Another Route to Auschwitz: Memory, Writing, Fiction
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Another route to Auschwitz: memory, writing, fiction Jacob Timothy Wallis Simons MA (Oxon), MPhil PhD in Creative Writing University of East Anglia School of Literature and Creative Writing © This copy of the thesis has been supplied on condition that anyone who consults it is understood to recognise that its copyright rests with the author and that no quotation from the thesis, nor any information derived therefrom, may be published without the author’s prior, written consent. Abstract Holocaust fiction is one of the most contentious of the myriad of new literary genres that have emerged over the last hundred years. It exists as a limitless adjunct, or supplement, to the relatively finite corpus of Holocaust memoir. Although in the realm of fiction the imagination usually has a primary position, in this special case it is often constricted by a complex web of ethical dilemmas that arise at every turn, and even the smallest of oversights or misjudgments on the part of the writer can result in a disproportionate level of potential damage. The critical component of this thesis will explore these moral and ethical questions by taking as a starting-point the more generally acceptable mode of memoir and, by relying in part upon elements of Derridean theory, interrogating the extent to which writing may be already internal to the process of memory, and fiction may be already internal to the process of writing. On this basis, it will then seek to justify the application of fiction to the Holocaust on moral terms, but only within certain boundaries. It will not attempt to establish a rigorous set of guidelines on which such boundaries may be founded, but instead, via an analysis of what may constitute a failure, suggest that there are a number of elements which are present when Holocaust fiction is successful. The creative component – a novel, The English German Girl – attempts to carry out a practical demonstration of Holocaust fiction along these lines. 2 List of contents 1.0 Critical component 1.1 Introduction: p.4 1.2 Memory in the context of the Holocaust: p.5 1.3 Bearing witness and the problem of language: p.15 1.4 How does fiction fit in?: p.22 1.5 Holocaust Fiction and authorial identity: p.40 1.6 Problematic Holocaust Fiction: p.43 1.7 Elements that may contribute to the success of Holocaust Fiction: p.59 1.8 Conclusion: p.91 2.0 Creative component 2.1 p.94 3.0 Endmatter 3.1 Bibliography for critical component: p.744 3.2 Bibliography for creative component: p.749 3.3 List of illustrations: p.751 3.4 List of references: p.752 3 Another route to Auschwitz: Memory, writing, fiction. ‘What shall I take to witness for thee? What shall I liken to thee, O daughter of Jerusalem? What shall I equal to thee, that I may comfort thee?’ (Lamentations, Chapter 2, Verse 13) 1.1 Introduction The tinderbox debate concerning the ethics of bringing literature to bear upon the Holocaust has caused an unspoken hierarchy of acceptability to evolve. Under this scheme, Holocaust memoir is seen as fundamentally more valid than fictional representations, which are often held to be potentially obfuscating and damaging to the project of Holocaust education. It is not my intention to challenge this perception but to complexify it. I shall argue that while testimony will always be more valuable than fiction, the Holocaust novel nevertheless has an important part to play in maintaining an awareness of the Holocaust and dialogue around it. It must, however, be rendered with sensitivity and – unusually, given the weight of scholarship which de-simplifies this notion – attention to authorial motivation. The structure of this thesis will mirror this hierarchy of acceptability. First I will discuss the concept of memory in the context of the Holocaust; drawing on Plato, Freud and Derrida, I will examine its relationship with writing and fiction. Then I will map the differing views towards Holocaust fiction, ultimately arguing in defence of its existence under certain conditions. Finally I will examine a selection of Holocaust fiction texts, attempting to ascertain where and why they have failed and succeeded. 4 1.2 Memory in the context of the Holocaust Perhaps owing to an experience of prolonged exile and persecution, the act of remembering tragedy has evolved into a central element of Jewish culture and religion. Commemoration, ritualised mourning and remembrance have been codified in a variety of high-profile ways; 1 a large proportion of Jewish holy days, from Passover to the Day of Atonement, involve a detailed recollection of tragic events that took place many centuries ago. Perhaps the best known expression of the Jewish moral imperative to remember is found in Psalm 137, composed in 586BC after the sacking of Jerusalem: By the rivers of Babylon There we sat down, yea, we wept When we remembered Zion … If I forget thee O Jerusalem Let my right hand wither If I do not remember thee Let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth If I prefer not Jerusalem above my highest joy. 2 It might be argued that this ritualisation of remembrance exposes the difficulties involved in preserving uncorrupted memories from one generation to the next. These difficulties are nowhere more clearly seen than in the question of remembering the Holocaust. Foremost amongst these difficulties, perhaps, is the controversial and delicate matter of establishing the truth of testimony, both within the minds of the survivors and those with whom they communicate. Even during the Holocaust eyewitnesses were often disbelieved. Surviving documents indicate that the witnesses themselves knew that people would treat their testimony with 5 suspicion. After all, the events themselves, by their very nature, defied belief. For example, in 19 January 1942, Jacob Schulman, Rabbi of Grabow Synagogue, wrote the following letter to Lodz: Alas, to our great grief, we now know all. I spoke to an eyewitness who escaped. He told me everything. They’re exterminated in Chelmno, near Dombie, and they are all buried in the Rzuszow forest. The Jews are killed in two ways: by shooting or gas. It’s just happened to thousands of Lodz Jews. Do not think this is being written by a madman. 3 There is a tangible anxiety here that the unimaginable truth that Schulman is seeking to reveal will be received with scepticism and equivocation; that he will be thought of as a ‘madman’. After the Holocaust the act of remembering became even more difficult for survivors. The subjective nature of memory was problematic; as Irving Howe puts it, ‘memory can be treacherous among people who have suffered terribly and who must feel a measure of guilt at being alive at all.’4 Indeed, Primo Levi wrote in 1946, ‘today, at this very moment as I sit writing at a table, I myself am not convinced that these things really happened.’5 Moreover, in the majority of cases survivors had been left in a disenfranchised state. The entire apparatus of their identity – the markers of memory – had been systematically dismantled, and little or nothing remained of their possessions, communities, homes and way of life. Their family and friends had either been killed or scattered to unknown places. Forged documents and identities, often in multiples, were almost always part of the story of survival.6 Although significant physical evidence of the death camps remained, the Nazis had made an effort to destroy as much as they could. 6 So in the absence of any external confirmation of identity, memory became the only tool with which to rebuild a life. As such its reliability was vital; yet at the same time the scarcity of parameters in which to concretise memories, and the traumatisation of the minds charged with the task of remembering, destabilised the act of recollection. Matters are made worse by the Holocausts Revisionist movement, which seizes upon the frailty of survivors’ memories to further a malevolent agenda. For several years Primo Levi suffered a recurring anxiety-dream in which he repeatedly attempted to tell his sister and some friends what life was like in the camp, and everyone refused to believe him.7 In recent decades, the movement of Holocaust denial has provided a manifestation of this nightmare. ‘Too many hundreds of millions of honest intelligent people have been duped by a well- financed and brilliantly successful postwar publicity campaign’,8 writes the prominent revisionist David Irving, ‘everything that people found in Dachau was in fact installed there by the Americans’,9 and ‘the Holocaust suffered by the Germans in Dresden was real. The one against the Jews in the gas chambers of Auschwitz is complete fiction’.10 From a broader perspective, the threat posed by such views can only become magnified as the generation of eye-witnesses dwindles. This leads to an even greater weight to be placed upon the reliability of the survivor’s memory. For these and other reasons we find survivors continually feeling the need to defend the authenticity of their testimony. Primo Levi’s If This Is A Man is a case in point. In the Preface he writes, ‘it seems to me unnecessary to add that none of the facts are invented.’11 This is an odd, self-undoing statement which demonstrates the opposite of what it expresses; Levi says that it is unnecessary to state that his work is true, while at the same time making that very statement. 7 This crystallises the tension that underpins much survivor testimony. On the one hand these events undeniably happened; on the other the memory can never be said to be a faultless entity.