Holocaust and Autobiography: Wiesel, Friedländer, Pisar for Literature of the Holocaust

Holocaust Documentary Fiction: Novelist as Eyewitness

87

character of Holocaust “documentary fiction” is thus the rhetoricalprinciple of testimony, not its actuality.

III

At the end of his study of “literary non-fiction,” Ronald Weber concludesthat “The first task of the writer of literary non-fiction is always

to convincethe reader that his work is adequate as history

.”

18

That is, the aim is not to writefactual history but merely to persuade the reader that it is factual. If Holocaust documentary fiction depends upon the concept of testimony as arhetorical trope only in order to provide an “unusually compellingexperience for the reader,” however, then these writers’ narrative methodsremain a matter of style. For documentary narratives are in this viewcompelling as “reading experience” precisely because they claim to be somuch more than mere “reading experience.”In a way, the literary documentarist draws on the same sort of ambiguity between factual and fictional narrative that the novelist has alwaysgenerated. Indeed, much of the force of novelistic discourse seems to deriveprecisely from the ambiguity its dual claims of fact and fiction stimulate inthe reader, as Lennard Davis has noted in his study on the origins of theEnglish novel. “Novels are framed works (even if they seem unframed),” he writes, “whose attitude toward fact and fiction is constitutively ambivalent.”

19

By sustaining, encouraging, and even exacerbating whatDavis calls the “constitutive ambivalence” toward fact and ﬁction, a writerlike Daniel Defoe (“the journalist

par excellence

of the early eighteenthcentury”) might therefore exemplify the novelist, at least partly because heclaimed disingenuously to be a journalist. Where Cervantes drew attentionto the fabulative nature of his work and, indeed, both celebrated and markedthe confusion of mind that results from mistaking “real” for imaginary worlds, Defoe seems to have delighted in causing just this confusion of mindin the reader. “The process of reading a Defoean novel,” Davis remarks, “isthat the reader is asked first to believe that the novel is real, and then tounderstand that the reality of the novel is bogus. In effect, suspension of disbelief is itself suspended” (p. 23). There is a sense in which part of novelistic discourse becomes not only a matter of “factual fiction,” but really an attempt to generate fictional facts. When Defoe “places himself outside of the novel—into the prestructure—by the gesture of authorial disavowal,” as Davis observes (p. 17), we mightnote further that this act remains only a gesture, a sleight of authorial hand

James E. Young

88

by which he would appear to be outside of the narrative he has actually created. Contrary to Davis’s contention that these writers are somehow“forced into the position of claiming to be the editor to some founddocument” (p. 35), we need to recognize this claim as part of the overallfiction of the writer’s work. And just as earlier novelists dissembled, veilingtheir authorial presence to create the illusion of the text’s autonomy,contemporary documentary novelists now conflate their narratives withrhetorically factual materials like photographs, newspaper articles, andeyewitness testimony in order to lend them a certain factual authority. As fundamental to the nature of the novel as this ambiguity might be,however, without keeping in mind the distinction between the novelist’sclaims to fact and the actual fabulative character of his narrative, the readerrisks a certain phenomenological beguilement at the hands of the novelist—and now at the hands of the “documentary novelist”—and not collusion withthe novelist, as Davis suggests. By allowing himself to be moved to the willing suspension of disbelief by the documentary novel’s contrivedhistorical authority, the reader risks becoming ensnared in theallencompassing fiction of the discourse itself, mistaking the historical

force

of this discourse for the historical facts it purports to document. That the reader responds to a work differently when he believes that itis “true” and has actually happened than he does when he believes the work is only “fiction” is a principal part of a documentary fiction’sphenomenology; as such, the emotional experience of such an illusionbecomes the aim of the writer. If the stimulation of emotional response is the“unique power” in realistic fiction and the “creation of such feelings in thereader [is] the fiction’s highest achievement” (p. 16), as Thomas Wolfe mighthave it, then to read documentary fiction for its factual content would be tomistake the writer’s literary means (i.e., apparent factuality) for the ends to which they are employed (i.e., emotional response). Like Weber, Wolfeacknowledges that the greatest advantage of this hybrid narrative is the

sense

that what it represents was real, not that it was real. In this literature, thefacts (such as they are) thus remain subordinate to the effect they have on thereader.In the case of Holocaust documentary narrative, this “rhetoric of fact”is invoked toward a number of different ends; and among them, it seems, isalso an emotional response to the “sense of the real,” a reinforcement of a work’s supposed factuality, and the establishment of the authentic link between writer, text, and events. The purpose for documentary authority inthe works of writers like Thomas, Kuznetsov, Steiner, and Andersch thusbegins to assume critical importance. If this “rhetoric of fact” is intended to

Holocaust Documentary Fiction: Novelist as Eyewitness

89

provide an unusually compelling reading experience, merely to move thereader, then Adorno’s objections to “Holocaust art” retain a certain validity.For in this case, the authors would indeed be wringing pleasure from thenaked pain of the victims. If, on the other hand, these works only want torefrain from conferring an essential ﬁctionality on actual historical events,then we might take into account both the legitimate impulse to documentevents

and

the manner in which “real past events” are inevitably ﬁctionalizedby any narrative that gives them form. Insofar as it works to authenticate—and thereby naturalize—its particular interpretation of events, documentary narrative might even be considered an expressly ideological mode of discourse in both its means and its ends—a proposition that is explored atlength in the next section on documentary drama, ideology, and the rhetoricof fact.

N

OTES

1. Hana Wirth-Nesher, “The Ethics of Narration in D.M. Thomas’s

The White Hotel,” The Journal of Narrative Technique

15, no. 1 (Winter 1985): 17.2. Arnold Wesker, “Art Between Truth and Fiction: Thoughts on WilliamStyron’s Novel,”

Encounter

(January 1980): 52.3. Barbara Foley, “Fact, Fiction, Fascism: Testimony and Mimesis in HolocaustNarratives,”

Comparative Literature

34, no. 4 (Fall 1982): 337.4. “The White Hotel,”

Times Literary Supplement

, 26 March 1982.5. Anatoli Kuznetsov,

Babi Yar: A Documentary Novel

(New York: The DialPress, 1967), pp. 74-75.6. D.M. Thomas,

The White Hotel

(New York: The Viking Press, 1981), pp.246-47.7. “The White Hotel,”

Times Literary Supplement

, 2 April 1982, p. 24.8. “The Memories,”

New York Times Book Review

, 9 April 1967, p. 45. Alsoquoted in Ezrahi,

By Words Alone

, p. 31.9. Cf. the descriptions on p. 243 of

The White Hotel

and photographs of massacres in Lijepaja, Latvia, and Sniadowa, Poland, in Gerhard Schoenberner,

TheYellow Star

(New York, London, and Toronto: Bantam Books, 1969), pp. 92-97.10. See Roland Barthes,

Camera Lucida: Reﬂections on Photography

(New York: Hilland Wang, 1981), and

Image-Music-Text

(New York: Hill and Wang, 1977), pp. 15-51.Susan Sontag,

On Photography

(New York: Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 1973); it is worth noting here that Sontag writes speciﬁcally of Holocaust photographs she saw when she was twelve years old that “Nothing I had seen—in photographs or in reallife—ever cut me as sharply, deeply, instantaneously,” suggesting the sheer “power”of referential evidence in the photograph.

James E. Young

90

Also see Joel Snyder and Neil Walsh Allen, “Photography, Vision, andRepresentation,”

Critical Inquiry

, Autumn 1975, p. 145; John Berger,

About Looking

(New York: Pantheon Press, 1980); and Kendall L. Walton, “Transparent Pictures:On the Nature of Photographic Realism,”

Critical Inquiry

11, no. 2 (December 1984):246-77.11. Alfred Andersch,

Efraim’s Book

(New York: Viking Penguin, 1984), p. 143.12. Pierre Julitte,

Block 26: Sabotage at Buchenwald

(New York: Doubleday, 1971),p. xi. Also quoted in Ezrahi,

By Words Alone

, p. 25, as part of an excellent discussionof “Documentation as Art.”13. Ezrahi suggests we compare Steiner’s account, for example, with Yankel Wiernik’s diary,

A Year in Treblinka

, and Vasili Grossman’s

L’Enfer de Treblinka (ByWords Alone, p. 32)

.14. Jean-Francois Steiner,

Treblinka

(New York: New American Library, 1979), p.304. In the afterword to the original French edition, Steiner’s reference is exactly thesame (“

L’Enfer de Treblinka

, par un correspondant de guerre de I’armée soviétique quiinterrogea les premiers témoins”).

Treblinka

(Paris: Librairie Artheme Fayand, 1966),p. 394.15. In her study,

The Theme of Nazi Concentration Camps in French Literature

(TheHague and Paris: Mouton and Company, 1973), Cynthia Haft cites Steiner’s andReiner’s as instances of dishonest ﬁction, “part of a trend which we abhor,” and notesthat after legal proceedings, Reiner reedited his book to include acknowledgments where they were due (p. 191).16. Leon W. Wells,

The Death Brigade

(New York: Holocaust Library, 1978), p.133. See, among many other excellent memoirs, Erich Kulka,

Escape from Auschwitz

(South Hadley, Mass.: Bergin and Garvey Publishers, Inc., 1986), and Filip Müller,

Eyewitness Auschwitz: Three Years in the Gas Chambers

(New York: Stein and Day,1979).17. Alvin H. Rosenfeld,

A Double Dying: Reﬂections on Holocaust Literature

(Bloomington and London: Indiana University Press, 1980), p. 66. John Hersey,

TheWall

(New York: Knopf, 1950). Leon Uris,

Mila 18

(New York: Doubleday, 1961).18. Ronald Weber,

The Literature of Fact

(Athens: Ohio University Press, 1980),p. 163 (emphasis mine).19. Lennard Davis,

Factual Fictions: The Origins of the English Novel

(New York:Columbia University Press, 1983), pp. 212-13.

91

Autobiography is usually defined as a retrospective narrative written aboutone’s life, in the first person and in prose. Such writing has appeared withincreasing frequency in Western literature since the beginning of thenineteenth century. As a result of the events of World War II, it gainedconsiderable significance in France, as can be seen in the works of authorssuch as André Malraux and Simone de Beauvoir. In view of the proliferationof autobiography, the recent studies by the critics Philippe Lejeune andGeorges May have attempted to examine its characteristics and determine to what extent it could represent a literary genre. The history of the destruction of European Jewry by the Nazis hasrelied heavily upon the accounts written by survivors, which will probably remain a prime source of information concerning the magnitude of thecatastrophe. Autobiography written as a result of experiences lived duringthe Holocaust is therefore an integral part of its literature. Since suchliterature cannot be linked to any of the norms of literary art, it has beentermed a literature of “atrocity” or “decomposition.” Holocaustautobiography inherits, therefore, the problematic aspect of bothautobiography and the literature of the Holocaust. In the light of the above-mentioned studies on autobiography and on the basis of

Night

(1958) by Elie Wiesel,

When Memory Comes

(1978) by Saul Friedländer, and

Of Blood and Hope

(1979) and

La Ressource humaine

(1983) by Samuel Pisar, we shall

JOSEPH SUNGOLOWSKY

Holocaust and Autobiography:Wiesel, Friedländer, Pisar

From

Reﬂections of the Holocaust in Art and Literature

Joseph Sungolowsky

92

examine who writes Holocaust autobiography, why and how it is written, and what is the substance of such writing.

I

Autobiography is generally written in midlife by an author who has achievedfame thanks to previous works which have been recognized for their value,or by an individual who has played a signiﬁcant role in public life. SaulFriedländer was 46 years old when

When Memory Comes

was published. Atthat time, he had gained an international reputation as a historian of Nazism. Samuel Pisar was 50 when he wrote

Of Blood and Hope

. He is alsothe author of

Coexistence and Commerce

(1970), an impressive political andeconomic treatise advocating trade relations between East and West,especially as a means to ease the Cold War. He, too, has achieved recognitionas a political scientist, as an advisor to governments, and as an internationallawyer. Writing autobiography at an earlier age or as a ﬁrst book is consideredan exception.

1

Elie Wiesel’s

Night

is such an exception. He recounts howfortuitous his career as a writer was in its beginnings, especially consideringthat he might not have survived the concentration camps at all. Upon hisliberation, he vowed not to speak of his experience for at least ten years. It was the French novelist Francois Mauriac who persuaded him to tell hisstory, and Wiesel adds that at the time Mauriac was as well-known as he wasobscure.

2

Thus, at the age of 28, Wiesel published his autobiographicalnarrative concerning his experience in the concentration camps, ﬁrst in Yiddish under the title

Un die velt hot geshvigen

, subsequently in French underthe title

La Nuit

. In 1976, Wiesel stated that

Night

could have remained hisone and only book;

3

indeed, when he began to write ﬁction, the French criticRene Lalou wondered how Wiesel could have undertaken to write anythingelse after

Night

.

4

Clearly, at the time Wiesel published

Night

, he lacked thefame as an author of previous works usually expected of an autobiography, asindicated by Philippe Lejeune and Georges May.

5

An autobiography is deemed authentic when there is identity betweenthe name of the author appearing on the title page and the narrator of thestory.

6

In

Night

, Wiesel relates that during a rollcall in Auschwitz, he hearda man crying out: “Who among you is Wiesel from Sighet?” He turned outto be relative that had been deported from Antwerp. Subsequently, Wiesel iscalled by his ﬁrst name “Eliezer” by that relative, by Juliek, a fellow-inmate,

Holocaust and Autobiography

93

and by his father.

7

Friedländer refers to his name several times in the courseof his narrative. He recalls how difficult it was for him to get accustomed tohis new ﬁrst-name “Paul-Henri” given to him in the Catholic boardingschool in France, as he was called “Pavel” or “Pawlicek,” the diminutivegiven to him by his family. He names himself again when he recalls his stay,in 1950, with an uncle who directed an institution for mentally ill children.One of them tried to communicate with him during a ﬁt, and all he could say was “Herr Friedländer.” (Friedländer sees in this incident an example of theunlocking of the inner world which he experienced himself when he beganto write his book.)Pisar names himself throughout

Of Blood and Hope

. Upon returning to Auschwitz as a member of a delegation to a commemorative ceremony, hedescribes himself as follows: “a reincarnated Samuel Pisar clothed simply inhis respectable attire of international lawyer, scholar, American citizen had tostep into the light and avow once more that once, not so long ago, he hadcrawled in the pain, the ﬁlth and the degradation of the factories of death.”

8

Later on, he quotes Solzhenitsyn commenting upon his views on coexistencebetween East and West: “Pisar is one of the few to see clearly.”

9

Autobiography is considered genuine when the author states, either inthe text itself or in connection with it, that his intent has indeed beenautobiographical. Lejeune calls such a statement an “autobiographicalpact”—an agreement between author and reader according to which thereader is assured that he is reading the truth.

10

Upon the publication of his book, Friedländer told an interviewer thathe wrote it as a result of an “inner necessity,” and he discussed its mainthemes: his childhood, his life as a youngster in a Catholic boarding schoolafter he was separated from his parents during the war, his discovery of Zionism and his views on Israel where he lives.

11

In the preface to the Frenchedition of his book, Pisar explains that in order to write it he had to revivefrom within the depths of his self the tragic episodes of his life whichrepresent such a sharp contrast with his “reincarnation” as a brilliant publicﬁgure.

12

Pisar’s subsequent book intitled

La Ressource humaine

is of a similarintent. It opens as follows: “I sleep with eyes half-closed. I have done so forthe last forty years. Even since I entered the precincts of Auschwitz.”

13

Wiesel’s autobiographical pact was established twenty years after thepublication of

Night

, when he told an interviewer: “

Night

, my ﬁrst narrative, was an autobiographical story, a kind of testimony of one witness speaking of his own life, his own death.”

14

Joseph Sungolowsky

94

II

Autobiography is written in order to come to terms with oneself.

15

Recapturing the past is, therefore, the most common preoccupation of theautobiographer. This motivation is repeatedly stressed by Saul Friedländer whose childhood was shattered by the events of the war. Recounting hissuicide attempt after he was separated from his parents, he wonders whetherhe is the same person or even the same Jew “if there were such a thing as acollective Jew.”

16

When he tries to seek out a former schoolmate 35 yearslater, he suspects that this impulse is dictated by the “need for synthesis ...that no longer excludes anything.”

17

Therefore, in order to recapture thepast, his sole recourse is to write, for “writing retraces the contours of thepast ..., it does at least preserve a presence.”

18

In measuring the distancebetween past and present, Friedländer realizes that he has retained areticence toward people, a tendency to passivity, moral preoccupations andself-examination inculcated to him by the “taboos” of his former Catholiceducation.

19

In searching for himself, the autobiographer may indulge in narcissismand conceit.

20

Pisar hardly avoids these temptations. Self-gloriﬁcation is apervasive theme in both of his autobiographical books. He dwells extensively upon his close relationships with world celebrities, on his brilliance as apolitical scientist whose advice is sought by statesmen, on his participation ininternational conferences where he is eagerly listened to, on his talent athandling the affairs of renowned movie stars. However, such vanity seemsdeliberate, for Pisar never fails to stress the contrast between his presentsuccess and his former condition as a concentration camp inmate. He oftenrecalls “the young boy with a shaven head, pale skin tightly drawn over hisface, and an almost broken body.”

21

In

La Ressource humaine

, he writes: “Icarry the immense privilege of a double experience. That of a sub-humanthrown in the deepest hell of the century and that of an individual treasuredby the great and productive cultures of this planet that are still free.”

22

Autobiography is written as a testimony, especially when the author haslived a particular moment of history that must not be forgotten.

23

Such wasElie Wiesel’s intent when he wrote

Night

. For him, “Auschwitz was a uniquephenomenon, a unique event, like the revelation at Sinai.”

24

Had it not beenfor the war, he would not have become a storyteller but would have writtenon philosophy, the Bible, and the Talmud. He recalls that as he looked athimself in the mirror after his liberation, he realized how much he hadchanged and decided that someone had to write about that change. Althoughhe had vowed to remain silent for ten years, he had absorbed “the obsession

Holocaust and Autobiography

95

to tell the tale.” He states: “I knew that anyone who remained alive had tobecome a story-teller, a messenger, had to speak up.”

25

Autobiography may also be written to educate. The autobiographer wishes his reader to learn from his experience.

26

In the preface to the Frenchedition of

Blood and Hope

, Pisar writes that he did not mean to write anarrative describing the atrocities of the Holocaust or an abstract ideological work on the subject, but: “to forget those four hellish years spent in the mostloathsome trashcan of history.”

27

For him, the danger of a thermonuclear war is a mere repetition of the former madness. He writes, therefore, toeducate the youth of today. “They need to arm themselves against thetragedies, the hypocrisies, the false gods of history.”

28

In

La Ressourcehumaine

, Pisar further explores the means by which a third world war can beavoided. The autobiographical element is present in it again, and with thesame educational intent. He relates that while he was about to enter the gaschamber, he escaped from the line, seized a brush and pail, and beganscrubbing the ﬂoor of the waiting room much to the liking of the guards. Heis convinced, therefore, that the world possesses likewise the resources toavoid a nuclear war.

29

III

No matter how sincere or truthful the autobiographer intends to be, he mustface the technical and literary problems related to the writing. Suchproblems are even more acute in the case of Holocaust autobiography.Before they write autobiography, authors will make sure that a reasonableamount of time has elapsed between the events they wish to relate and theactual writing. Such “distanciation” ensures orderliness to the narrative. Inthe case of Holocaust autobiography, the waiting period is not only technicalbut also emotional. Elie Wiesel states that he feared being unable to live upto the past, “of saying the wrong things, of saying too much or too little.” Hetherefore decided to wait ten years before writing.

30

Friedländer stated thathe had unsuccessfully attempted to write his account ﬁfteen years earlier.

31

Pisar waited about 35 years before he decided to write. With the best faith or memory in the world, it is impossible to re-create in writing a reality long gone by.

32

In this respect, Holocaustautobiographers are even more frustrated. They constantly suspect that whatever the form and content of their narrative, they have not succeeded inconveying the past adequately. Wiesel feels that, while

Night

is the center of his work, “what happened during that night ... will not be revealed.”

33

In the

Joseph Sungolowsky

96

midst of writing, Friedländer feels “deeply discouraged.” He writes: “I willnever be able to express what I want to say; these lines, often clumsy, are very far removed, I know, from my memories, and even my memories retrieveonly sparse fragments of my parents’ existence, of their world, of the time when I was a child.” At the conclusion of his book, he is still wondering whether he has succeeded “in setting down even so much as a tiny part of what [he] wanted to express.”

34

However, since they represent an attempt torecapture whatever is retained of the past, such memories, as fragmented asthey may be, remain invaluable. As put by Leon Wieseltier, they are “all themore illuminating, because memory is the consciousness of things and eventsthat have not yet disappeared completely into knowledge.”

35

No matter how truthful the autobiographer tries to be, he cannot avoidhaving recourse to ﬁctional or literary devices. Indeed, autobiography isnecessarily linked to related literary genres such as the novel, the theater, thediary, or the chronicle.

36

Thus, despite Theodore W. Adorno’s contentionthat it is barbaric to write literature after Auschwitz, the Holocaust writer orautobiographer must engage in a “writing experience” if he wishes to expresshimself. The terse language of Wiesel’s

Night

is occasionally broken by harrowing scenes such as that of Madame Shachter gone mad in the cattlecar or by dialogues such as those that take place between himself and hiserstwhile master Moshe-the-Beadle or with his dying father. Fantasy ispresent when he depicts his native Sighet as “an open tomb” after its Jewshave been rounded up. He uses irony when he recalls that a fellow inmate hasfaith in Hitler because he has kept all his promises to the Jewish people.Images express the author’s feelings. Gallows set up in the assembly place inpreparation of a hanging appear to him as “three black crows,” and the violinof a fellow inmate who has died after playing a Beethoven concerto liesbeside him like “a strange overwhelming little corpse.” The grotesque bestportrays his fellow inmates, “Poor mountebanks, wider than they were tall,more dead than alive; poor clowns, their ghost like faces emerging from pilesof prison clothes! Buffoons!”

37

While Friedländer and Pisar are not writers in the artistic sense of the word, they cannot avoid resorting to literary devices. On page 78 of

When Memory Comes

, Friedländer writes in a footnote: “All the names associated with my stay in Montlucon, the Indre and Sweden are ﬁctitious,” clearly atechnique widely used by discretion-conscious autobiographers and by authors of autobiographical novels.

38

The universe of the concentrationcamp has imprinted on Pisar’s mind indelible images and myths. Upon visiting the naval base at Norfolk, Virginia, he is impressed by the latest

Holocaust and Autobiography

97

inventions in warfare such as the nuclear aircraft carriers. The white star which adorns one of them reminds him of the same emblem on the Americantank that liberated him. Witnessing the array of these formidable weaponsmeant to be used in a third world war, he cannot help but seeing in them a“nuclear gas chamber.”

39

According to Georges May, reproducing letters and evoking historicalepisodes and personalities enliven autobiography and enhance itsauthenticity.

40

Friedländer reproduces correspondence related to hischildhood in France. There are letters written by his mother to the guardianto whose care she entrusted him, by his father to the director of the Catholicschool authorizing her to baptize the child; and he reproduces the last letter written by both parents from the train that took them to the death camp. There are letters written by himself after the Liberation to his new guardiansinquiring about the fate of his parents and eventually informing them that he would not return home since he had decided to leave for the newly bornState of Israel. Retracing the stages of his ascent from a subhuman survivorto his present position, Pisar rarely misses an opportunity to name thecelebrities with whom he associated. As a student in Australia, he took walks with Prime Minister Menzies. At Harvard, Ralph Nader and Zaki Yamani were his classmates. During a ceremony in Auschwitz, he stood next toGiscard d’Estaing of France and Gierek of Poland. At the World Gatheringof Holocaust Survivors, he stood next to Begin.

Of Blood and Hope

includes acenterfold where he is pictured with Kissinger, Arthur Rubinstein, etc. Mitterand agrees with his views on coexistence between East and West. Heis the lawyer of Richard Burton, Ava Gardner, and Catherine Deneuve.

IV

While autobiography may choose to embrace a greater or smaller part of one’s life, Holocaust autobiography will essentially deal with the periodmarked by the events of the Nazi genocide. Just as any autobiography relatedto a troubled historical period acquires an added signiﬁcance,

41

so doesHolocaust autobiography exert a unique fascination upon the reader becauseof its central motive.Like many autobiographers who try to resurrect their happy past, Wiesel, Pisar, and Friedländer dwell upon their childhood as they recall theirnative towns, their families, and their early schooling shortly before theoutbreak of the war. Wiesel and Pisar are sons of educated fathers who wereactively involved in Jewish communal affairs. While Friedländer’s father had

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