Jill S. (brainybibliophile) - reviewed on + 19 more book reviews
I have read and studied and written about a lot of Holocaust literature, especially when I was a graduate student. To write about the Holocaust is to have to tread carefully, with great respect, and to acknowledge the depth of pain and trauma that a contemporary reader can never fully comprehend and a writer can never fully convey--in short, to hold Theodor Adorno's famous quote about writing poetry after Auschwitz constantly in mind (even when reading other genres).
Having heard the buzz about Morris' book, I finally read it when a book group to which I belong added it to their upcoming list. (I'm curious what the fellow members will think). The story is powerful, and fast-moving, and its protagonist Lale Sokolov, the "Tatowierer" of the title, is a hero the reader will root for.
Unfortunately, I feel like I still don't "know" Lale. Or his beloved Gita, the prisoner who captures his heart as he inks numbers into her arm. Or his fellow tattooist Leon who suffers horribly at the hands of Dr. Mengele. Or, indeed, any of the characters. Despite the horrific background of crematoriums and bunkers and barbed wire, the figures remain flat, their longings and motivations and backgrounds shadowy. Perhaps this is due to Lale's story's original form: Morris' biography indicates that her background is in screenplays and that Lale's story was originally conveyed in such a format. The details the viewers would see onscreen if the dialogue was a script are too sparse and sections of the narrative too "glossed over" in the novel format. Initially, I was confused that this work of fiction's cover proclaims, "Based on the powerful true story of Lale Sokolov" and was further perplexed post-narrative when Morris writes, "There was no parting of memory and history for this beautiful old man--they waltzed perfectly in step." Were there just too many missing details that Sokolov either didn't remember or didn't offer that Morris knew she would have to construct--hence the (perceived) "missing" details and "fictionalizing"?
Lale is a valiant fighter, but the story here simply lacks the taut simplicity and emotional power of Wiesel's _Night_, for instance, or _The Diary of Dawid Sierakowiak_, or _This Way for the Gas, Ladies and Gentlemen_. Perhaps if the same story was told, just in ten times as many words...
Having heard the buzz about Morris' book, I finally read it when a book group to which I belong added it to their upcoming list. (I'm curious what the fellow members will think). The story is powerful, and fast-moving, and its protagonist Lale Sokolov, the "Tatowierer" of the title, is a hero the reader will root for.
Unfortunately, I feel like I still don't "know" Lale. Or his beloved Gita, the prisoner who captures his heart as he inks numbers into her arm. Or his fellow tattooist Leon who suffers horribly at the hands of Dr. Mengele. Or, indeed, any of the characters. Despite the horrific background of crematoriums and bunkers and barbed wire, the figures remain flat, their longings and motivations and backgrounds shadowy. Perhaps this is due to Lale's story's original form: Morris' biography indicates that her background is in screenplays and that Lale's story was originally conveyed in such a format. The details the viewers would see onscreen if the dialogue was a script are too sparse and sections of the narrative too "glossed over" in the novel format. Initially, I was confused that this work of fiction's cover proclaims, "Based on the powerful true story of Lale Sokolov" and was further perplexed post-narrative when Morris writes, "There was no parting of memory and history for this beautiful old man--they waltzed perfectly in step." Were there just too many missing details that Sokolov either didn't remember or didn't offer that Morris knew she would have to construct--hence the (perceived) "missing" details and "fictionalizing"?
Lale is a valiant fighter, but the story here simply lacks the taut simplicity and emotional power of Wiesel's _Night_, for instance, or _The Diary of Dawid Sierakowiak_, or _This Way for the Gas, Ladies and Gentlemen_. Perhaps if the same story was told, just in ten times as many words...