I am a simple creature: you put a clickbait title in front of me, and I will read it.
To this book’s credit, while the brothel had little to do with Hitler himself, the actual story was plenty good. It was compassionate, desensationalised, well-researched, and deeply frightening. I’m still not sure what to make of it.
Hitler’s Brothel is mostly about the occupation of Poland. The SS comes for all the young women in a village, and while they abduct Ania, her sister Danuta manages to escape. Ania is incarcerated at a fictional camp neighbouring Auschwitz, at the brothel set up for the high-ranking workers. Danuta gets involved with the Polish resistance, the other side of the war effort. The framing device is Ania’s life in New Jersey in 2000, where she is married, has friends, a stable life, when she comes into contact with a war criminal from her past. That’s the clickbait story to go with the title
I come from a country where the history books are consumed with a whole host of other horrific events that happened to us from the 1930s to the 1940s. WWII, and the Holocaust, is a sterile monograph in those books. Everything I learnt, I learnt through the movies, other people’s writing, and the Internet.
In short, I’m not at all in a position to say whether Hitler’s Brothel is in respectful or poor taste.
Here’s what I thought from reading it.
It does a phenomenal job of showing the banality of evil. In fact, it did a better job of that than anything else. The third POV character (besides Ania and Danuta) is the camp staff. There is the commandant, Fischer, and his two lackeys: the well-read, educated Schroder, and the opportunistic, cruel Braun. All three are obsessed with glory and greed in their own individual ways, which means three times the vile content you expect from a Nazi unreliable narrator. And the truly chilling thing about them is how they’re neither cartoonish nor evil for the sake of it.
Take Braun, an insecure and violent sadist. He is the textbook example of a flat villain, and even he has reasons for what he does and how he does it. They’re not good reasons, or sympathetic or understandable ones. But there is a very clear connection between how his mind works and the harm he inflicts on other people.
Goddamn Fischer is described as fat, hairy, lecherous, and wants to be called “Baldy” (short for Baldric). And so, his faux-affability makes your skin crawl as he pores over reports and “innovates” ways to “improve” the camp, and “compete” with his rival (Rudolf Hoess, the commandant of Auschwitz). The book even notes that when Germany starts losing the war and the pressure on the camp intensifies, Fischer stops being a bumbling headmaster-like figure and completely unmasks his true colours.
Worst of all, this book understands that while there were many SS officers who were in it for the violence, the vast majority of them were bureaucrats. The way Fischer and Schroder refer to human beings just like them as “units” and “rats” and “index cards” is terrifying. They are so successful in their dehumanisation campaign that it even started to work on me. There were times that my eyes glossed over them talking about “units” and I thought they meant luggage or possessions or lumber from the camp. You know, units of production, rather a person they wanted to murder. The more you repeat propaganda in the most dull, everyday sentences, the more you start to believe it. Lesson learnt first hand.
The other thing that this book does is show that survival and death is a matter of luck. This is why so many movies on the subject discomfit me. (This is why everyone hates Life Is Beautiful.) Because what happened to real people was so incomprehensible, the most publicised stories are about individual exceptionalism. It’s the only way to make sense of the un-understandable. The hero survives through grit, even though they may sacrifice everything else in the process. Hitler’s Brothel (fucking clickbait title!) shows how people can do everything right and still get murdered. People can do everything right but make one mistake, and get murdered. People can be a literal Nazi who grew fat on atrocities, and retire happily. People can be so close to getting out alive, and they don’t. There’s no reason why. There’s nothing anyone could have done “more” or “better”. It made me want to fling my Kindle across the room because setting it on fire wasn’t a good option.
So, yeah. Aside from the spectacularly well-researched angle, I thought the book addressed two of the worst myths that Hollywood has sold to us: that Nazis breathe, sleep and dream evil just because, and that you can survive anything if you have guts and wiles.
That, and Jewish people went passively into the camps and to their deaths. This book doesn’t aggressively tackle that one, but it makes it clear that this wasn’t always the case.
Here’s the parts about the book that I wasn’t sure about.
While it does a genuinely incredible job of showing how the SS functioned, it didn’t bring the same humanity to the inmates of the camps. Those people are a faceless mass of suffering. Suffering that is compassionately described, leaving no room for doubt as to how deep the Nazi rot ran, but they’re just...
They’re just there to tell you that the camps were bad, Nazis were bad, what the Germans did was very fucking bad.
Danuta’s arc involving the Polish resistance is a little slow and on the unexciting side, but it shows us who Danuta is, who Slav and the rest of the resistors are. How far they will go, and how they won’t let anything stop them. Ania’s arc is about a scared teenage girl who suffers brutally but is despised because she doesn’t suffer “as much” as the others (her particular position in the brothel being seen as the “cushy” one). While Ania is living like that, she’s an individual with her own thoughts and fears and hopes. She’s the viewpoint character of worse things happening at the camps to her friends and strangers, and all she feels is guilt.
Then Ania loses her few privileges one by one, and immediately she stops being a character, and just one of thousands suffering the same fate.
I understand this is because it’s hard to write, let alone read. The story’s pacing is also changing and it’s hurtling at breakneck speed towards the end of the war. The practical considerations are real. But it just doesn’t feel right.
Also oh my god the representation of women in this book. From Ania being considered “special” because of her heterochromatic eyes, to Fischer being her “premier” client in the brothel and her gradually enjoying her own sexual proficiency, to the old woman in the liberated camp who finds comfort in the arms of a man for the first time as she dies. All this was probably written with the best possible intentions, but wow did it come out wrong.
This is especially galling because this book could absolutely do better! There are many, many instances when it shows the power of female friendship (present day Ania’s with her best friend, Ania and schoolteacher Emelie who repeatedly tries to protect her, women standing up for women) and there are times when the book forgets that it’s actually good.
My last real complaint is the writing style. While it starts off very strong and escalates rapidly with the horrors of war, it eventually devolves into some hybrid of novel and non-fiction. It reads like creative non-fiction as everything is described in paragraphs of exposition, and the dialogue is in clunky monologues. The content remains as good as ever (or more horrifying as the camp’s officers get increasingly desperate to escape alive) but the writing style has fallen apart.
But look. I didn’t hate it. I was frustrated by some parts of it, but I appreciate just how much this book cared.