The Book of Lost Names

“Her father had always called her that, Polish for ‘little sun,’ and she wondered if he saw the bitter irony in it now, as she did. After all, what was the sun but a yellow star?”

The yellow Star of David, once a symbol of the Jewish faith, has been tarnished by the Nazis’ use of it as an identification of Jewish blood. The sun, a literary symbol of hope and newness, is physically just a yellow star, a reminder of Nazi relegation of Jews first to a symbol and then to dust, like stars that burn out in the night sky.

“Colors had leached from the landscape; in many places, the plants and flowers that had once thrived and brought the city to life had wilted and disappeared. But here, window boxes overflowed with peppermint, chervil, and geraniums of pink, lilac, and white, while ivy crept cheerfully up the walls of stone buildings that looked as if they’d been here since long before the French Revolution.”

Paris, as a larger city, has been cloaked in the darkness of Nazi reign, devoid of color and life. However, Aurignon, far enough removed from the center of occupation, is still imbued with the colors of life, foreshadowing the lives Eva will save in her work there. The juxtaposition of new life with old architecture reflects a sense of promise in Aurignon that is not present in the rest of France. There is possibility and hope, even in the midst of darkness.

“She used to fear being erased, like it was the worst fate in the world. And what have I done by not sharing her with you? I’ve been erasing her all these years, haven’t I?”

In her old age, Eva struggles with the secrets of her past. The guilt of hiding her true identity from her son weighs on her heavily. The Nazis made it a point to erase and eradicate those of Jewish faith, and by keeping her life a secret, Eva has done the same thing: erased memories of her loved ones when she promised herself she would keep them alive.

“The soldier’s eyes were bright now, excited, and Eva felt like a wounded rabbit being circled by a hungry wolf.”

In her first trip with forged papers, Eva’s encounter with a German officer makes her feel like a hunted animal. Nazis have adapted the relationship between predator and prey in the animal kingdom to their Third Reich. At the slightest sign of weakness, they are prepared to destroy.

“Eva was having trouble breathing, but it was no longer the smell that was bothering her. It was the sense of becoming suddenly unmoored from anything that felt familiar.”

As Eva and Remy approach the prison camp in Drancy looking for Tatuś, Eva’s world is turned upside down by the irony of the situation in front of her. Still naïve at this point in the novel, this is her first glimpse that the normalcy of her world has come to an end. By witnessing the Nazi’s treatment of prisoners like animals, Eva is stripped from her ideal worldview and forced to face the horrific reality of their situation.

“There were dozens of officers walking around, more moving in the towers overhead, and none of them looked repulsed or even bothered by the atrocity. Could they all be that evil? Or had they discovered a switch within themselves that allowed them to turn off their civility? Did they go home to their wives at night and simply flip the switches back on, become human once more?”

One of Harmel’s underlying themes in this novel is the capacity of mankind for evil, and the question of what separates people from animals. Eva’s first encounter with the inhumanity of man confuses her as she cannot understand how a man’s outer demeanor can cloak inner character. The dehumanization of Jewish prisoners goes against the fabric of humanity, and yet the Nazis do it without any regard.

“‘They are erasing us, and we are helping them.’ Mamusia’s voice was still flat, too flat. ‘He opened the door to them, didn’t he? Your father went without a fight. And look at us. We don’t even have your father’s name anymore. He’s been gone for less than a week, and already we’re denying him?’”

The Holocaust is a tale of denial: denial of humanity and denial of reality. Mamusia’s revelation that the Nazis are erasing Jewish personhood ironically compliments her own denial—she refuses to admit to the reality that Eva’s decisions have saved their lives. Mamusia’s focus on an unlikely reality—Tatuś survival—may prove correct in the end, but it drastically severs her relationship with Eva.

“On the other hand, how could she simply do nothing? Wasn’t that what the people of France were doing? Wasn’t that what the whole world was doing while the Jews of Europe circled the drain?”

Years after the war, many Allied countries were criticized for their “turning of the other cheek” in regard to the Nazi atrocities, the United States included. The silence of the world in the face of grave injustice speaks to the desire of people to not get involved when their own lives are not at stake. This reality is countered by the characters in the novel who sacrifice everything to save complete strangers.

“There’s danger in being principled in the midst of a war, but I believe that it’s more dangerous not to be.”

While the great countries of the world decide whether or not to enter the war, the men and women of the French resistance willingly choose to risk their lives to save others, merely because it is the right thing to do. Père Clément’s words to Eva are a reminder that the right thing must always be done, even if it is dangerous, because to do nothing is the mark of a coward. These words ring in Eva’s mind as she continues to risk her life for the future of France.

“The truth was, when Eva was young, her parents had taught her that saying the prayer before she went to sleep would protect her from the demons that came in the dark. But her father had murmured it each night of his life, and on a still July night, the demons had come anyhow.”

The Nazi rationale for the seizure of Jewish people centered around a difference of religion. Faith, whether one is Christian or Jewish, decrees that true belief is enough to protect one from harm. Here, Eva’s jaded worldview brings to light the dangers of idealistic faith that there is no protection against the darkness of man. Tatuś and Mamusia, both blind believers, cannot see the inherent dangers that come with their faith.

“That’s what books were for, after all. They were passageways to other worlds, other realities, other lives one could imagine living.”

Eva’s fascination with books stems from childhood, but their meaning gains importance to her throughout the novel. As a child and young woman, books were portals to other worlds—a way for her to escape. However, Eva’s obsession with “books” takes on a whole new meaning with the Book of Lost Names. This book, the title and central symbol of the novel, is a “passageway” to a world of reality and illusion, truth and fiction, and “other lives” that children were forced to live as a result of Nazi persecution.

“And in the midst of a war like this, you realize that family is more than just blood. I’m your family now, and so is Père Clément. So are all the children you’ve helped save, and the men and women who can continue to fight for France because you’ve protected them.”

Madame Barbier’s motherly words to Eva come at just the right time. Eva’s father is likely dead, and her mother sees her as a traitor to her faith and family. Madame’s words are a reminder that family goes far beyond blood into the realm of dedication and loyalty to each other.

“She cracked open an eye just in time to see Pere Clement, still in his priestly robe, disappearing back into the church as quietly as he’d come. He pulled the door closed behind him, leaving her in total darkness.”

The contrasting imagery between light and dark symbolizes Eva’s confusion surrounding Père Clément. The priest usually represents a ray of hope for Eva, as he is the one who guides her into the underground world of saving others. But her belief that he has sided with the Germans removes that light and cloaks it in darkness, conveying her blindness toward the situation and her inability to see the truth.

“Her mother lived in a world of black and white, and Eva knew that neither of those colors existed, not really; it was all a spectrum of gray.”

Throughout the novel, the greatest hindrance to Eva and Mamusia’s relationship is Mamusia’s inability to give. Mamusia is stuck in a clear-cut world of right and wrong, Christian or Jewish, and dead or alive. There is never any in-between for her, and she forcibly shelters herself in order to live in the illusion she has created. Eva, however, has witnessed enough in her work that she knows right and wrong are subjective terms, blurred by the person considering them.

“Evil doesn’t live here anymore; this is just a place, and the people around me are just people.”

Even after six decades, Eva struggles to disassociate Germany and its blond-haired, blue-eyed men of the modern era with the horrific Nazi regime of the past. The cloud of evil that made men turn against other men in such unspeakable ways is gone, however. This notion is represented by Otto Kühn, the German librarian who tries to right the wrongs of his countrymen by helping Eva transcribe the code in the Book of Lost Names.

“We can’t blame ourselves, though. We can only take the responsibility of preventing the same things from happening to others.”

Much of the novel centers on the motif of blame and responsibility. Although Eva’s guilt for her father’s capture and imprisonment continually weighs her down—a fact which Mamusia reminds her of often—Geneviève reminds her that her actions of the present more than make up for the past. Eva’s has saved hundreds of lives and has created futures for children who would not have had a future without her.

“Eva hardly recognized the woman before her, the woman trembling with anger, the woman whose decision to hold on to a past that would never return had made her into something cold and unfamiliar.”

The tension between Eva and Mamusia reaches its final peak in the moments before Eva leaves to transport children to Switzerland. Eva no longer recognizes this woman whose inability to face reality keeps her from a relationship with the only family she has left. Unfortunately, this is the last time Eva and Mamusia see each other before Mamusia is executed, adding to the guilt that Eva carries with her the rest of her life.

“Eva embraced the girl, wishing she could take away the pain that had already been inflicted. But it was too late. Loss would forever be etched on the child like a tattoo; it might fade over time, but it would never be erased.”

The symbolism of tattoos is well-documented amongst Holocaust survivors. They are permanent reminders of the time they became numbers instead of people in the eyes of their society. Eva’s consolation of young Jacqueline as they move closer to Switzerland is not enough to erase the girl’s physical loss of her parents—a loss imprinted on Eva like a tattoo. Like the permanence of the tattoos on Holocaust victims, these children who lost everything will carry with them a pain that can never be removed.

“I used to think that memories were less painful when you held them close. I think perhaps that isn’t true, though. Now I think pain loses its power when we share it.”

This intimate moment between Eva and Remy represents a much larger idea about the unity of the human spirit. Numerous times throughout the text, characters mention that memories keep people from being erased. This is true of older Eva in regard to Mamusia, Mamusia in regard to Tatuś, and Remy here in regard to his mother. By sharing memories of lost loved ones, their spirit can never be erased, unlike their bodies erased by the Nazi regime.

“A church always stands as long as God remains.”

The book explores the notion of “the church” as both a physical structure and a spiritual concept. Père Clément is the living embodiment of the lowercase “church,” the universal place of acceptance and love. Although the Germans destroyed the physical church, they can never destroy what the church represents through Père Clément: the presence of God and eternal love.

“After what had happened here, her mother would have to understand that in the face of such evil, the division between Christians and Jews meant nothing.”

Mamusia’s line in the sand on the matter of religion is irrelevant in the midst of war. Religion itself is subjective: Nazis consider themselves Christians, but so do Père Clément, Rémy, and the rest of the resistance—one group desiring destruction, the other salvation. Rémy, despite his Catholic faith, has proven that he will risk his life for the Jewish people, ensuring his place as a righteous man regardless of his religious affiliation.

“The German who gave the order asked if she had any last words, and she said some nonsense about how she was proud to be the mother of someone so brave.”

Mamusia’s final words verbalize all the things she could never say to Eva. The constant pressure and guilt she placed on Eva’s shoulders since their escape from Paris always made Eva feel incompetent and unworthy, but Mamusia’s final act proves that she was always proud of her daughter, even if she didn’t always agree with her. This redemption, proof that Mamusia did not die blaming Eva, releases Eva from the guilt of causing her mother’s death.

“She breathed in the familiar scent of him, frankincense and pine. There was something else now, too, an edge of smoke, of having come through a fire.”

The war has changed everyone, and although he is still the man she knew, Eva can smell just how close Père Clément was to death. He has been touched by fire, both literally and figuratively. His time in a Polish concentration camp brought him close to the burning Jewish bodies and the associated risk of death, yet he has also “walked through the fire and come out unscathed,” an allusion to the Christian Bible that symbolizes the strength of his faith.