There is a bookstore in the UK that I’m determined to go to one of these days. Persephone Books specializes in reprints of neglected/forgotten female writers. I’ve discovered a few great novels from the bookstore’s instagram posts, but one in particular caught my eye recently. Crooked Cross by Sally Carson, originally published in 1934, is set in the early days of Hitler’s rise to power. At first, the re-released edition was not available in the U.S., then I could only find the audiobook. Now, finally, there is a kindle version, that I quickly downloaded. Right about the same time, it was featured in a NY Times book review. (Here’s the link but there may be a paywall.)
The novel begins on Christmas Eve, 1932, with a celebration in the home of the Krugers, an “ordinary” German family. Both parents are alive and loving. And there are three adult children, two boys, Hemly and Erich, and one girl, Lexa. The boys have been largely unemployed for years due to the post-WWI economic depression in Germany. Both are restless, looking for something to do. Lexa is the main protagonist, a woman who loves her family, loves her community, and serves as something of a focal point in both. She’s young and naive, but strong and knows her own mind. She is also in love with Moritz Weissmann, a talented physician at the local hospital, to whom she is engaged to be married. Moritz is a Catholic, as was his mother. But his father is Jewish. Moritz is beloved by pretty much everyone and is good friends with Hemly.
The slow spread of fascism and Hitler-worship insidiously envelops them all. Her brothers embrace the Nazi party because they finally have jobs. Hemly, who is not a strong or particularly intelligent man, also loves it for the feeling of belonging and purpose that it gives him. Erich, handsome, athletic, charming, and with a cruel streak a mile wide, loves it because of the power he can siphon off from it and the license it gives him to enjoy his sadistic tendencies. Lexa tries to ignore what is happening, but she lives in a constant state of unease. Of disconnection. The book does a wonderful job of showing how the whole town is on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Tempers flare. People get crotchety and mean. Old friendships fracture. Scapegoating grows rampant. And Moritz is first quietly shunned, and then openly persecuted for being Jewish.
The one sure, unalterable fact is that Lexa and Moritz remain true to one another.
The novel is written in an old-fashioned style. It isn’t at all subtle. It’s not a heroic, hiding-Jews-in-the-attic story of WWII Germany. The main characters are mostly Nazis. Not reluctant Nazis, but men and women who whole-heartedly embrace what Hitler is selling. Written essentially contemporaneously with the events of the novel (fictional, but not so fictional), the end of the story was not known by the writer. And it is particularly chilling because we readers, while recognizing parallels, know how this story will ultimately end, but not how ours will.
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