... [a] taut, eloquent memoir of wartime survival ... Reflecting on how little is known about Frenkel’s life beyond the confines of this, apparently her only book, Mr. Modiano likens reading it to the experience of becoming privy to an intimate confession from a stranger met by chance, someone whose secrets you now share but whose identity remains essentially anonymous. This enigmatic quality combines with the story’s own underlying sense of urgency to propel the reader forward. Composed in the immediate aftermath of her arrival in Switzerland, Frenkel’s suspense-filled saga spills out with absolute clarity as she details her flight’s every hazardous step and misguided stop ... Frenkel artfully sketches a range of characters she encountered along the way ... We can only remain grateful to the constellation of luck and chance that allowed, first, Frenkel’s survival, and now, the recovery of her exceptional book.
Frenkel’s chronological first-person narration details narrow escapes, serendipitous respites, and acts of unbelievable cruelty, indifference, bravery, and kindness. Her story is compelling not only because it sheds light on a unique aspect of WWII (foreign nationals trapped in France during the German occupation) but due to the circumstances of its publication. Originally published in France in 1945 under the title No Place to Lay One’s Head, the book remained largely forgotten until a copy surfaced in southern France in 2010, leading to this English-language release. Insightful, sympathetic, suspenseful, and eventually triumphant, this memoir is a worthy addition to the WWII canon.
There’s a fair bit Frenkel doesn’t tell us in this extraordinary book ... has many echoes of Kafka, and is a reminder of the terrible truth he caught: that if you want to torture a human soul, you can do an awful lot with bits of paper ... Frenkel’s attempts to escape over the border to Switzerland, from December 1942, are as gripping as any thriller ... a stark and chilling account of what happens when a society turns rotten and the rot spreads. It is all the more shocking because the tone is so matter-of-fact. People spread hate as they eat their favourite snacks ... a strangely hypnotic demonstration of what the German-Jewish philosopher Hannah Arendt called the 'banality of evil': a world where life and death are measured out in rubber stamps ... There’s a singing simplicity to the writing, but also the odd note that feels slightly stilted, with widespread use of phrases like 'not without'. It’s hard to know if this is the translation or the original. There are also a lot of exclamation marks ... What we do know is that we owe [Frenkel] a huge debt of gratitude. In sharing her bitter taste of bitter history, she has shown us the worst of humanity — but also the best.
...vital ... Frenkel gives us an urgent narrative of the crucial years of her life. After a brief, gorgeous opening explaining how she became fascinated with books as a child growing up near Lodz, we follow her through her studies at the Sorbonne and apprenticeship to an antiquarian bookseller ... No Place to Lay One’s Head has an appealing style, captured in an assured translation by Stephanie Smee ... the general melancholy that saturates No Place to Lay One’s Head becomes sharply specific, and renders Frenkel’s inscription in the first edition of her memoir, appended in the dossier at the end of the book, unbearably sad.
... a republished volume that has enduring relevance ... Frenkel, who originally wrote the book not long after her escape, is a fine writer: detailed, emotional, and careful about giving her readers sufficient information to keep the tension taut and not overwhelm. The current edition features some useful additions, including a chronology and a 'dossier,' a compilation of some research to validate what the author wrote, as well as a preface by French novelist and Nobel laureate Patrick Modiano. Pictures, photocopies, and translations of documents comprise nearly 30 pages of engaging and relevant backmatter ... A compelling account of crushing oppression, those who sought to flee it, and those who, at great risk, offered help.
There is plenty of suspense as Frenkel describes her brushes with disaster—but the title A Bookshop in Berlin instead emphasizes her improbable bookstore, illuminating a deeper truth about Frenkel’s experiences ... ultimately, a story of liberation and redemption.
Frenkel’s linguistic 'origins' and influences are multiple: although she wrote in French, it was her second language, and one of at least three she spoke fluently. Rendering the work of this multilingual and widely read author into English is therefore no small undertaking ... Frenkel’s multilingualism is just one of many complexities presented to the translator of her work ... Frenkel writes with arresting restraint. Observations are laid out in sparse passages deploying only sparing authorial judgement: space is left for the reader to contemplate atrocities in their nude horror ... Frenkel displays balance and empathy in characterising even some of the cruellest figures she encounters along her journey, often searching for redeeming qualities amidst the abhorrent, and investing her energies into understanding their motives rather than lamenting their brutality ... Smee’s translation renders many such passages to great effect, particularly in her well-researched use of period terminology and vernacular dialogue ... It is when the memoir moves into a more lyrical register that Smee really finds her voice. Frenkel’s deftness with imagery and strong eye for the symbolism of the everyday all contribute to the book’s literary, as well as journalistic, distinction, and Smee’s translation negotiates her figurative, rhythmic language with impressive agility ... the 'héroïne inconnue' of No Place to Lay One’s Head has resurfaced at a time when it seems audiences are most in need of her voice.
A remarkable lost-then-found account ... It stands as both an illuminating depiction of wartime France and a gripping and affecting personal account of endurance and defiance. Frenkel writes candidly throughout about her fears and ordeals ... the reader roots for her every step of the way.
Frenkel sets an example of undaunted courage and resolve, especially considering that she was a female, and alone. Her chronicle is a reminder of the evils of Nazism, which perhaps should be studied again by each new generation lest such a hate-filled philosophy should ever reemerge, in whatever form, in whatever place.
Smee’s English translation captures the storytelling cadences of the original French, which is touching, considering that Frenkel would have acquired them through her own deep reading of French literature and the devoted friendships she formed in France ... The question of whether and how she will survive drives Frenkel’s account. But the misadventures of her personal belongings provide a subtle yet humanizing strand of the narrative, as does the documentary material provided at the end of the boo.
From the first line of Françoise Frenkel’s memoir, I was hooked ... a story of that perilous, often heart-stopping, journey, and I feel privileged to have been permitted to travel it with her in spirit.
