Why would you write a book about Stalingrad nowadays?
Why would you write a book about Stalingrad nowadays? Because it was one of the largest and most desperate battles ever fought with over two million dead and wounded on both sides? Because in Stalingrad, soldiers died on the battlefield as well as in the ruins where they were left without aid, and wasted away in the beastly cold? Because there are possibly no images more apocalyptic than those evoked by Stalingrad?
Like the plane that lost control during landing and crashed into the rows of seriously injured soldiers who had been laid out next to roll field, waiting to be evacuated while the temperature was minus 40 degrees Celsius. Or the soldier who, crazed by hunger, bashed open the head of a dead horse in order to get to the brain mass. Or the soldiers with amputated legs who dragged themselves on crutches over the ice into the ruins of the city when the cauldron collapsed, while the faces of those who were crushed during the retreat grinned at them through the surface. Or the houses they built with corpses, in order to find refuge from the cold?
I did not write Stalingrad because of any of these reasons. What fascinated me about the event was the fact that I realised while I was writing, that under these circumstances I would have been capable of the most horrible crimes, too. That neither education, nor morals, nor religion can protect us from losing control over ourselves and our actions in extreme situations. Therefore, the core of my book is that no one can stay human under inhuman circumstances, no matter how much one is trying.
So I joined my main protagonist on his tragic journey from a naive war romantic to a responsible front line office, to a brave deserter, who despite all ended up as a desperate cynic whose only choice was to slip away into madness and agony.
The sadistic SD officer who plays appalling games behind the front line, and whom our young lieutenant treats with contempt, becomes the mirror he has to face himself in the ruins of Stalingrad in the end.
Everything the soldiers in Stalingrad would have still been able to do would have been too late. Even those soldiers who did realise that they had served a criminal leadership were soon occupied with their own survival. Their ranting against Hitler, and the generals who had abandoned them shamelessly, died away between the last bites of frozen bread, was muffled by the chains of Russian tanks, and torn to pieces by enemy grenades. The perversion of emotion and thought by war is not only the subject of my book. I experienced it myself during my work and it pursued me even into my dreams. One does not go off to war without lifelong consequences – this should be clear to everyone before they go.
Like the plane that lost control during landing and crashed into the rows of seriously injured soldiers who had been laid out next to roll field, waiting to be evacuated while the temperature was minus 40 degrees Celsius. Or the soldier who, crazed by hunger, bashed open the head of a dead horse in order to get to the brain mass. Or the soldiers with amputated legs who dragged themselves on crutches over the ice into the ruins of the city when the cauldron collapsed, while the faces of those who were crushed during the retreat grinned at them through the surface. Or the houses they built with corpses, in order to find refuge from the cold?
I did not write Stalingrad because of any of these reasons. What fascinated me about the event was the fact that I realised while I was writing, that under these circumstances I would have been capable of the most horrible crimes, too. That neither education, nor morals, nor religion can protect us from losing control over ourselves and our actions in extreme situations. Therefore, the core of my book is that no one can stay human under inhuman circumstances, no matter how much one is trying.
So I joined my main protagonist on his tragic journey from a naive war romantic to a responsible front line office, to a brave deserter, who despite all ended up as a desperate cynic whose only choice was to slip away into madness and agony.
The sadistic SD officer who plays appalling games behind the front line, and whom our young lieutenant treats with contempt, becomes the mirror he has to face himself in the ruins of Stalingrad in the end.
Everything the soldiers in Stalingrad would have still been able to do would have been too late. Even those soldiers who did realise that they had served a criminal leadership were soon occupied with their own survival. Their ranting against Hitler, and the generals who had abandoned them shamelessly, died away between the last bites of frozen bread, was muffled by the chains of Russian tanks, and torn to pieces by enemy grenades. The perversion of emotion and thought by war is not only the subject of my book. I experienced it myself during my work and it pursued me even into my dreams. One does not go off to war without lifelong consequences – this should be clear to everyone before they go.
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