Impossible to read this without thinking of Gaza. Nossack wrote this 3 months after the bombing of Hamburg in 1943, it was published in German in 1948 … wasn’t released in English translation until 2004. I can’t help comparing it to John Hersey’s magnificent ‘Hiroshima’, published five months after that perhaps more historic bombing.
I note the differing provenances of these two accounts of atrocity, both perpetrated by the winning side, neither exonerated from that description. Winners can be as guilty of obscenities as losers, winners write the histories and can thus silence truths, sanitise lies, massage distortions.
And, until 2004, publishers clearly felt Germans wouldn’t get a sympathetic hearing if they complained about their suffering in World War 2. The dropping of A-bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaka clearly took the role of the bomber into new dimensions of horror, exemplified by the speed with which Hersey’s account was brought before an American then a world public. With nuclear weapons the focus, why would an account of firebombing warrant attention?
The firebombing of Hamburg in 1943 resulted in a (disputed) death toll of 34,000. In 1945, 25,000 died in the firebombing of Dresden (disputed), 100,000 in Tokyo. With the ever-increasing range of the bomber, its size and lethality of its payload, civilians were viable targets regardless how far they lived from the actual front line. I remember the booklet issued across the UK advising us how to protect ourselves and survive a nuclear attack … bullshit of the first order, but I’m sure the authors meant well.
What Nossack brings home is the individualising nature of atrocity. No matter how many thousands die, both dead and survivors experience the atrocity as individuals. The survivors incubate terror, pain and loss as individuals, enduring a claustrophobic horror, perhaps survivor guilt.
Some individuals try to record … record the emptiness of a city which has vanished. But there’s an implicit divisiveness. Is the everything I’ve lost more of an everything than the everything you’ve lost? There’s a need to get people to work together, to cooperate in constructing day-to-day survival never mind building a future, yet people are so trapped in individual pain collaborative efforts can be beyond contemplation.
Nossack emphasises the individualising nature of shared horror – it locks you in a selfish need to survive, not just to continue living, but to find reason for survival. Survivor guilt … or just an overwhelming sense of the inexplicable?
People lose everything. Their home. Their neighbourhood. Family, friends, the everyday, the routines, a favourite teddy bear or book or chair or pipe or photo or toothbrush or … .
And there’s that question of status. Survivor? Refugee? Maybe even witness, finding a need to record … but where’s the paper, where’s the pen, where’s the ink?
There are telling lines. The smell – gave rise to a “sudden craving for perfume”. People grew thinner, rats and flies grew fat.
It’s not a book which reproduces a lot of ‘history’. The writer meanders, ideas come and go. There’s no animosity, no anger at the bomber crews. But there is emotional turmoil – he’s trying to make sense of self rather than of the situation. The narrative certainties which once filled his mind – knowing who you are where you live, what you do, etc., now become a confused kaleidoscope of images and memories. Life is occupied with the practical and the pragmatic, but it's also about reshuffling a confused and dissipated identity, trying to make sense of self and rediscover who you are and who you might yet be.
Not an easy read – you have to try to absorb this confused identity and picture it on a city-wide scale as thousands struggle to make sense of themselves and their world. Nossack delivers the odd image of the city, describes one or two events, but what really comes across is this disjunction of identity, the sense that individuality has been erased as thoroughly as the city has been reduced to rubble.