Child of The Holocaust, by Jack Kuper (Jacob Kuperblum) is Kuper’s own childhood memoir, of survival in the most extreme circumstances; and for those of you following my reviews, expect to find many books in this genre, as it is something of a fascination for me.
As with many of the books in this field, however, I often find myself, while compelled and overwhelmed by the author’s personal experiences – there’s nothing like reading such a book to have us realise how lucky we are and have always been – I can at times become a little frustrated by, and therefore disappointed in, the narrative style.
Firstly, the story: imagine, as a child, coming home one day and finding that your entire family no longer lives in your home; everyone's been taken away by the SS. Are there worse nightmares? What would you do, when faced with such stark reality, want to be with them? Or perhaps, endeavour to confront more hardship – for want of a better word – and so keep alive? Such was Jack Kuper’s predicament, and having chosen the latter option, this is his story of survival, via wit, a wing and, I imagine, many, many prayers, even if Jack, understandably, lost his faith, both physically and philosophically…
What a story!
But, alas, for me, I’d love the chance to re-write it, and I’d start by deleting every adverb in the book; I can’t help but think that Jack Kuper tried too hard to ‘tell the story’, when all he needed to do was just that: tell the story.
Still worth reading though…
right pic cortesy of Wikimedia