Those who have known me for a long time remember that the Holocaust holds a special place on my list of important subjects. I read about it myself, and I tell my children what happened and how it happened. Such things must be remembered. So, not a year goes by without me reading a book on the topic or watching a related film.
No one recommended The Tattooist of Auschwitz to me; I happened upon it on a bookstore shelf, and then my wife read it before I did. Although it’s a novel, it is based on the real-life memories of Lale (Ludwig) Sokolov, who worked as a tattooist in Auschwitz for several years during the war, survived, and eventually moved to Australia.
Heather Morris, the author, merely recorded his memories and turned them into a novel. Before this book, she wasn’t well known, working in a hospital and trying her hand at screenwriting. Then she was introduced to Lale…
Not every work on the Holocaust resonates with me. The most powerful ones for me so far are Roman Polanski’s film The Pianist and Erich Maria Remarque’s novel Spark of Life. But back to the novel about the tattooist.
From the beginning, the writing style felt off to me. I even thought it might be a poor translation (I read it in Russian), so I found and compared the first chapter in the original. No, the translation simply follows the English version. The language is very simple and somewhat dry.
It’s a story about a young man who, by fate’s will, managed to secure the role of a tattooist—a strangely privileged position, making him nearly untouchable within this factory of death. Lale uses his privileges, initially for himself, and later to support other prisoners by obtaining food and medicine for them. Though more often, it’s still for his own needs.
This is a book about Auschwitz—a camp where millions of people were methodically and brutally exterminated. Yet this isn’t conveyed in the story. I understand that people react differently. Sometimes, because of the daily monotony, people would stop responding emotionally (this is well depicted in Spark of Life). Sometimes, due to age, the protagonist might not fully grasp the reality (as seen partially in The Boy in the Striped Pajamas). But here, the story is told from the perspective of someone who understood what was happening around him. And yet, the narrative comes across as if “oh well, it’s Auschwitz, things happen.” I understand when this approach is intentional—when there’s an effort to maintain hope and focus on life by pushing the darkness aside. But here, that sense is missing.
Yes, it’s likely that life was easier for the tattooist than for others. Much easier. He moved freely around the camp and even walked between camps on his own. But the daily life portrayed here feels… as if it’s just a background. Like in a children’s fairy tale, where there are villains, but our heroes will surely prevail. Only we know Auschwitz was no fairy tale.
I understand the book is based on the memories of a real person. So it wouldn’t be fair to say, “I don’t believe it.” However, the book wasn’t written by him but by Heather Morris. And I feel she didn’t manage to turn these memories into a truly powerful and emotional story, as Lale’s life—having found love in the camp, kept it, and carried it throughout his life—deserved.
Lale wasn’t a hero; many of his actions were far from heroic, which adds to the story’s credibility. But as I read the book, I constantly struggled with conflicting feelings—wanting to stop reading one moment, then feeling, “well, this part is a bit better.” Still, in the end, I can’t call it a strong, cohesive work. To me, it remains more a collection of episodes, told rather dryly, lacking the factor of genuine empathy.
There are many other books about life in the camp. They also carry hope, yet make it abundantly clear what was happening there. This book, however, doesn’t evoke similar feelings.
Heather Morris has written a second book about another heroine from the first one (making it a continuation). Yet I have serious doubts about whether I want to read it.
My rating: 3.5/5
