Vodka, Borsch, and Tears.
Armed with newly unarchived historical material and hitherto unpublished sources, TV presenter and writer of historical fiction, Stewart Binns, attempts a concise history of the Eastern Front of World War II. As the saying goes: There is no new history, there is only new TV Presenters writing history paperbacks.
Any reflection on the events of Barbarossa lay waste to faith and morality and exposes the meaninglessness of life. The atrocities of the Eastern Front test the limits with which words and data can capture history. It is beyond comprehension, perhaps beyond language. One is reminded of Odorno’s sage observation that ‘to write poetry after Aushwitz is barbaric’.
In the face of this gauntlet, Binns does not attempt to explain or describe Barbarossa comprehensively. It is clear from the slightly apologetic introduction, that our author is here to provide an overview. Considering that Binns is more used to producing weekly Soccer TV shows than writing historical philosophy, this seems a wise decision.
As an overview, you could do worse. The writing is clipped, forthright, and well edited. Unlike some other popular histories I could name, it does not make the infuriating mistake of assuming knowledge and has an elegant way of showing how the events flow into one another (even when they most likely didn’t). Despite its brevity, it is also capable of surprising emotional heft, not to mention evoking existential disbelief at the propensity of human beings for cruelty, hardship, and hope.
From a historical perspective, Binns does commendably, he is critical of the sources and is careful not to tell one side of any story. Still, while ostensibly interrogating the historiographical status quo, don’t expect anything other than the same old story. Further, although careful to condemn atrocities on both sides, Binns betrays his sympathies when the intro tells of his first trip to Russia as a student and talks – mawkishly – of the “quest for the spirit of Russia”. The research is impressive, but the introductory nature of the book requires that Binns be necessarily selective with the types of anecdotes that sometimes bring this short history to life.
Making sense of Barbarossa and its repercussions is beyond the ability of the best historians, poets, and artists, and I alternated between feeling impressed that Binns even made the attempt and outright dismissive. He set’s a lovely frame, but this slight history is a small chip off the side of an unutterable history.