Geography brought me to this book, or to be more precise, a geographical mystery. Look up Kaliningrad on Google Maps. Can you find anything on the map that tells you what country it is in?
The answer is that it's in Russia. In spite of the fact that it's in a little wedge of land between Poland and Lithuania, and to even get to the rest of Russia you have to go through at minimum two other countries -- either Lithuania and Latvia, or Lithuania and Belarus.
To a geographer, Kaliningrad province is an "exclave" -- a part of a country that you can only get to by traveling through another country. The mystery, to me, was how this came about. How can a piece of land far from Russia decide that it belongs to Russia? Or did Russia decide for them? If so, what historical circumstances conspired to make Kaliningrad part of Russia, but did not do the same thing for Lithuania?
I'm actually glad I never searched for the answers on Google. Because I didn't know, I had the pleasure of learning the answer through reading Sofia Segovia's incredible novel, Tears of Amber. And I learned so much more: about the enormous human suffering that accompanied this event. Nothing happens by accident, and this exclave only came into existence through many tears -- the tears of amber referred to in the title.
Behind the forgotten (to most of us) saga of Kaliningrad lies another forgotten land that most of us have seen mentioned only in history books: Prussia. What was Prussia? Where was it on a map?
The answer is that it was the easternmost part of Germany at its maximum extent. Eastern Prussia was cut off from the rest of Germany by the "Polish corridor" after World War I, then reunited with Germany as Hitler conquered central Europe in the early years of World War II, and then cut off for good, and swallowed up by Russia, as Germany collapsed at the end of the war. East Prussia no longer exists on a map. It turned into Kaliningrad province, spoils of war for the victorious Russian army. But Prussians still exist. Two of them, Arno and Ilse, emigrated long after the war to Mexico, where they told Sofia Segovia their story. Their true story became the factual basis for this riveting historical novel.
Arno and Ilse were children when the war began, 6 and 7 years old. They were still children, 12 and 13, when it ended, but children unlike any we can imagine: they had survived bombings, starvation, and close encounters with bullets; they had seen more death around them than most of us see in a lifetime. Tears of Amber is mostly their story, although Segovia does make the wise (in my opinion) choice to do some of the story-telling through the eyes of their parents and other family members. Although the story runs from 1938 to 1948, at least half of the novel -- and certainly the most unforgettable parts -- take place in the first half of 1945, as Germany collapses and the families of Ilse and Arno are forced to flee the advancing Russian army.
It sounds so simple. "Flee the advancing army." As if you could just get on a bus or a train. But no, that's not the way it was. Segovia brings to life the absolute confusion of the time, the breakdown of social norms as survival becomes a matter of every woman and child for him or herself. (Very few men in this story. They're off at the front getting killed or captured.) And also she brings to life the absolute deprivation, because when society breaks down you can't go to a store to get food, and you can't go to a train station and buy tickets. The only train in the story was formerly used to transport prisoners. It is full of fleas, and Arno contracts a nearly fatal case of typhus from them.
I have read some wartime stories, but usually written by eyewitnesses. It is amazing to me that Segovia was able to make this one seem so real in spite of never having been there. Of course, it's so real partly because it was told to her by eyewitnesses, but that you-are-there quality could easily have been lost. She has managed to turn their stories into literature.
This is the first wartime story I have read that captures the war as it was lived by ordinary Germans who were not fighting in the war. I think that this might be problematic for some readers, as it was for me. How much sympathy can we be expected to feel for them? Didn't they bring their misfortune on themselves, by embracing and enabling that maniac named Hitler?
Wisely, Segovia does not answer that question for us. It's a problem that every reader will have to wrestle with for themselves. But the whole book is a silent answer. In war, women and children are always the victims. The children, especially, did not bring it on themselves; no child should ever have to experience what Arno and Ilse did.
For the adults, it's harder to say. One of the central tensions in the book has to do with a Polish captive, Janusz, who is originally sent to work on Ilse's family's farm under armed guard. When the Russians arrive, the armed guard flee for their lives, and Ilse's family flees too. At this point Janusz could easily have vanished into the forest, where he could have joined other Polish resisters. But Ilse's family has treated him well, and he is loyal to them in spite of being effectively their captive. They are the only family he has ever known.
And yet... In their exodus from Prussia, the family passes by a concentration camp that has been bombed, and they see thousands of emaciated people on the road, some with yellow stars (the Jews) on their clothes, some with the letter P (the Poles). All considered "Untermensch" by the Nazi regime. The sight makes Janusz, the Pole, confront the truth of how this society looked at him and his people. And even though he loves Ilse's family, they are part of that society.
Ilse's father says:
"Janusz. I didn't know... I never imagined..."
"You must've known something," said Janusz through gritted teeth.
And he, too, must have known something.
He'd been a child.
But now he knew something worse than loneliness.
This is a wake-up call that reaches across years and across countries. What truths are we not facing today? Are there things that we "must have known" but have preferred not to think about? And how responsible are we for those things that are carefully hidden from us? Can we and should we have any sympathy for Herr Hahlbrock, a decent person whose only crime is that he would rather not know about indecent things?
Segovia's book doesn't give us the answers, but it certainly brings up the questions.
After the harrowing middle passage, the book ends on a surprisingly upbeat note. Hard as it may be to believe, the war did actually end, and there was an after. Some beloved characters die. Others are lost to the war, changed beyond repair even though they physically survive. But the children, Arno and Ilse, not only survive but have a life at the end; they eventually meet each other and fall in love. This part of the book is very short, but it dramatically changes the message. It's good to have real hope at the end of the book. In times when it sometimes seems as if there is no hope for our society (whichever society you happen to live in) it's good to be reminded that there have been much, much worse times in history and that they ended. We can hope for the same.
The book did drag a bit at times, and I almost thought at one point that I might have to give it just four stars, but the hope at the end confirms for me that this is a five-star book. Highly, highly recommended. Excellent translation too; I never saw the slightest sign that it was originally written in Spanish.