particularly pleasant to listen to. I have given the narration three stars because it is easy to follow. She gets across clearly what she wants said.
This book has rubbed me the wrong way. It annoyed me initially by it being sold as a book of social science while it is in reality autobiographical in content. The author writes about and for herself. The further I read the more it annoyed me. I continued in the hope that the author would eventually have something of value to say. If you are looking for an inspirational book praising the value of love, goodness and kindness, then go ahead and read it. Writing a review about a book you do not like is not fun, but for the sake of others it must be done.
August 13, 2019
Anthropologist Maggie Paxson says her book The Plateau is about studying peace, which is a hard thing to do, she says. She attempts it via people who take in strangers. It is about a seemingly unusual area of France where locals have sheltered refugees to protect them from evil forces. For ages, apparently. It is a very attractive premise. But it’s’ not true. The Plateau is instead a very personal journey back through World War II and the Holocaust, interspersed with Paxson’s own memories and the letters and other evidence of a relative (Daniel Trocmé) who helped fugitive children and ended up at Buchenwald.
It is a memoir, not science. I say that because Paxson is a recognized anthropologist and that’s why she was there (at least nominally). She has spent years in Russian villages, learning how their societies work. She takes on Le Chambon Sur Lignon in France with these credentials under her belt. But she gets deeply and personally involved with the locals, the immigrants, their children, their hopes and their fears. She translates for them with government agencies (She speaks English, French and Russian). It’s all very personal. The anthropology turns out to be an excuse to find her own roots.
It’s very cathartic for her. Paxson describes all of her many phobias. We learn about her miscarriage, and all her childhood memories, relevant or not. Like the time lied to her mother about climbing on the bathroom sink. It turns out she has lived in fear and guilt since childhood. She says she’s afraid of nearly everything. All the more amazing that she could pack herself off to remote Russian villages for a year at a time.
She tells us about her singing, and the history of Bei Mir Bis Du Schoen, a favorite song she ends up singing with the locals in France. Everything she sees brings back memories of her own life in Rochester, NY or in Russia.
The Plateau is an area in the Massif Central of France, southwest of Lyon and St. Etienne. It is high up, cold, thickly forested and sparsely populated. It is remote enough that governments haven’t bothered it much. It was in the news in recent years for an ugly murder of a girl student by a boy student. It happened because the boy was expelled from his previous school for rape, but the Plateau school didn’t know that, because they didn’t ask. Everyone there seems to look only forward, and what’s past is past. Paxson was there at the time of the murder, and felt it deeply, as did everyone. It put them on the map – the top story for weeks – and it hurt.
The whole book is felt deeply. There is a great deal of religion and a common god, communing with ancestors and latent appreciation of relatives. It is a total purging by Paxson, an American who got her PhD in Montreal, her husband in Europe, her bona fides in Russia and her awakening in central France. Mostly, she got to recreate the life of Daniel, who descended into the depths of the Nazi holocaust, despite not being Jewish. Harboring children was sufficient. He did it in Le Chambon Sur Lignon. Coincidence?
The descriptions are endless, microscopic, spiritual. The smells of country air, the feeling of snow, the damp, the cold, the homefires, the people in the streets and on transport. All the different international cultures in this little village. It is a long, involved story, constantly flipping among the three poles of Le Chambon today, her own history and the recreation of Daniel’s short life (He died at 33).
The history of the Plateau plays only a minor role beyond Daniel’s time there. The way the area evolved to take in fugitives does not get examined much, and certainly not deeply. Locals did take in fugitives during the war, and they do take in registered asylum seekers today, but what makes them do that could be in the air or the water and we don’t know. Paxson stops asking early and instead absorbs the ethos of the place. The book ends in Jerusalem, where a tree was planted in Daniel’s name and honor. For Paxson, it brought out her Jewish side (her mother is Jewish).
It’s an emotional rollercoaster of a memoir, but it is not social science and it answers no questions for the rest of us.
David Wineberg
It is a memoir, not science. I say that because Paxson is a recognized anthropologist and that’s why she was there (at least nominally). She has spent years in Russian villages, learning how their societies work. She takes on Le Chambon Sur Lignon in France with these credentials under her belt. But she gets deeply and personally involved with the locals, the immigrants, their children, their hopes and their fears. She translates for them with government agencies (She speaks English, French and Russian). It’s all very personal. The anthropology turns out to be an excuse to find her own roots.
It’s very cathartic for her. Paxson describes all of her many phobias. We learn about her miscarriage, and all her childhood memories, relevant or not. Like the time lied to her mother about climbing on the bathroom sink. It turns out she has lived in fear and guilt since childhood. She says she’s afraid of nearly everything. All the more amazing that she could pack herself off to remote Russian villages for a year at a time.
She tells us about her singing, and the history of Bei Mir Bis Du Schoen, a favorite song she ends up singing with the locals in France. Everything she sees brings back memories of her own life in Rochester, NY or in Russia.
The Plateau is an area in the Massif Central of France, southwest of Lyon and St. Etienne. It is high up, cold, thickly forested and sparsely populated. It is remote enough that governments haven’t bothered it much. It was in the news in recent years for an ugly murder of a girl student by a boy student. It happened because the boy was expelled from his previous school for rape, but the Plateau school didn’t know that, because they didn’t ask. Everyone there seems to look only forward, and what’s past is past. Paxson was there at the time of the murder, and felt it deeply, as did everyone. It put them on the map – the top story for weeks – and it hurt.
The whole book is felt deeply. There is a great deal of religion and a common god, communing with ancestors and latent appreciation of relatives. It is a total purging by Paxson, an American who got her PhD in Montreal, her husband in Europe, her bona fides in Russia and her awakening in central France. Mostly, she got to recreate the life of Daniel, who descended into the depths of the Nazi holocaust, despite not being Jewish. Harboring children was sufficient. He did it in Le Chambon Sur Lignon. Coincidence?
The descriptions are endless, microscopic, spiritual. The smells of country air, the feeling of snow, the damp, the cold, the homefires, the people in the streets and on transport. All the different international cultures in this little village. It is a long, involved story, constantly flipping among the three poles of Le Chambon today, her own history and the recreation of Daniel’s short life (He died at 33).
The history of the Plateau plays only a minor role beyond Daniel’s time there. The way the area evolved to take in fugitives does not get examined much, and certainly not deeply. Locals did take in fugitives during the war, and they do take in registered asylum seekers today, but what makes them do that could be in the air or the water and we don’t know. Paxson stops asking early and instead absorbs the ethos of the place. The book ends in Jerusalem, where a tree was planted in Daniel’s name and honor. For Paxson, it brought out her Jewish side (her mother is Jewish).
It’s an emotional rollercoaster of a memoir, but it is not social science and it answers no questions for the rest of us.
David Wineberg
October 8, 2019
The Trocmé family have been honored at Yad Vashem as among the righteous. The author could have written about them, who were distant relatives. Instead she weaves between history and her own story. Furthermore she is all over the globe inserting her nutty commentary. It's a sloppy mess.
August 31, 2019
Who does what with whom?
Maggie Paxson is an anthropologist who for most of her professional life, including a year in a small village in the Caucasus, studying war and death. That is until one day she realized she couldn’t do it any longer. She instead began to ask herself, why isn’t there the same amount of research dedicated to peace as there is to war? Is it because in war there are clear and quantifiable data points? This many died here. This many were wounded here by this many guns and this many tanks. In peace, there is precious little of that statistical data. How does one measure peace? By unmeasurables such as one’s happiness? By a family’s sense of security and assurance that they will be able to be the person they dream about being without the fear of violence?
While pondering these questions, Paxson began to hear about a small village in the mountains of France where during WWII, the villagers selflessly and at great risk to their own lives, rescued the children of those arrested by the Nazi’s. Paxson focuses in particular on one school that remarkably managed to continue the disrupted education of these children while trying to rebuild what were otherwise shattered lives in a place of relative safety and comfort. While few of us have experienced anything like the horrors of war, I think we’d all like to believe that faced with a choice between death and doing what is right we would risk the former for the latter. But would we? As Paxson writes:
“How do you know who you will be? I want to be good, I thought to myself. But how do I know, how do any of us know what we will be when the army advances and the guns are waved?”
One man who answered this question is the central focus of this book. Daniel Trocme, a young man from a well off family who when given the chance to be the director of this school jumped at the chance to live a fuller life than the one he felt he was destined for. His bravery and heroism in protecting the children under his care by any means he could, including the sacrificing of his own life, is by itself a remarkable and powerful story. However this is not the only story Paxson tells. For this same village that saved so many children from the clutches of the Nazis when nobody else would, today is the site of a housing and social services community for refugees from far afield as Africa, the Middle East, and all around Europe. They provide housing, legal services, schooling and other essentials for those left adrift by the horrors of war until they can sort out their legal status. It is an incredibly generous and vital program that is a direct ancestor of what generations before them did for those in the greatest of need.
Where does such kindness spring from? How can one village separated by nearly 80 years be filled with so many people willing to sacrifice for those less fortunate than themselves? These are some of the questions that Paxson asks here, as well as questions and her own life as she interviews a wide range of people from the villagers, to the refugees, to those who lived through the war and knew the hero of this story Daniel.
At times the threads that run through this story are almost too heavy for the soul to handle. Divergent as they first seem as Paxson weaves back and forth through Daniel’s story, her own, the refugees, and other small stories along the way, they all meet up at the end. They are not all happy endings, in fact most of them are not. Yet, they all represent a kind of hope for humanity. Yes there is war. There is senseless death. There is indescribable evil that often shakes us to our core. There is also evil that is horribly banal such as the clerks typing deportation orders, the conductors on trains destined for the death camps, and countless others:
Strange to think how you couldn’t have had a Holocaust without an office, without a typist, without a train, without a plan. So, the typist had her task: to create a list of foreign Jews, with accompanying details.
Alongside these things however, is man’s incredible capacity for good. To transcend evil and to make the ultimate sacrifice for someone we barely know, simply because it is right. Walking away from this book I was struck by the words of Daniel to his family, before he began the journey that would ultimately cost him his life and at the same time redeem it.
Je veux rayonner.
I want to shine.
For ourselves, for our fellow human beings, there is no higher goal.
August 17, 2019
I have always been interested in the Holocaust, and particularly in those who risked themselves and their families to save Jewish people. The story of how the Danish Jews were saved and the story of Le Chambon have been of special fascination for me. Why did the people of le Plateau risk themselves for strangers? Not just an isolated family here or there, but an entire region? What made them different? Is that 'different thing' also causing those people to shelter refugees today?
I thought this book would examine what made the people of le Plateau join in a communal effort to save strangers. What character traits did they have to make them different for the millions around them who watched or even helped while their neighbors were rounded up and taken away to be murdered. I expected to learn what in their culture made this group of people willing to put their lives on the line. I didn't get that. I got a well written and interesting retrospective about the author's life interspersed with a description of the life of Daniel Trocme. I was glad to learn more about Daniel Trocme, and I feel like I understand who he was and why he took the actions he did during WW2. But I don't feel like the author answered the question of why this region valued the lives of strangers so much that they risked their own.
I thought this book would examine what made the people of le Plateau join in a communal effort to save strangers. What character traits did they have to make them different for the millions around them who watched or even helped while their neighbors were rounded up and taken away to be murdered. I expected to learn what in their culture made this group of people willing to put their lives on the line. I didn't get that. I got a well written and interesting retrospective about the author's life interspersed with a description of the life of Daniel Trocme. I was glad to learn more about Daniel Trocme, and I feel like I understand who he was and why he took the actions he did during WW2. But I don't feel like the author answered the question of why this region valued the lives of strangers so much that they risked their own.
February 28, 2020
Too many digressions about origins of anthropology and how anthropologists go about their research. I ended up skimming those parts.
December 3, 2023
4.0⭐️
Absolutely beautiful prose. Heartbreaking, informative, and thought provoking.
Lines I underlined:
“What if we began by regarding peace not as timeless, but as dynamic; not located in the beginning or the end, but in the unfolding; something not of the ether, but of lived grounds and interactions; something not perfect but flawed and rough-grained.”
“Maybe we like the think there’s a kind of trumpet blast that sounds through history, that tells us when it is time to be on the side of the angels. But what if the trumpet doesn’t blast? What if the moments are so small - say, a neighbour who asks to come in even as I pretend not to be at home - that they pass without notice? And what if I am left, then, in terrible times, with my own frailties? Would I be good? Would I be good, after all?”
“At any given moment of this life, you can fear or you can love.”
Absolutely beautiful prose. Heartbreaking, informative, and thought provoking.
Lines I underlined:
“What if we began by regarding peace not as timeless, but as dynamic; not located in the beginning or the end, but in the unfolding; something not of the ether, but of lived grounds and interactions; something not perfect but flawed and rough-grained.”
“Maybe we like the think there’s a kind of trumpet blast that sounds through history, that tells us when it is time to be on the side of the angels. But what if the trumpet doesn’t blast? What if the moments are so small - say, a neighbour who asks to come in even as I pretend not to be at home - that they pass without notice? And what if I am left, then, in terrible times, with my own frailties? Would I be good? Would I be good, after all?”
“At any given moment of this life, you can fear or you can love.”
February 17, 2021
This was a beautiful book. It’s full of loving descriptions and compassion for humans. Maggie Paxson opens herself to us in a very intimate way as she unfolds the mystery of a man, Daniel Trocme, and a community who bind themselves together in order to help people desperate to escape tragedy: Jews escaping Nazis, and people from around the world escaping other political and religious oppressors.
Without declaring any political position, the book trumps the political focuses on humanity - reminding us what is essential is to see with the heart, as Antoine de Saint-Exupery reflected in The Little Prince.
Without declaring any political position, the book trumps the political focuses on humanity - reminding us what is essential is to see with the heart, as Antoine de Saint-Exupery reflected in The Little Prince.
October 30, 2020
A great story about this small caring village high in the mountains of France during WWII. But the story is constantly being interrupted by the author and her anthropological stories. Just wanted to the read about the refugees from the war and the brave people who hid them. I wonderful true war story- just too much butting in by the author.
November 8, 2019
Non-fiction, fascinating. Got through it, a change of pace for me.
August 21, 2019
I read this mostly on planes from France to Czech Republic and then on a plane to England and I have many thoughts as I loved this book! I had just visited Le Chambon when I received an advanced copy from the publisher via Netgalley. I will be updating this review soon with my extended review! I can't recommend this book enough!!
August 13, 2019
Paxson weaves anthropology with history in a really interesting way in this book. The book goes back and forth between the story of Daniel Trocme, who helped shelter people in need during World War II and the present day attempt to help refugees in France through CADA. Not only was Daniel helping those in need, but the whole town was a place where those fleeing the Nazi could find a place of safety. Fast forward to the 21st century where Paxson takes a trip to The Plateau to discover the history of this small town only to find herself telling the story of today's refugees who are also escaping their homes due to war and other crises. I found Paxson's writing to be clear and moving when talking about both the past and the present, although she does sometimes have the tendency to over elaborate. She shares many insights into the life of an anthropologist and shares her own personal family history and journey that led her there. I really enjoyed her stories of connecting with refugees and helping them navigate a sometimes confusing and complicated immigration system. I highly recommend this book for anyone with an interest in history, as well as anyone who is considering a career in anthropology. Paxson really shines when she shows us the the day to day life of an anthropologist and the different people that she meets and helps along the way.
Thank you to Netgalley and the publisher for sending me a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.
Thank you to Netgalley and the publisher for sending me a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.
October 5, 2019
Fascinating look at the plateau in France that has consistently offered refuge to displaced people. The author’s viewpoint as an anthropologist is supplemented by a discovered family connection that gives focus to the events in WWII that illustrate the depth of commitment the plateau residents exhibited. She interleaves this family story with the account of her own experiences as she learns to know the current residents and displaced persons they host today.
I read little nonfiction, but this book was a pleasure.
I read little nonfiction, but this book was a pleasure.
November 5, 2019
I enjoyed this book, but it is not a historical anthropological view of The Plateau. It is a memoir mixed with history and anthropology and lots of feelings. It’s a wild ride with a subject as close as self and far away and vast as all humanity. It is really worth a read, especially in this divided populist times we live in. It definitely has a lot to say about how we gather information and our knowledge of who does what with whom and why and how.
January 7, 2020
I wish this had been more focused and either way more about the author or way less.
February 18, 2020
Actually, for some reason I couldn't get connected to the narrative style and just quit. Sorry Ms. Paxson
October 29, 2021
Nice book about the Holocaust and non-Jews who practiced the golden rule, but very little new information and too long and repetitive. In a single word -- BORING.
September 9, 2019
"With all of our chances-- and all of the moral tools we've derived from any number of spiritual, religious, and philosophical orientations-- we haven't learned. It's like we still don't even recognize the moral hazard of deciding we are anything-- any nation, any race, any religion, any gender-- before we are a human being. Even when we must know, in our deepest places, that the oneness of humanity is an absolute truth, we behave as though we don't" (309).
Anthropologist Maggie Paxson has written a book unlike any I have read before: an exploration of peace that is part anthropology, part memoir, part history, part religious meditation. She begins by asking what made the people of the Plateau region of France, a place known for harboring refugees and Jews in great times of danger, do so? In the course of finding her answer, she lives on the Plateau, studies the history of Daniel Trocme who lived there briefly during WWII to harbor and teach refugee children, and befriends the newest refugees in the area. All of this sidetracks her from getting down to the nitty-gritty data of why this area is so special. Instead she veers into an exploration of humanity, religions, and nations to determine what makes one good and put their life on the line for another. I am personally okay not having charts and diagrams and boxes with numbers in them to map the bell curve of goodness. Goodness is subjective, caught in the mess of our psyches.
Paxson's goal is ambitious. How DOES one chart peace? Especially during a time when there was no peace? Also, how does one study a population's motives for helping others when not all members shared the same goal? There are so many stories of sacrifice made by people all over Europe who helped shelter and feed and welcome into their homes Jews and other displaced peoples that I don't think the answer lies in one area. It lies in ourselves. Paxson gets drawn into the lives of those in the past and the families seeking shelter on the Plateau now. She learns who they are and what caused them to flee their homelands. She explores how religions and the ideas of nations (which replaced kingdoms which served religions) have failed humanity. Deeply religious herself, in a secular field, she questions how religions can lead one astray-- especially when every religion intones that we must love one another. Not being religious myself, I found this interesting as she discusses how the "why" one is religious impacts how much they love their neighbor and how they can use that same religion to shun him. Those who strive for peace, place humanity front and center-- just because somebody else made them an enemy because they are of a different race, religion, political persuasion-- doesn't make them your enemy, too. When the time comes to act, who will we be? Will answer the call as whatever we label ourselves-- white? Christian? American? Or will we be humans responding to human needs?
There is a tremendous amount of pain in this book. I learned more about the Holocaust that I had not known before; I learned about the atrocities happening in other countries; I learned about how much pain and death and suffering arise from ultimately arbitrary means. I again learned that being good will not save you, and it instead makes you a bigger target. Their is a lot hope here, too. We can in our small and big ways help others and do what we can. This seems miniscule in light of the horrors of the world, but think of the amount of good and how many people are saved when we act selflessly. In the words of Jesus, "Ye shall know them by their fruits," and Paxson reminds us that it is not who we say we are that defines us, but what we do.
Anthropologist Maggie Paxson has written a book unlike any I have read before: an exploration of peace that is part anthropology, part memoir, part history, part religious meditation. She begins by asking what made the people of the Plateau region of France, a place known for harboring refugees and Jews in great times of danger, do so? In the course of finding her answer, she lives on the Plateau, studies the history of Daniel Trocme who lived there briefly during WWII to harbor and teach refugee children, and befriends the newest refugees in the area. All of this sidetracks her from getting down to the nitty-gritty data of why this area is so special. Instead she veers into an exploration of humanity, religions, and nations to determine what makes one good and put their life on the line for another. I am personally okay not having charts and diagrams and boxes with numbers in them to map the bell curve of goodness. Goodness is subjective, caught in the mess of our psyches.
Paxson's goal is ambitious. How DOES one chart peace? Especially during a time when there was no peace? Also, how does one study a population's motives for helping others when not all members shared the same goal? There are so many stories of sacrifice made by people all over Europe who helped shelter and feed and welcome into their homes Jews and other displaced peoples that I don't think the answer lies in one area. It lies in ourselves. Paxson gets drawn into the lives of those in the past and the families seeking shelter on the Plateau now. She learns who they are and what caused them to flee their homelands. She explores how religions and the ideas of nations (which replaced kingdoms which served religions) have failed humanity. Deeply religious herself, in a secular field, she questions how religions can lead one astray-- especially when every religion intones that we must love one another. Not being religious myself, I found this interesting as she discusses how the "why" one is religious impacts how much they love their neighbor and how they can use that same religion to shun him. Those who strive for peace, place humanity front and center-- just because somebody else made them an enemy because they are of a different race, religion, political persuasion-- doesn't make them your enemy, too. When the time comes to act, who will we be? Will answer the call as whatever we label ourselves-- white? Christian? American? Or will we be humans responding to human needs?
There is a tremendous amount of pain in this book. I learned more about the Holocaust that I had not known before; I learned about the atrocities happening in other countries; I learned about how much pain and death and suffering arise from ultimately arbitrary means. I again learned that being good will not save you, and it instead makes you a bigger target. Their is a lot hope here, too. We can in our small and big ways help others and do what we can. This seems miniscule in light of the horrors of the world, but think of the amount of good and how many people are saved when we act selflessly. In the words of Jesus, "Ye shall know them by their fruits," and Paxson reminds us that it is not who we say we are that defines us, but what we do.
May 16, 2020
The concept of this non-fiction, autobiographical story is compelling: During World War II, French villagers in this remote area of about 25,000 farmers and shepherds in Nazi-held France offered refuge and rescued hundreds of people, mostly Jewish children. What's more, helping strangers is something this area has done for centuries and continues to do so today by helping migrants despite enormous pressures caused by right-wing politics .
The story is personal for Paxson, as she discovers she had a distant relative who took part in this effort during the war and who was rounded up and died in a concentration camp along with others from the area. Daniel was a brave, principled and determined young man as related in this story. He seemed selfless and tireless. As an anthropologist, Paxson asks the question why this area is known for this effort although she never really answers it except somewhat anecdotally.
My opinion of this book may be influenced by the depressing time we are living through now with Covid and Trump. I think the best thing about the book is that it causes readers to ask themselves uncomfortable questions about what risks and actions they would take if they were in a similar situation. This is made more uncomfortable because of the way our own country seems to be at a tipping point where each person's individual actions could make a difference in whether the pandemic is contained or whether the founding concept of our democracy prevails. There is no knowing how it will turn out. I have laid awake at night thinking about people deliberately ignoring guidelines to contain the virus...or thinking about the election in November and what I would be willing to do if it is deliberately disrupted or if "unacceptable" results are challenged through violence.
The reason I only give the book two stars is that I thought the author's meandering writing style was exceptionally hard to follow as she jumped back and forth between characters and time periods. Her writing sometimes made me cringe. For example, at least 21 times she used the phrases "Who does what to whom?" Yes, an important question for anthropology, but this isn't a textbook. Another example: She muses and imagines scenes, sometimes in an office setting where someone is typing lists. A sentence like this is typical: "Maybe he or she - shall we suppose a she?-touched her hair lightly before beginning. Maybe she adjusted her chair. Who knows. What we can be absolutely sure of, though, is that at a certain moment that person picked up a piece of paper, rolled it into a typewriter and began to type, right at the top of the page." She could have used a good editor to pare away such things. A friend commented that much of the book read like an unedited personal journal and I have to agree. I skipped over whole pages that seemed completely superfluous to the story and which interrupted the flow of narrative.
That said, books about the Holocaust like this make clear that we need to remember that humanity has shown itself to be capable of unimaginable cruelty and depravity. It has happened time and time again and we can't assure ourselves it won't ever happen again.
The story is personal for Paxson, as she discovers she had a distant relative who took part in this effort during the war and who was rounded up and died in a concentration camp along with others from the area. Daniel was a brave, principled and determined young man as related in this story. He seemed selfless and tireless. As an anthropologist, Paxson asks the question why this area is known for this effort although she never really answers it except somewhat anecdotally.
My opinion of this book may be influenced by the depressing time we are living through now with Covid and Trump. I think the best thing about the book is that it causes readers to ask themselves uncomfortable questions about what risks and actions they would take if they were in a similar situation. This is made more uncomfortable because of the way our own country seems to be at a tipping point where each person's individual actions could make a difference in whether the pandemic is contained or whether the founding concept of our democracy prevails. There is no knowing how it will turn out. I have laid awake at night thinking about people deliberately ignoring guidelines to contain the virus...or thinking about the election in November and what I would be willing to do if it is deliberately disrupted or if "unacceptable" results are challenged through violence.
The reason I only give the book two stars is that I thought the author's meandering writing style was exceptionally hard to follow as she jumped back and forth between characters and time periods. Her writing sometimes made me cringe. For example, at least 21 times she used the phrases "Who does what to whom?" Yes, an important question for anthropology, but this isn't a textbook. Another example: She muses and imagines scenes, sometimes in an office setting where someone is typing lists. A sentence like this is typical: "Maybe he or she - shall we suppose a she?-touched her hair lightly before beginning. Maybe she adjusted her chair. Who knows. What we can be absolutely sure of, though, is that at a certain moment that person picked up a piece of paper, rolled it into a typewriter and began to type, right at the top of the page." She could have used a good editor to pare away such things. A friend commented that much of the book read like an unedited personal journal and I have to agree. I skipped over whole pages that seemed completely superfluous to the story and which interrupted the flow of narrative.
That said, books about the Holocaust like this make clear that we need to remember that humanity has shown itself to be capable of unimaginable cruelty and depravity. It has happened time and time again and we can't assure ourselves it won't ever happen again.
March 18, 2021
This is an extraordinary read. The author, a multi-lingual anthropologist, goes in search of a cousin who perished in the Shoah. The cousin, Daniel Trocmé, made a decision to forego doctorate studies in Paris to answer the calling of his cousin, a Protestant preacher in the remote, hilly, sparsely populated region southwest of Lyon, France with a long history of offering sanctuary to those persecuted. Daniel a kind and gentle man in his early thirties, chose to serve as a teacher and guardian to children, of various faiths, cared for and protected by the citizens Chambon-sur-Lignon from Nazis and French collaborators who sought them. The Nazis eventually descend upon the village and rip children from their refuge. Daniel, rather than escape when the opportunity presented itself, chose instead to submit himself to arrest to remain with the snatched children. His decision led to his death after more than 8 months of captivity and having been transferred from an initial detention center to a transfer area before going on to Buchenwald, Dora and Majdanek after he was too feeble to work. The gift of Paxson's story is her ability to make it personal though her blood connection with Daniel and well as universal. Daniel's story is of Good confronting Evil. Evil is beaten and Good lives on through a tree planted bearing a plaque to Daniel near Yad Veshem, Israel's remembrance museum to the Shoah. Paxson's narrative weaves the past with the present as she describes how Daniel's, and the others, commitment to saving refugees continues to the present. This is a moving and beautifully graphic story of Universal Good conquering Evil.
September 27, 2020
I absolutely loved this book! Maggie Paxson writes with a style and voice that you will not want to put it down.
In this memoir, Maggie, who has a degree in anthropology is morally fatigued by studying nearly nothing but war. So she embarks on a journey to learn more and really reflect on compassion and kindness and it’s practical implications. She travels to a community in France to learn more about the community’s history of sheltering refugees during World War 2 and how the community still shelters people today. She reflects on the implications of compassion, such as; what happens when sheltering someone ends in tragedy?, but also the far-reaching effects of treating someone with kindness and respect.
My big take-away from this book is to see fellow humans as beings and not an object/product of what their situations made them to be. That can be a hard thing to do, to not demonize the souls who are damaged. Rather the aim should be to see every soul with humanity and help that humanity to grow. Also to try hard to strip away the anger, fear, and biases that we hold to see each other as uniquely human.
Very interesting book that can generate a lot of discussion and thought. Definitely recommend!
In this memoir, Maggie, who has a degree in anthropology is morally fatigued by studying nearly nothing but war. So she embarks on a journey to learn more and really reflect on compassion and kindness and it’s practical implications. She travels to a community in France to learn more about the community’s history of sheltering refugees during World War 2 and how the community still shelters people today. She reflects on the implications of compassion, such as; what happens when sheltering someone ends in tragedy?, but also the far-reaching effects of treating someone with kindness and respect.
My big take-away from this book is to see fellow humans as beings and not an object/product of what their situations made them to be. That can be a hard thing to do, to not demonize the souls who are damaged. Rather the aim should be to see every soul with humanity and help that humanity to grow. Also to try hard to strip away the anger, fear, and biases that we hold to see each other as uniquely human.
Very interesting book that can generate a lot of discussion and thought. Definitely recommend!
November 28, 2021
I was really excited to read this. The subject matter seemed really interesting. But the author somehow manages to make the Holocaust, the current refugee situation in France, and the historical political sufferings of eastern Europe all about herself. I really wanted to like it but her meandering, journal-entry style of writing made it difficult to really even understand what the book was about, if it wasn’t supposed to be about her. It wasn’t really about The Plateau. It was more about her wrestling with good and evil and religion and trying to make it look scientific by adding stories of real people as case studies of her wandering thoughts.
The book should be described as a journal or an autobiography of a new age traveler with a vague and uninspiring interest in European history.
The end was cliched. It’s important to love your neighbor? This is something Christianity has been teaching for millennia. But somehow she has solidified the concept and meanwhile divorced the claim from Christianity in the course of one book?
She should choose a different genre, or commit to one that would allow her writing style to shine. It was definitely lost in this one.
The book should be described as a journal or an autobiography of a new age traveler with a vague and uninspiring interest in European history.
The end was cliched. It’s important to love your neighbor? This is something Christianity has been teaching for millennia. But somehow she has solidified the concept and meanwhile divorced the claim from Christianity in the course of one book?
She should choose a different genre, or commit to one that would allow her writing style to shine. It was definitely lost in this one.
March 31, 2025
The Plateau has generally received high praise in other reviews thus far. This isn't entirely surprising, as a large part of the book is committed to an absorbing and accessible story about people who exercised courage and resilience during a horrific series of events. That's arguably reason enough to recommend it, and it will undoubtedly be of interest to many readers. Based on a fertile premise, it should provide much fodder for rewarding thought and discussion. However, its inconsistencies and problematic framing make a close and critical reading necessary.
-Elisabeth Cook
Read the full review at: https://www.bookbrowse.com/mag/review...
-Elisabeth Cook
Read the full review at: https://www.bookbrowse.com/mag/review...
April 24, 2020
I wanted to love this book. It was gifted to me and signed by the author. There were some passages that were so beautiful they brought tears to my eyes. However, I found that the author was in love with her own words, which led her to ramble and lose track of her point. It seemed she tried to wax poetic and I’m doing so lost the purpose. The questions she set out to answer, were never really answered. I found the parts about Daniel and the Holocaust most riveting. I’m disappointed by this book. It took me a long time to get through, but I’m happy I stuck with it.
February 16, 2020
Paxon asked and answered (at least for herself and from her own perspective) some of humankinds' most profound questions.
What does real love look like?
How does one develop a moral compass that will perpetually point to true north?
How can one stay true to one's personal moral compass?
Having just finished reading this book, I have much to ponder.
One caveat to future reads, this book contains many disturbing images of Nazi cruelties.
What does real love look like?
How does one develop a moral compass that will perpetually point to true north?
How can one stay true to one's personal moral compass?
Having just finished reading this book, I have much to ponder.
One caveat to future reads, this book contains many disturbing images of Nazi cruelties.
June 9, 2020
This book was not what I expected at all. It is not an anthropological study of what makes a peaceful society, but more a memoir of one person’s personal discovery of family and community. It is filled with personal reflections on her own journey and how that relates to what she’s researching and experiencing. There are very few “answers” gained, and no tidy lessons to be learned, but lots of thought provoking moments. It was a moving and memorable book.
July 4, 2020
This is a great book with a misleading tagline. The cover says it will be an exploration of why a group of people living on a plateau in France have a centuries-long history of protecting the vulnerable. Throughout the book, Paxson makes no effort to explain why these people are good in the middle of evil. However, it is a well-written, engaging, and almost-poetic description of this group of people. I recommend the book, but don't be mislead by the cover.
August 13, 2020
An entitled brat wants something. What? It's not clear as the pages abound with navel gazing. Somehow it's about the physical place and about Paxson's self. At one point I started to feel disgust. If Paxson wants "peace" he can go to any remote place to hear the birds sing while defecating holding a tree branch. What has that anything to do with the Holocaust besides some unnamed virtue signaling episode. I don't know, maybe there is such an episode, but I started turning the pages faster.
October 14, 2020
A superb, expertly-woven true tale of war, family, community, love, and hope. How and why do some communities gather and prevail in the midst of pitiless warfare and betrayal? How does an individual turn from a life of relative safety to one of protecting innocent others, sacrificing one's own life in the process? Heartbreaking and uplifting, challenging and inspirational, this book brings the reader face to face with conscience and its candle of hope.
July 6, 2021
I want so much to give this book a higher rating because I love the premise & research about studying peace: specifically what creates a peaceful & compassionate community. Paxson focuses her work on “The Plateau,” a mountainous community in France that hid and cared for refugees during WW2. Unfortunately, her narrative is cumbersome & weaves in so many stories from different eras that it becomes a mess. Where was the editor??
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