This book has been haunting me since I finished it a couple of days ago. It is, in a sense, a descendant of Erich Maria Remarque's "All Quiet on the Western Front" and a cousin to David Benioff's more recent "City of Thieves," but more expansive than either and more riveting.
The frame of "We Germans" can be described easily enough. A heated discussion between a old man living in Germany and his grandson, who lives in England, prompts the grandfather to write about his experiences as a Wehrmacht soldier on the Eastern Front. (Evidently, the story was inspired by the wartime experiences of Starritt's own grandfather) The book is a mixture of recollection about what he did and saw, and what he thinks about all that now, living in a current day retirement home. Interspersed with these reflections are comments and explanations composed by the grandson after his grandfather's death.
Within this frame lies a powerful examination of personal responsibility, judgment, morality, human nature, and guilt. And, of course, a meditation on what Germany was back then and what it is today. The stage is set on the first page as the old man addresses his grandson, on paper, after the argument:
I don't want to make you feel worse, but I did understand what you were trying to do: hear my stories about Russia before I get too addled to tell them... Your questions were ridiculous, though --awkward, faux naive. You should have seen yourself edging backwards to what you really wanted to ask: did you see terrible things? Let me answer that for you, now: yes, I did. And: did you do terrible things? It's hard to say, but certainly not in the way you presume.
The grandfather, a young man during the latter part of the Nazi years and never a member of the Party, was conscripted and sent to the Eastern Front. The narrative focuses on a brief period near the end of the war. It is clear that Germany has lost, and its armies are in retreat, chased by Russian tanks and infantry. There is chaos and desperation everywhere. Against this background, the narrator (the grandfather) and a handful of others wander away from their company in search of food. It's a motley group, diverse in age, background, and temperament, all of them ordinary. Their search for food leads to a sequence of incidents, some quite awful -- though, fortunately, Starritt never takes the horror too far, and all of the descriptions, filtered as they are through the lens of an old man looking back on his younger self, are set solidly in a moral context.
One of his recollections, appearing early in the book, defines the impulse shaping everything that follows: When I ask myself whether we were all immoral, or whether having done wrong makes us evil men, I think that we were blemished by the consequences of what other people decided. No one ever has complete responsibility for his own moral balance. And the unforgiving truth, the severe, ancient truth, is that you can be culpable for something you weren't in control of. And me, personally? That's what I'm trying to answer.
Or as he puts it more succinctly elsewhere, "Can you do real evil without meaning to?"
Such reflections shed light equally on his own experiences and the culture that gave birth and breath to those experiences. He remembers Nazi pageantry about Spartans and Richard Wagner's Nibelungenlied. Although he personally felt it was all, as he puts it, "hoo-ha and pathos," it did touch something real about how Germans saw themselves. He himself was somewhat moved by the theatricality of the propaganda even as he saw how fraudulent it was. (A commentary inserted by the grandson describes the Nibelungenlied as "one of the set texts of German culture, like a gloomy northern Iliad, except not as good. Show me someone who's read the whole thing and I'll show you someone with an exam coming up.")
The old man tries his best to be honest and forthright in his descriptions of events. He writes at one point about a man he killed (a man, the reader is likely to think, who surely deserved to be killed) and reflects, looking back, on "a family somewhere that still mourns him." At the time, though, what he felt was "the euphoria of survival... I felt strong, special, chosen. He was dead, and we were alive."
Another representative passage has him looking back and thinking about how his own father's Protestantism and the notions of right and wrong, good and evil, were inadequate to the times: "If you weren't a hero" -- that is, a German who refused to fight or serve the regime -- "you colluded by default." Morally, there was no neutral ground, no safe middle of the herd... I wore a uniform and fought, to the best of my ability. So I can't fault the concept of our collective guilt, I just don't feel it. The idea that I'm guilty for things I never saw and had no power over doesn't seem to me to meet the standards of natural justice. But I what I do feel, ineradicably, is shame." Unlike guilt, for which reparations might be paid, Shame can't be atoned for; it is a debt that can't be paid."
The grandfather's thoughts and memories about the war are accompanied here and there in the book by the grandson's sardonic observations about Germany itself, about how the Nibelungenlied has given way over the years to the "German equivalent of American country music" and a permanent production of The Lion King: The Musical and how the Spartan model of German manliness has been supplanted by "cycling or barbecuing or brewing their own beer." Certain songs, popular during the Nazi years, are now "taboo". Still, the taboo songs are all available on Youtube, uploaded by Nazi enthusiasts and recidivists. Most of them, he's convinced, are "harmless nerds" whom he can easily dismiss. ("Fuck those guys.") More disturbing to him are the "Eastern European skinheads who somehow succeed in believing that the Nazis were on the right track." He goes on to observe,"You can never fully divorce the artifacts of the Nazi era from the rest of German culture, uncomfortable though that is... Once you realise that, you see it everywhere."
Similarly, albeit in a very different tone, the narrator himself shares his observations about the complicated ways in which Germany views its past, in how he sees his own past as a German wholied through it all. "What a terrible time it was," he reflects. "What's changed is that it's now acceptable for Germans to talk about suffering. And people want to hear about it because they believe there is a connection between suffering and truth."
Elsewhere, curious about what happened to one of the soldiers in his company, he asks a young staff member at the retirement facility to help him do a computer search. Immediately upon requesting the help, though, he wonders if the young man sees him as "one of those old men the news always says have been 'living quietly.' The ones you see being trundled into court with heir respirators, trying to look as decrepit as they can."
There are many other passages I might share here. But I have to stop sometime. Alexander Starritt has accomplished something very impressive here, in successfully balancing a well-told story with moral, cultural, and historical reflection.
"We Germans" came into my hands courtesy of the publisher, Little, Brown, and Goodreads Giveaways. My sincere thanks to both. (And my apologies to GR friends and followers for the long review.)