“The Order of the Death’s Head: The Story of Hitler’s SS”, by Heinz Höhne, translated by Richard Barry

 

704 pages, Penguin Books, ISBN-13: 978-0141390123 

Heinz Höhne’s The Order of the Death’s Head: The Story of Hitler’s SS was first published in 1967 but, for all that, remains one of the greatest works on the history of the SS – the Nazi Schutzstaffel; literally “Protection Squadron” – and an important tool in the study of Hitler’s infamous Third Reich. Höhne, a journalist by training, included in his work all of the major personages and divisions that this demonic organization produced, such as: Heinrich Himmler, Reinhard Heydrich, Heinrich Müller, Adolf Eichmann, Arthur Nebe, Wilhelm Höttl, Paul Blobel and Herbert Lange, amongst too many others; and the Allgemeine SS (General SS), Waffen-SS (Armed SS), Sicherheitspolizei (Security Police), Reichssicherheitshauptamt (Reich Main Security Office, or RSHA), SS-Sonderkommandos (Special Units), Einsatzgruppen (Task Forces) and Hauptamt SS-Gericht (SS Court Main Office), although these are only partial lists.

Höhne does more than just record dates and events, or give a laundry list of names and crimes; he reveals several interesting facts about this grand criminal organization that managed to remain hidden for so long. For instance, if you (like me) thought that the Nazi state was a well-oiled machine of terror that was a meticulous top-to-bottom, command-and-control kinda deal, you (like me) would be surprised to learn that Nazi Germany was a chaotic hodgepodge of competing institutions that were each “Working Towards the Führer”; that is, several cults of personality – of which the SS was the foremost – were established by the focus of their adoration (that would be the Bohemian Corporal himself) in order to foster rivalries between competing forces on the lower rungs of power and, thus, rule by dividing and conquering. When you consider all this, I find it absolutely amazing that the chaotic atmosphere this regime established almost conquered all Europe. Even though this book is, at the time of this review, over 50-years-old, it is perhaps the most comprehensive look at the SS that I have read so far, for Höhne went through the organization with a fine-tooth comb to give one a thorough look at this octopusian state-within-a-state.

Höhne also delves deeper than most histories of the SS, as when he asks some, I think, pretty basic questions, such as why would someone join the SS in the first place. His answers are many, but the principle reason was for the prestige of wearing the double-runic “SS” and, thus, the standing that membership in this neo-Praetorian Guard gave one within the Nazi regime. Many professional men joined the SS so that they would be able to advance in their careers within the framework of the Nazi State, even though they were philosophically opposed to the organization (or so they claimed after the war). This, of course, didn’t apply for every member, but it would appear that the SS’s principle recruits were True Believers, although Himmler had both practical and philosophical problems between keeping his organization “pure” and raising enlistment numbers for the SS so he could gain more power and influence. Himmler at first had strict requirements for joining his racial elite task force, amongst them that all were to be German nationals who could prove their pure Aryan ancestry dating back to 1800, were unmarried and without a criminal record. A four-year commitment was required for the SS-Verfügungstruppe (Dispositional Troops) and 1. SS-Panzerdivision Leibstandarte SS Adolf Hitler (LSSAH), recruits had to be between the ages of 17 and 23 and be at least 5’9” tall, or 5’10” for the LSSAH; these standards began to be relaxed as the war began to be lost and recruits – even “impure” recruits – were needed like never before.

The author lastly does a good job describing what was happening during the regime’s Götterdämmerung: Himmler’s pipe dreams of leading the SS on the battlefield to save the Third Reich, to his belief that he could take over and negotiate terms with the allies (and not be held to account for the horrible crimes committed under his authority) were the SS’s driving ambitions as the world came tumbling down around them. From Hitler’s belief in miracle weapons, to Göring’s pining for his (stolen) fine art collection, or Himmler’s (unfounded) belief in his military genius, at the end the leadership of the Third Reich was rarely in touch with reality.  The SS certainly wasn’t the only criminal organization within the Third Reich, nor was it solely responsible for the operation of Germany’s police state, concentration camp system or program of mass murder, but it had the leading role in all of them. The Order of the Death’s Head, while occasionally offering a dated perspective on one or two minor points, is still the definitive study of Hitler’s “finest”.

“Girl with a Pearl Earring”, by Tracy Chevalier

 

233 pages, Perfection Learning, ISBN-13: 978-0756904913

First, my confession: I saw the movie Girl with a Pearl Earring before I read the book Girl with a Pearl Earring, so I was hardly shocked by anything inside (well, a little; read to the end). It has to be stated that this is a conjectural novel; I know, I know, I know; all novels are conjectural, even a novel – like this one – that is based on actual people and true events. So, what is this about, then? Okay, here we go: Girl with a Pearl Earring refers to the painting of the same name by Johannes Vermeer, painted sometime round about 1665. That’s the factual stuff; now, for the conjectural: 16-year-old Griet goes to work as a maid in the household of Johannes Vermeer, a painter with a good local, but no international, reputation. The tale is in no hurry to get going; Griet lives for two years – two years! This is glacial storytelling at its best – at her employers’ and is only allowed to visit her home on Sundays, where life goes on and things change and the world turns…really, couldn’t you speed things up a little, Tracy?

Griet is increasingly fascinated by Vermeer’s paintings, and the artist discovers that Griet has an eye for art – no doubt due to her father’s trade as a tile-painter – and secretly asks her to run errands and perform tasks for him, such as mixing his paints and acting as a substitute model. Griet arouses the suspicions of Catharina, the artist’s wife, but Vermeer’s mother-in-law, Maria Thins (an interesting person in her own right), recognizes that the girl’s presence has a steadying effect on her son-in-law and connives at the domestic arrangements that allow her to devote more time to his service. Eventually, after a lot of soap-operatic intrigue and slow-as-molasses-in-January plotting, the young Griet is finally granted immortality when Vermeer makes her the girl with the pearl earring and paints her portrait, after ages of wading through this book.

As I said, I saw the movie first and thought it your typical Masterpiece Theatresque costume drama: not bad by any stretch, but moving to its own rhythm, which was sssslllloooowwww. Well, guess what? The movie followed the book very closely in that, plodding along as if something is about to happen but never really does and the domesticity of everything adds nothing to the tale and goodgoda’mighty will something happen PLEASE. Griet is a rather pompous, priggish young woman with an overinflated sense of her own position in society and far too calculating for the persona she is supposed to be, but at least there’s something there, as nearly everyone else was without any substance. Vermeer is very cold, almost mute, and there is no clue to his thoughts at all; he just comes and goes as if he’s in a trance. Catharina, his wife, is one-dimensionally nasty; while the children, Griet’s family and the other maid are stock characters (the bully, the good child, the baby, the threatened co-worker, the poor but proud parents, etc.). About the only real personalities are Vermeer’s mother-in-law (I actually liked Maria Thins best; she seemed to have some three dimensionality) and the butcher’s son who courts Griet.

I’m sure it must be difficult to make art interesting, to describe on paper the creative process and what goes on in the artist’s mind as he is working, but Chevalier doesn’t even try: describing one non-event after another does not a novel make. Not a bad book by any stretch, just rather pointless.

“Monty Python’s Flying Circus: Complete and Annotated...All the Bits”, by Luke Dempsey

 

880 pages, Black Dog & Leventhal, ISBN-13: 978-1579129132 

There were several times when I was a little kid and, being unable to sleep, made my way down to the family room late at night where I’d find my Dad yucking it up over some British comedy show or other on PBS; often it was The Benny Hill Show, but just as often it was Monty Python’s Flying Circus. Being but a wee lad, the humor and the topics were all quite beyond me – but not the cartoons; oh, yes, Terry Gilliam’s weird and unique recycling of past photographs and original art were just the greatest things I had even seen. I laughed just as hard at these as my Dad did at the rest of the show. I guess he had an English sense of humor.

So then, I suppose I don’t need to tell you that, if you are not a fan of Monty Python’s Flying Circus then you have no reason at all to buy Monty Python’s Flying Circus: Complete and Annotated...All the Bits by Luke Dempsey. This book is a complete encyclopedia of everything Python (that would be Graham Chapman, John Cleese, Terry Gilliam, Eric Idle, Terry Jones and Michael Palin): chock full of 2000 color photographs and illustrations, over 1000 annotations to scenes and even reproduced scripts for each of the 45 episodes, with behind the scenes directions. As a Yank, I found All the Bits to be enlightening in the extreme when it came to understanding the context of the show: the social and political milieu of Britain in the late 60s and early 70s in which the Pythons thrived is absolutely vital to understanding the humor of the show – especially British humor, which so often gets lost in translation over here.

And while I thought that reading the scripts and script notes of the show would be a drag, the opposite is actually true, for in doing so I discovered all that I had missed during my initial viewings: the fast-talking, obscure references and unfamiliar slang were all explained and translated for my Yankee ears. All the Bits also illustrates just how much hard work and English cleverness went into producing each episode. I suppose that, on some level, I always knew these mad Englishmen were putting in long hours and stretching their creativity to the max, but All the Bits really brings this fact home in no uncertain terms. So by all means, drop your Norwegian Blue at once and buy Monty Python’s Flying Circus: Complete and Annotated...All the Bits. Albatross.