“Cooper: You commented once that the word Holocaust refers to those who perished, in other words those who were burnt, and forgets those who survived.
“Kertész: Yes, survival was the exception, a flaw in the Nazi machinery, as Améry wrote. The survivor is the accident, or the mistake, that which needs explanation. Survival seems unimaginable but actually it is the camps that should seem unimaginable. You know, this was one of the strange things about my memories of Buchenwald. In the middle of the camp was a hospital where they tended to the ailing. How was this possible? And then you realize the question is: How was the camp possible?”
‘The Holocaust as Culture’ (Seagull Books) is a typically thoughtful and clear-eyed reflection from Imre Kertész, who was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 2002 and whose classic novel, Fatelessness, appeared in 1975, followed in 1990 by Kaddish for a Child Not Born.
Take for example his thoughts on Holocaust stories: “I mean, there are holocaust stories with happy endings. You think of Steven Spielberg in the United States, for instance. But people talk about the holocaust and inhumanity … well … it was of course humans who were responsible, so I’m not sure it makes much sense to talk about inhumanity.”
This book was published in 2011 and remains timely, especially as we see renewed attention on Israel employing the sort of actions and policies to terrorise Palestine that were once part and parcel of the terrorising of Jews in Europe: apartheid, bigotry; turning people away. I think also of Kertész’s remark toward the end of the book, in the titular essay:
“A person tortured, who bears the weight and consequences of the fate he has shouldered, is not willing to negotiate with a general principle. What would become of his freedom? His fate? His personality? Furthermore, with whom should he settle accounts, towards whom should he feel and assert his ‘resentment’, if everything is as intelligible, simple, and impersonal as the abstract notion of totalitarianism? Améry found himself confronted with people, ‘anti-people’ (Gegenmenschen); it was not totalitarianism that beat him with a horsewhip and hung him by his shackled wrists but Lieutenant Praust, who happened to speak a Berlin dialect.”