This very short book, perhaps slightly over-written, contains an interesting and often illuminating meditation on the relationship between kitsch and the nihilistic yearning for death whose fusion lay at the root (according to the author) of the Nazi mystique.
Es un libro de los años 80 y se nota que está un poco desactualizado. En otras cosas, se por donde quiere ir Friedländer, pero cae en lo redundante y cada cinco frases se va por los cerros de Úbeda y al final es bastante complicado seguirle.
To quote the perfect Amazon review of this book by someone calling themselves Terry Pirate:
"A short galvanizing indespensible unforgettable essay about the intersection between bad art and tyranny, sentimental landscapes and murder."
I think about this book all of the time, even though I read it over 20 years ago (in an undergraduate philosophy course called Death & Dying) and sold my copy for gas money a few years later.