I almost held my review of Bernhard Schlink’s latest English translation, The Granddaughter, until I’d finished the book I’m currently reading for #GermanLitMonth – The Bureau of Past Management by Iris Hanika – because both books deal with atonement. How do we live with, and understand the sins of the past? Those questions apply in lots of circumstances but in both books, they are asked about Germany, the Holocaust, and the complexities of pride.

I have mentioned numerous times on this blog, my fascination with how Germans understand and own their country’s history; how they demonstrate their shame; how their history reverberates, and what this means for the generations of people who were not alive during WWII.

I recall a significant moment during my exchange experience in the eighties –  in our initial orientation, we were told, ‘Don’t mention the war.’ Fast forward a few months and I was watching TV with my host parents, when something about Hitler appeared. My host father turned to me and said, “You are probably wondering about Hitler… We are not proud of him but he was an important part of our history.” That language might seem a little blunt, but please allow for my poor German/ my host father’s poor English! Anyway, the guts of what he said has stayed with me and I was reminded of it again reading The Granddaughter (and Hanika’s novel) because both deal with scars from this terrible chapter in history, the recognition that nothing will ‘mend’ it, but also acknowledging that it (the shame?) continues to shape Germany to this day.

That’s a very long introduction to the The Granddaughter. It’s the story of Kaspar and Brigit, who meet in 1964. Kaspar’s from the West, Brigit from the East. They fall in love, and Kaspar finds a way to get Brigit to the West. It is only decades later, after her death, that Kaspar discovers his wife’s secrets, and he goes on a quest to meet the people associated with Brigit’s past.

Schlink’s novels generally have excellent twists – in The Granddaughter, the twist comes at the beginning, and the story unfolds from there. For that reason, I won’t say anything more about the plot but I can reveal some of the main themes.

Firstly, we understand Brigit’s trauma in leaving the East – although she willingly made the decision, she also left all that she knew and could not return. In her diary, she states –

The guilt I felt from growing up in the shadow of death prevented me from rebelling; would it have prevented me from being ambitious, as well?

And then, of the decisions that she makes and keeps from Kaspar –

I didn’t know what concealment does, long-term. If I had known, if I had thought long-term, would it have changed anything?

Secondly, and most significantly, Kaspar’s search to understand Brigit’s past, leads him to a rural community of Völkisch people (neo-nationalist, white supremacist). Some of these scenes are particularly confronting. Schlink does not hide the extreme and deeply racist beliefs of the neo-Nazis, and manages to demonstrate how their hate-filled belief system is impregnable, with reality-defying arguments on one hand (Anne Frank’s diary is a fake; the Holocaust never happened) and a refusal to debate on the other. This could have easily turned into a diatribe against the neo-Nazis but instead, Kaspar counters their beliefs diplomatically and within context, chipping away at everything they present, and using the ‘weapons’ available to him – music and judiciously chosen books.

This book is unquestionably a political and cultural statement, and for that reason, I suspect that once Schlink had got what he wanted to say on paper, there remained the task of providing an ending to the story. For this reason, the ending felt rushed and perhaps not as punchy as that of previous books. Or perhaps it will be considered by some readers as a fairy tale ending, a classic ‘good over evil’ conclusion.

Ultimately, there is no ‘answer’ to how Germans reckon with their country’s past, but this story provides lots to think about. Kaspar, in conversation with one of the Völkisch people says –

“I’m not proud of Germany. Why should I be proud of something that isn’t my doing? But I can’t imagine being anything other than German. Is that enough?”

3/5

Tears were rolling down his cheeks. Many years ago, one Saturday in Advent, Birgit had baked Christmas biscuits. … He had helped her, had greased the tray, cut out the biscuits, put them on the tray and pushed the tray into the oven. He had been happy. He hadn’t known that, for Birgit, the baking was just a whim, a one-off, never to be repeated; he had taken it as a promise that in future she would celebrate Christmas, which he loved, with him.