It's with somewhat mixed emotions that I write this post. I literally just finished the last page of the book, and even though I'd seen the movie and knew how it was going to end, I'm obviously still deeply saddened. Saddened that such a time in human history ever occurred, and saddened that it is still happening now.
John Boyne's novel/fable The Boy in the Striped Pajamas is the story of nine-year-old Bruno, whose father is the Commandant in charge of the infamous Auschwitz concentration camp. Bruno doesn't know what goes on in the little town on the other side of the big fence, and he stares in curiosity at all the little people who wear matching striped pajamas every day. When he finally decides to get out of the house and go exploring one day, he finds another nine-year-old boy to be friends with...but this boy is on the other side of the mysterious fence. Thus begins an odd and secret friendship that lasts over a year as the boys continue to meet and talk while sitting at the fence line.
I said I had mixed emotions about this book. The topic is one we're all too familiar with as 21st century Americans, but it's told here from a slightly different perspective than we're used to and that adds a unique new effect. As if the topic itself isn't enough, the book's conclusion is just absolutely heartbreaking. But my confused emotions come from a state of frustration: the gaps in logic are quite large at times. Bruno would not have been nearly as clueless as he was in real life WWII-era Germany; the nine-year-old son of a Nazi Commandant would have definitely been involved with Hitler Youth and would have had Nazi propaganda instilled in him continuously. It also makes no sense that Bruno would be confused by the word "Auschwitz," replacing it with the phrase "Out-With"...he is a German-speaking child after all and the words "out" and "with" are English. The idea of a spot in the fence around Auschwitz having a hole big enough for an adolescent boy to fit under that is also never ever guarded or patrolled at any point over the course of an entire year is probably ridiculous. A house positioned directly next door to a concentration camp in which large amounts of humans were burned alive routinely would smell so strongly that no one in Bruno's family would have been able to stand it (or be confused at all about the purpose of the camp). Your typical nine-year-old child wouldn't be half as stupid as Bruno, either; he is probably the most annoyingly dense character I've read in a long time. But all of that aside, let's keep this in perspective. This is a work of fiction. A work of fiction that doesn't claim to be anything other than fiction. It's based on real events and a real place, yes. But it's fiction. And with fiction sometimes comes moments in which we need to suspend disbelief deeply rooted in hindsight and adult wisdom. Would I use this book as a lone tool to teach the Holocaust to a child? Nope. But I probably wouldn't mind using it as one of many tools, because it offers a unique voice not provided by most other books (it's also one heck of an opportunity for teaching inference and drawing conclusions).
In his author's note at the end of the book, John Boyne explains his choices:
"Throughout the writing and rewriting of the novel, I believed that the only respectful way for me to deal with this subject was through the eyes of a rather naive child who couldn't possibly understand the terrible things that were taking place around him. After all, only the victims and survivors can truly comprehend the awfulness of that time and place; the rest of us live on the other side of the fence, staring through from our own comfortable place, trying in our own clumsy ways to make sense of it all."
Honestly, I get it. Bruno is stupid and you want to strangle him to death throughout a lot of the book (either because he just will. not. get. it, or because he often whines about how bad he has it while watching his friend literally starve to death in front of him), but if Bruno wasn't quite so stupid the story wouldn't work. And honestly...are there areas in our personal interactions and/or areas in this world that we are as stupid as Bruno about? Are we the people whining about how our new house only has three floors when our old house had five while a dear friend sits across the table from us going through something that is literally killing them? Is it possible that we, as mature and intelligent adults, could be missing something right next door to us that's just as huge and heartbreaking? I hope not, but maybe Bruno can get us thinking anyway.
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