When I was in grad school, I did not think my day-to-day work as a librarian would regularly include asking people the question, “How do you feel about World War II?” (Other things I did not think I would have the opportunity to say: “I’m afraid we don’t have any cookbooks about that because the FDA banned it in 1960” and “No, I don’t know Bill Huizenga’s cell phone number.”)
The WWII question usually comes up during a certain type of reference interview: reader’s advisory (or RA, if you wanna be hip with the librarians). RA is the process of figuring out what kinds of things a person likes to read and what sort of things they might like in the future. It usually starts with a question like “what’s the last thing you read and enjoyed” or “what do you normally read” and (ideally) ends with the patron holding a book that they have a pretty good chance of liking. Pro tip: If the patron’s answer to either of those questions is “oh, I like everything,” they are a liar.
Naturally, RA is easiest when the patron reads the same things that you’re drawn to. Tragically, very few of the people who ask me for book recommendations are into grimdark fantasy novels, queer children’s comics, and quirky non-fiction about math. C’est la vie; part of being a good librarian is knowing how to find out what you don’t know, but there is a tiny, bibliophilic part of me that dies every time I have to recommend a book I have not actually read. Given the demographics of my service area, this happens quite a bit—most often when the patron is a fan of historical fiction, which, despite my English and history majors and apart from a few notable exceptions, I generally do not read.
Hence the WWII question, to which the answer is usually some variation of “WWII’s good.” And that’s a good thing because there are a lot of books set during WWII. There are cozy mysteries. There are spy thrillers. There are classics and romances and members of the oblique and sexist-sounding “women’s fiction.” (And that’s not even counting mildly nepotistic memoirs, weirdly partisan non-fiction, and 600-page door stoppers about specific types of airplanes.)
This makes sense. WWII was kind of a big deal and much of this literature is well-constructed and valuable, but it seems to me that we find ourselves returning to this time period not because we wish to reexamine it but because it has become comfortable. It might seem strange to describe a global event that cost some eighty-five million people their lives with the same adjective that Kohl’s uses to describe underwear, but that doesn’t make it less apt.
In America, WWII feels simple. It’s history class on cruise control. It’s the thing that Superman was created to fight. It’s good guys versus bad guys, and we’re the good guys and we won. Even our grimmest mainstream depictions of WWII—the opening scene of Saving Private Ryan, for example—are generally content-dark, not context-dark. Yes, it is a visceral sort of disturbing to watch a man carry his own severed arm through a wasteland of nonchalant murder. And yes, many people die and in gruesome ways, but their deaths matter. The sacrifices are worth it, the reinforcements swoop in, and they save Private Ryan. American flag, roll credits. As Kate Beaton puts it, “Ugly people and other countries may have fought Nazis, but we’ll never know for sure.”
But the simplicity of WWII teeters atop of a mountain of conditionals. WWII is simple if we draw straight lines between who’s a good guy and who’s a bad guy. It’s simple if we let enemy atrocities justify all others. It’s simple if we ignore the fact that Nazism in this country is not as passé as it once was.
I’m not arguing for fewer books about WWII, exactly. And I’m certainly not arguing for fewer books about war (our capacity and need for it, some have argued, is part of what makes us human). But I will ask for more and better stories that interrogate the less examined historical conflicts, that don’t assume America to be the protagonist, and that don’t end with cute white families and proud, waving flags.
The irony of all this is that even if I found those books or if more of them were written, I wouldn’t offer them to patrons who come to my desk looking for comfortable historical fiction—good RA is giving the reader what they want, not what you want them to want. But who knows. Maybe I’m not the only one looking for discomfort in the past. Then when the answer to the WWII question is “thanks but no thanks,” I’ll have something better to offer.
Header image courtesy of the San Diego Air and Space Museum.
As someone who’s dabbled in the WWII fascination but also happens to be a devoted Anglophile, I’m constantly intrigued by the differences in how WWI & WWII are treated on either side of the Atlantic. Both sides have their qualities and their vices, but I admit I do tend to side with the British on this one, as, for the most part, they have yet to dismiss the dark gravitas and profound affects of such an event.
P.S. please always recommend quirky math books! We math!
One of the most compelling explorations of WWII I have ever experienced is the Soviet antiwar film Come and See. The whole movie is a testament to bleakness and even though the main character survives to the end, you’re left with this unshakeable feeling that he’ll die in the near future and his death will be utterly pointless. Everything is sacrificed and no one is saved. It’s difficult to conflate it with the message of much of American war media (that we are to “earn this,” to quote Saving Private Ryan), when you’re really left wanting no part of what you just saw on screen.
I definitely recommend it, but only if you’re in the existential mood. (If you’re in the mood for non-fiction about math and have already read all of Randall Munroe’s books, I recommend Humble Pi by Matt Parker, Algorithms of Oppression by Safiya Umoja Noble, Zero by Charles Seife, and Shape by Jordan Ellenberg.)
“History class on cruise control” is an EXCELLENT observation. I definitely find myself drawn to WWII stories, especially those set in Britain, for the same reason — they’re full of nicely dressed people “doing their bit for the war effort.” Tidy, easy, familiar.
Not to diminish the important work of teaching and learning history! And these are important stories that should not be lost (especially in an age when selective historical memory loss seems to be in vogue), but how many more stories have been overlooked in favor of another novel about a headstrong young woman saving European art from Nazis? I guess I don’t know where that line is.
Thanks for reading!
I have been on a Marvel Journey and I am fascinated by the liberties the MCU takes with WWII and the recreation of Nazis into monsters with no discernible human motivations, rather than actual people driven by banal evils (hi, Hannah Arendt) and the use of WWII as the origin story for the American hero (and also for America as a global power slash as the globe, like, the entire MCU = America?) and I am sure there is a media studies critic out here who has done this already; if you know that person, link me.
Anyway I have also been listening to a lot of You’re Wrong About and therefore thinking about how moral panics emerge from casting [America] as both supremely powerful (will destroy all enemies!) and deeply fragile (always under existential attack!), as you can probably tell.
Oh no that’s a lot of new podcast episodes to listen to. Thank you for that. I had a line about Captain America in this piece but then it became a paragraph and really there was no space for it so the whole thing got axed. I’m sure there’s more than one comic studies article examining the evolution of Nazism in the superhero phenomenon… I did run into this one last year: cinemalogue.com/2020/06/29/heroes-reflect-our-ethos-the-moral-dissonance-of-the-mcu-and-america (and also this one by Art Spiegelman: http://www.theguardian.com/books/2019/aug/17/art-spiegelman-golden-age-superheroes-were-shaped-by-the-rise-of-fascism), but that topic really could fill a book. I’d read it.
This one created a lot of conversation. Isn’t that what a good article/book does?
I hope so. Either that or being a history major just makes you long-winded. Thanks for reading!
Thanks for this, Annaka! Grateful for history majors doing good thinking in libraries :).
I took a Literature of War class during the York semester, and this brought me back to so many of those conversations! A favorite book of mine was SUITE FRANCAISE, which was written during the French occupation. It dealt with many “tropes” of Nazi-occupied France, but with more visceral, brutal urgency than most modern stories about that time. Twenty-first century simplifications and lived experiences are certainly different creatures.
Stories about the Japanese empire (beyond Pearl Harbor and including the internment camps), Spanish and Italian fascists, and China’s involvement are far, far less common and comfortable–perhaps because we (Americans) haven’t created as many simplified narratives about them?
My library work has brought these thoughts newly to the fore, but I have to credit Bruce Berglund’s War and Society course for their genesis.
Re: Stories that Americans haven’t created as many narratives about, yes! And we’re actually seeing more books published about the “lesser known” fronts of WWII, but they have a ways to go before they can compete with more Anglo-centric narratives volume-wise. (And other mediums have much to offer to! I’d be a horrible anime fan if I didn’t give a shoutout to Barefoot Gen here.)
I think my WWII saturation really comes from historical fiction with those pastel-looking covers depicting women walking away from you. (One of my more niche complaints but I can’t help myself.)
Personally, I enjoy history up to about the medieval period. World War 2 isn’t really exciting for me, but I find the ancient empires more interesting. Ah well.
History is still really important. It’s a lesson in perspective, and there are always perspectives we don’t see because history has many sides, many of which are unfortunately lost or hidden. Perhaps that’s what makes it so fascinating and difficult, much like recommending a book…
You do well trying to point us in a direction. Even throw in a few humorous remarks to help with that dry history lesson (slight joking).
I just think history is too dang for us to be so preoccupied with six years of it. (*Cue laughing PhD students.)
Thanks for reading, Kyric. I’m glad you found my history lesson at least mildly amusing. I strive for little more in life (slight joking).
Thanks for this, Annaka! Resonated with me as an art historian and for we library employee! Here’s to exploring less trodden historical narrative avenues! (I think the 1920s is another ever-popular time period too).