by Pam Jenoff
“No,” I reply firmly. “I’m not ready to leave.”
“Mom,” Theo says patiently, as though speaking with a child. “I know the circus was a huge part of your life. But it’s all gone now. And it’s time to go home.”
I clear my throat. “First,” I say, “there’s something I must tell you.”
Petra’s brow wrinkles in that way so reminiscent of her father. “I don’t understand.”
“Come.” I gesture to a bench alongside the exhibit. I sit and take their hands, pulling a child down on each side of me. “There’s more to the story than either you or your brother know. Before she found Theo, Noa had a baby.”
“Really?” Petra’s voice is only mildly surprised. Such things are commonplace these days—hardly the scandal they were when we were young.
“Yes,” I reply. It is the missing chapter of the story, the one that has never been told. I am the only one who knows it and I will not be here much longer. I need to tell them now, so the truth is not lost forever.
“She was an unwed mother and the father was a German soldier, so the Reich took her baby from her. She never knew what became of the child. Then she found you, Theo, and it was like a second chance. She loved you like her own,” I add quickly, patting his hand. “But she never forgot her firstborn. I’m sorry I never told you before. The secret, it wasn’t mine to tell.”
“Why are you telling us now?” Petra asks.
“Because I will not be here forever. Someone needs to know the story and carry it forward.” I look up at the painting of Noa once more. “I’m ready now.”
Petra stands and reaches her hand toward me. “Then let’s go.”
I take her hand and our fingers intertwine. Theo stands on my other side. I lean toward my beautiful boy and he bows his head until our foreheads touch. “Going together once more,” I say. I let them lead me slowly from the museum, feeling the unseen hands that guide us.
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Keep reading for an excerpt from THE KOMMANDANT’S GIRL by Pam Jenoff
Author’s Note
A few years ago while researching, I came across two remarkable stories in the archives of Yad Vashem. The first was a heartbreaking account of the “Unknown Children”—a boxcar full of babies, ripped from their families and headed for a concentration camp, too young to know their own names.
The second was a story of a German circus that had sheltered Jews during the war. The Circus Althoff had taken in a young Jewish woman, Irene Danner, who herself hailed from another circus family. Several parts of the story were fascinating to me. First, I learned that the circus had sheltered not just Irene Danner, but her sister, mother and father. Her father, Hans Danner, was in fact not Jewish and was a soldier in the German army. When the German army sent him on leave and ordered him to divorce his Jewish wife, he defied the order and instead joined his wife and children in hiding. I also discovered that Irene Danner had fallen in love with a clown who was part of the Circus Althoff, Peter Storm-Bento, and that they had children together.
Another thing that intrigued me as I researched was the rich history of Jewish circus dynasties that spanned centuries, including the Lorch family from which Irene Danner’s mother had come. There were other circus families, such as the Blumenfelds, which had ten or more siblings performing and/or running the circus. Sadly they were largely annihilated by the Germans.
Reading the remarkable histories of the Unknown Children and the circuses, I knew that they somehow had to come together. And so I created the story of Noa, a young Dutch girl cast out after becoming pregnant, who despite being alone and penniless nevertheless finds the courage to rescue one of the babies from the train. I had her find an ally in Astrid, a Jewish aerialist whose heart was broken when her husband did not make the same brave choice Hans Danner had in real life, but instead disavowed their marriage.
The Orphan’s Tale is not biography; and my story is not that of the remarkable circus folk I researched, but rather fiction. I have taken great liberties with the nature of the circus acts and the ways in which they lived and performed during the war. But I was so inspired by the real people I’d met in my research: the way in which Irene Danner and Peter Storm-Bento persisted in their love despite it being forbidden by the Reich, the courage with which circus owner Adolf Althoff sheltered Jews, and the ingenious ways he would hide them when the Germans came looking.
When Adolf Althoff received the honor of being named Righteous Among the Nations by Yad Vashem in 1995, he said, “We circus people see no difference between races or religions.” I consider this book, while fiction, to be a tribute to the courage of these people.
Acknowledgments
I often refer to The Orphan’s Tale as the hardest of books written at the most difficult of times. The latter was the case because I wrote this book while dealing with significant family illness, testing my mantra that “I can write through anything” to the limit. The book itself was also harder than anything I’ve ever written because some of the subject matter was so dark. I realized, for example, that to write the scene with the infants on the boxcar, I was going to have to figuratively put my own children on that train. While I am always grateful for those who support my writing, I am even more indebted this time because of the enormity of the task.
Learning about the circus was challenging and left me with a deep respect and admiration for the hard work and skill that go into circus acts, and especially aerial arts. My deepest gratitude goes to Suzi Winson of Circus Warehouse for her knowledge, time and patience on all things flying trapeze.
I am also very grateful to Stacy Lutkus and Aime Runyan for their help on the German and French languages respectively, and to my constant sounding board Andrea Peskind Katz. Any mistakes, however, are all mine.
I am so grateful to at long last be working with the gifted Erika Imranyi; our collaboration is a long-awaited wish come true. My gratitude also to Natalie Hallak, Emer Flounders and the entire team at MIRA Books for their time and talent. My dream team would not be complete without wondrous agent Susan Ginsburg at Writer’s House, whose constant leadership and vision are the beacons of light guiding my career.
I consider myself blessed to be part of a wonderful community of book folk, online and in person. The only thing that stops me from the temptation to list them all here is the knowledge that I would surely leave someone out. But I am eternally indebted to the book bloggers, librarians, booksellers, author friends and readers who keep me going every single day.
Every book I have written has taken a village and none more so than The Orphan’s Tale. I thank my husband and his ability to juggle children; my mom and brother, who help us out eight days a week; my in-laws; dear friends; and my colleagues at Rutgers School of Law. Most of all, I am grateful for my three little muses, without whom none of this would be possible—or worthwhile.
THE ORPHAN’S TALE
PAM JENOFF
Reader’s Guide
Questions for Discussion
Noa and Astrid’s rivalry changes into a close friendship despite significant differences in age and circumstances. How did this evolution happen? What do you think it was that drew them together? Have you ever found yourself in such a close but unlikely friendship?
Even in WWII–torn Europe, the circus was still allowed to perform. Did this surprise you? How did the setting impact your reading of the novel? What deeper meaning do you think there is behind the circus burning down in the end?
Who did you initially think was the narrator in the opening chapter? How did the opening
chapter shape your reading experience?
With whom did you identify more closely, Astrid or Noa? Why? What were Noa’s and Astrid’s greatest strengths and their greatest flaws? Were there choices you wish Astrid and/or Noa had made differently throughout the book?
Noa is disowned by her family and in turn has her child ripped from her arms. Astrid leaves her family for a husband who abandons her. How do you think Astrid and Noa were each defined by their pasts? What role does the notion of family play throughout the story? What are some of the other themes in the book?
What do you think drew Astrid and Peter together so powerfully? Noa and Luc? How do these two relationships differ from one another? Do you think either of these relationships could have lasted a lifetime under different circumstances?
What do you think of Peter’s decision to continue with his mocking act toward the Reich? How do you think the story would have differed if Peter had refrained from doing the act?
How did you feel about the ending? Were you surprised? Satisfied?
What will you remember the most about The Orphan’s Tale?
A Conversation with Pam Jenoff
In your Author’s Note, you mention being inspired by the Unknown Children, as well as a German circus that sheltered Jews during WWII. Can you go a little deeper into the personal reasons behind why you wanted to bring these stories to life?
I found both the story about the Unknown Children and the rescuers’ circus in the archives of Yad Vashem. They intrigued me in different ways. First, being a mom of three small children colors my view of all things. When I read the story of the Unknown Children, babies ripped from their parents too young to know their own names, I was heartbroken. I wanted to know, what was it like for those families? The notion was unbearable, yet I couldn’t look away.
The circus fascinated me in a different way. Although I have spent decades working on and researching issues surrounding World War II and the Holocaust, I had never before heard of a circus that had rescued Jews. And when I started researching, I learned an equally interesting piece of information about Jewish circus dynasties that had flourished for centuries before being extinguished by the Nazis. I knew that these two stories would somehow come together.
Told from the dual points of view of Astrid and Noa, The Orphan’s Tale follows their poignant and timeless friendship. Was there one perspective that was easier to write? Do you have a favorite character in the story?
Trying to choose between characters is like picking a favorite among my children—I can’t do it. I love them equally but in different ways. Astrid is closer to my own age and she felt like the sister I never had. I was also fascinated by the fact that her Nazi husband had divorced her after being ordered to do so by the Reich (which was inspired by real events).
Noa is more like one of my own children and I just felt so sorry for her after everything she went through at such a young age. I would describe it as almost protectiveness. But not too protective, because then you take these characters you love and start doing awful things to them. And that’s where the fun begins in the twisted mind of a writer...
Your novels typically center on relationships that unfold during a specific era in history—war-torn Europe. What attracts you to this setting and period?
My interest in World War II dates back more than twenty years ago when I was sent to Kraków, Poland, as a diplomat for the US State Department. I found myself working on issues from the war and became very close to some of the Holocaust survivors. These experiences profoundly affected me and moved me to write.
I also believe the time period is fertile ground for storytelling. My goal as an author is to take my reader and put her in the shoes of my protagonist and have her ask, “What would I have done?” The war, with its dire circumstances and stark choices, is perfect for doing just that.
When you began the novel, did you have Astrid and Noa’s friendship mapped out? How did their stories surprise you and evolve along the way, if at all?
With The Orphan’s Tale as well as my earlier books, I know where I am starting and generally where the book will end up, but it is usually the middle that surprises me. For example, in the beginning of the book, Noa is dependent on Astrid, but there comes a point where that changes and Astrid looks to Noa for strength. There may have also been a few things about the end of the book that surprised me, but I don’t want to spoil them here!
What was your toughest challenge writing The Orphan’s Tale? Your greatest pleasure?
I refer to The Orphan’s Tale as “the book that broke me.” I am only half joking. I would say there were two major challenges. First, learning about the circus and aerial arts took a great deal of time. (I am biting my nails, hoping I did it justice!)
Second, writing about the train full of Unknown Children was unbearable. I knew the scene (in fact, the opening scene) needed to be written, since it was the very thing that inspired the book. At the same time, I avoided it forever. Finally, I realized that to write it deeply enough, I was going to have to figuratively put my own children on that train. It’s actually too painful to think about it beyond that.
Can you describe your writing process? Do you write scenes consecutively or jump around? Do you have a schedule or routine? A lucky charm?
I start with an image or scene in my mind. I turn on the computer and throw down whatever comes out, in whatever order, for three or four months. (Someone once referred to this as vomiting on the page—sorry!) Then when I have about 60,000 words or so, the document becomes unwieldy, and I start breaking it into chapters and an outline. This is the very worst kind of writing process (the time it takes to edit is insane) and I recommend it to no one. But I don’t know how to do it any other way.
The other thing I would say is that I like to write every day. I’m a short-burst writer, so if you give me forty-five minutes, I can use that, but more than three hours and I’m spent. Last year, I gave myself a hundred days of writing challenge to see if I could write for a hundred consecutive days. I did it, through bad weather and illness and the like. At the end of the hundred days, it felt so good I just kept going. I finished The Orphan’s Tale on the 299th day.
“[Told with] luminous simplicity...[The Kommandant’s Girl] is historical romance at its finest.”
—Publishers Weekly, starred review
In her stunning and groundbreaking debut, bestselling author Pam Jenoff shows the unimaginable sacrifices one woman must make in a time of war to save herself and those she loves.
The Kommandant’s Girl
Available now!
Also available from Pam Jenoff:
The Diplomat’s Wife
The Ambassador’s Daughter
The Winter Guest
The Last Summer at Chelsea Beach
Order your copies today!
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The Kommandant’s Girl
by Pam Jenoff
Chapter 1
As we cut across the wide span of the market square, past the pigeons gathered around fetid puddles, I eye the sky warily and tighten my grip on Lukasz’s hand, willing him to walk faster. But the child licks his ice-cream cone, oblivious to the darkening sky, a drop hanging from his blond curls. Thank God for his blond curls. A sharp March wind gusts across the square, and I fight the urge to let go of his hand and draw my threadbare coat closer around me.
We pass through the high center arch of the Sukennice, the massive yellow mercantile hall that bisects the square. It is still several blocks to Nowy Kleparz, the outdoor market on the far northern edge of Kraków’s city center, and already I can feel Lukasz’s gait slowing, his tiny, thin-soled shoes scuffing harder against the cobblestones with every step. I consider carrying him, but he is three years old and growing heavier by the day. Well fed, I might have managed it, but now I know that I would make it a few meters at most. If only he would go faster. “Szybko, kochana,” I plead with him under my breath. “Chocz!” His steps seem to lighten as we wind our way through the flower vendors peddling their wares in the shadow of the Mariacki Cathedral spires.
Moments later, we reach the far side of the square and I feel a familiar rumble under my feet. I pause. I have not been on a trolley in almost a year. I imagine lifting Lukasz onto the streetcar and sinking into a seat, watching the buildings and people walking below as we pass. We could be at the market in minutes. Then I stop, shake my head inwardly. The ink on our new papers is barely dry, and the wonder on Lukasz’s face at his first trolley ride would surely arouse suspicion. I cannot trade our safety for convenience. We press onward.
Though I try to remind myself to keep my head low and avoid eye contact with the shoppers who line the streets this midweek morning, I cannot help but drink it all in. It has been more than a year since I was last in the city center. I inhale deeply. The air, damp from the last bits of melting snow, is perfumed with the smell of roasting chestnuts from the corner kiosk. Then the trumpeter in the cathedral tower begins to play the hejnal, the brief melody he sends across the square every hour on the hour to commemorate the Tartar invasion of Kraków centuries earlier. I resist the urge to turn back toward the sound, which greets me like an old friend.