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A review by atelierofbooks
The Unwomanly Face of War: An Oral History of Women in World War II by Svetlana Alexiévich
5.0
"Before me yet another page of the war opened, before which any fantasy will fall silent..."
My hands shook as I read this. Alexievich writes,"I looked into the abyss in order to understand something." And that's how it felt. Like a veil was being pulled back and I was peeking into the maw of something horrible and sacred. How else to describe these memories?
Alexeivich mentions that she wanted to write a book that would even make a general hate war. So I want to place a copy of this book in the hands of every politician and world leader, because she did just that.
Everything I've ever seen or read about World War II...every documentary, film, book...is lacking compared to this. I understand now that it's because they are the stories of men's war. And women's war is far more terrifying and heartbreaking. More than battle formations and tactics, a woman will remember the things that rip your sangfroid away. They grip you by the jaw and make you see. They remember the soldier who cried for his mother, the girl who died protecting an officer she loved, the blood in their pants that froze and cut their thighs.
This book made me feel a thousand emotions and I feel like my heart could burst. But for some reason my words come up dry. Why do we venerate war in fiction? Why is there still a whiff of glory in all of this horror?
When did it become weakness to be "a simple woman" and love womanly things? When did strength become the ability to kill as well as a man? This isn't strength, we've made a terrible mistake. All of these people deserved better than what happened after the war. I can grasp, in a bigger way, the magnitude of Stalin's betrayal of his own people.
This is a work of immense courage and importance. I'm not sure about describing books in terms of import, but if there ever was such a book it's this one. What more could I possibly say? "Thank you." "I'm sorry."
"There can't be one heart for hatred and another for love. We only have one, and I always thought about how to save my heart."
My hands shook as I read this. Alexievich writes,"I looked into the abyss in order to understand something." And that's how it felt. Like a veil was being pulled back and I was peeking into the maw of something horrible and sacred. How else to describe these memories?
Alexeivich mentions that she wanted to write a book that would even make a general hate war. So I want to place a copy of this book in the hands of every politician and world leader, because she did just that.
"Ehh, girls, how vile it was, this war…When you look at it with our eyes. Simple women’s eyes…As frightful as can be. That’s why they don’t ask us…"
Everything I've ever seen or read about World War II...every documentary, film, book...is lacking compared to this. I understand now that it's because they are the stories of men's war. And women's war is far more terrifying and heartbreaking. More than battle formations and tactics, a woman will remember the things that rip your sangfroid away. They grip you by the jaw and make you see. They remember the soldier who cried for his mother, the girl who died protecting an officer she loved, the blood in their pants that froze and cut their thighs.
This book made me feel a thousand emotions and I feel like my heart could burst. But for some reason my words come up dry. Why do we venerate war in fiction? Why is there still a whiff of glory in all of this horror?
When did it become weakness to be "a simple woman" and love womanly things? When did strength become the ability to kill as well as a man? This isn't strength, we've made a terrible mistake. All of these people deserved better than what happened after the war. I can grasp, in a bigger way, the magnitude of Stalin's betrayal of his own people.
This is a work of immense courage and importance. I'm not sure about describing books in terms of import, but if there ever was such a book it's this one. What more could I possibly say? "Thank you." "I'm sorry."
"There can't be one heart for hatred and another for love. We only have one, and I always thought about how to save my heart."