Lisa discusses a wide selection of (mostly) historical fiction.
A booklist based on this talk is also available.
The New York Times’ “100 Notable Books” list each year remains one of my favorite reading sources. The 2012 list included “HHhH” by Laurent Binet, a novel originally written in French, describing the actual events leading up to the 1942 assassination of Reinhard Heydrich, known as “the Butcher of Prague.”
The intriguing title refers to the first letters of the German words in the phrase, “Himmler’s brain is called Heydrich.” Indeed, as Himmler’s protege Heydrich had risen in power to be a man much feared. His brutal treatment of the Czechoslovakians, for whom he was named “protector,” typified Germany’s harsh conduct in the countries it took over to the east.
Binet details the steps in Heydrich’s rise to power, which is quite well chronicled. He does his best to note how the group of assassins came to this place and time, where there is much less information. I found myself wrapped up in the suspense of their all coming together, knowing the stakes for the “guilty” as well as the “innocent.”
As I read this, I often wondered by Binet didn’t simply write an account that would be considered nonfiction. A distinctive aspect of this novel is that Binet often inserts himself directly into the story, describing quandaries of missing information, or how his book compares to others, or how to portray the reliability of someone’s story. I sensed his concern for creating an account that was truthful, and found these insertions intriguing. What wasn’t clear was the degree to which his reflections were actual descriptions of his thought process, or to which they were simply a writer’s technique.
The story is told in 327 pages, 257 sections varying in length from a short paragraph to several pages. At the point when the assassins attack Heydrich, I expected several short descriptions of action. Instead, Binet provides a four-page paragraph of chronology.
The outcome is horrific–reprisals for this act were extravagantly brutal. It took several days for the assassins to be tracked down, and even longer to be nearly flushed out of their hiding place before they committed suicide. In the end, Binet seems to want to show that the act was worthwhile.
The Nazi era continues to provide fodder for thoughtful writing, and the size of its reading audience seems to hold steady. There’s something about this book that had my thoughts returning to it much later, long after I’d moved on to my next book. I recommend this to those who are interested in the era, who appreciate unusual novel styles, and to people who tend to prefer nonfiction to fiction. Although it may not present the usual themes that many book groups seek, it begs to be read, and then it begs to be discussed.