I told him that Felix and Herr Elias were dead and that Caspar had disappeared. He pulled his American cap from his head and said that he was very sorry to hear it. I asked him to return in the morning, when perhaps Frau Metzenburg would see him.
He arrived with a loaf of sliced white bread, a jar of Nescafé, powdered eggs, and three bars of Palmolive soap from the American PX. I boiled coffee on a little stove I’d made with bricks and a piece of iron railing. Dorothea was in the garden. He asked about Löwendorf, and I told him of Herr Pflüger’s success. He invited me to visit him in Schleswig-Holstein—he was only in Berlin long enough to earn the money he needed to buy some milk cows, his father-in-law’s herd having been poisoned by their Danish neighbors as soon as the war ended.
As he was leaving, I took him into the garden, and he shook hands with Dorothea. I told her about the food, and she thanked him. We walked with him to the street, and I asked if he could use the colonel’s jeep to drive to Rotterdam—I’d estimated that he could drive there and back in three days’ time. He said that the colonel was scheduled to leave Berlin the following week for a meeting in Brussels, when he would be able to drive wherever he liked. Provided, of course, that the car was returned in time. Which rules out Shanghai, he said with a nervous laugh.
“I hadn’t realized that you were thinking of traveling,” Dorothea said when we returned to the house. She opened my passport, which I’d left on the windowsill. “You name really is Beatrice,” she said in surprise.
“I’m hoping that you will come with me.” I waited for her answer, but she was silent.
That night, she removed what was left of the treasure—Houdon’s dead thrush, two diamond bracelets, the Hilliard miniature she’d given to Felix for his birthday, a goblet, two gold clips in the shape of question marks, and a sapphire brooch. “Do you think that Dieter would be happy with a brooch?” she asked.
I said that I thought he would be happy, and his wife very happy. As I wrapped the brooch in newspaper, she asked, “Will you go without me?”
I tied a piece of string around the package. “Yes,” I said.
Word came at the end of the week from Madame Tkvarcheli that Kreck had succumbed without pain to his lingering afflictions, chief among them old age. Bresla was with him when he died.
Dorothea washed her face and combed her hair and went to her father’s lawyer. Despite his disapproval (mainly because they were Russian, but also because of the old distinctions), she gave Madame Tkvarcheli the use of the Pavilion, kitchen garden, and stables for her lifetime, retaining the land, including the Night Wood. She arranged to send the women some money, with the understanding that she would send more. When I asked what would become of the Pavilion once Madame Tkvarcheli was dead, Dorothea said, “It goes to you, of course.” At my look of surprise, she said, “I never want to see Löwendorf again, but you may.”
I packed some food, although not my new suit, which I draped over the back of the chair to keep it from wrinkling. My shoes were in shreds, but there was nothing I could do about that. I rolled the Veronese very thin and sewed it into the hem of the jacket—there was a surfeit of art and jewelry in Berlin, and I was waiting until I reached Holland to sell it. I didn’t have a plan, but the lack of one, or even a final destination, was appealing to me. Having grown accustomed to uncertainty, I was uneasy and suspicious without it.
Despite the many invitations that Dorothea had received—Inéz in Bath, friends in New York and Capetown, and Felix’s sister in Buenos Aires—she said that she wasn’t ready to see them. The Red Cross had forwarded a letter from my father to Herr Abbing, and he had given it to Dorothea that morning—he’d had it for a week, he said, but had forgotten it. My father wrote that Mr. Knox had spent a week that spring in Dublin at a gathering of ornithologists. Lady Vaughan’s eldest son had been killed in North Africa. The byre where the Catholic girls used to sew had been struck by lightning. Business at the shop, now that the war was over and people could at last get on with their lives, was somewhat better. He wrote that he and my mother would be happy to see me should I ever find myself in Ireland.
I read the letter to Dorothea as she put on her suit. It looked well on her—on both of us—perhaps because we’d gained even more weight.
“It’s a relief not to be expected,” I said, and she smiled.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I began to think about writing The Life of Objects in 2006, during my five months in Berlin as a fellow at the American Academy. Without the gift of that fellowship, I would not have read the hundreds of journals and memoirs written about the war, and in particular Lali Horstmann’s Nothing for Tears and Hans-Georg von Studnitz’s While Berlin Burns, that served to awaken my curiosity and, in time, to lead me to my story. I am indebted to Gary Smith for inviting me to the American Academy, and for his care and advice.
I began to write the book at the Ballinglen Arts Foundation in Ballycastle, Ireland, where I was grateful to have the friendship of Úna Forde, Christine Tighe, Brian and Sheila Polke, and Heather Bourke.
I wish to thank Sabine Russ in New York and Miranda Robbins and Françoise von Roy in Berlin for their fastidious reading of the manuscript, and their astute, subtle (and imaginative) attempts to keep me, as much as is possible, from error.
A NOTE ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Susanna Moore is the author of the novels The Big Girls, One Last Look, In the Cut, Sleeping Beauties, The Whiteness of Bones, and My Old Sweetheart and two books of nonfiction, Light Years: A Girlhood in Hawai’i and I Myself Have Seen It: The Myth of Hawai’i. She lives in New York City.
The Life of Objects
Susanna Moore
Reading Group Guide
About the Guide
The introduction, discussion questions, and suggested further reading that follow are designed to enliven your group’s discussion of Susanna Moore’s elegant, haunting new novel, The Life of Objects.
About the Book
The award-winning novelist Susanna Moore captures the impact of war on individual lives in a rich and moving novel that moves from the prelude to World War II in Germany to the terrible devastation of the war years.
Beatrice Palmer, the only child of shopkeepers in a small Irish village, escapes the dreariness of everyday life by reading about the pleasures and misfortunes of great literary heroines and whiles away time in her parents’ shop perfecting her skill as a lace maker. The appearance of a beautiful countess presents Beatrice with an opportunity greater than anything she could have imagined: impressed with Beatrice’s elegant handiwork, the countess invites Beatrice to accompany her to Berlin to stay with Felix and Dorothea Metzenburg, an aristocratic couple known for their extraordinary collections of rare lace and other precious treasures. When they reach Berlin, however, they find a nation preparing for war. The Nazi government has requisitioned the Metzenburgs’ home, forcing the family to flee to their country estate south of the city. Within months of their arrival, the threat of war has become grim reality, with waves of refugees seeking food and shelter and bearing horrific tales about the murders of Jews. As Allied bombing raids escalate and the brutal Red Army advances into Germany, Beatrice finds herself ineradicably bound to the Metzenburgs and a patchwork, polyglot community struggling to survive forces far beyond their control.
The Life of Objects is the story of a young woman’s journey through the nightmare of war. It is a haunting portrait of sacrifice and suffering, and of the courage, love, and loyalty the most dire of circumstances can sometimes inspire.
Questions for Discussion
1. What contributes to Beatrice’s unhappiness and disaffection in Ballycarra? What does her devotion to novels and fairy tales show about the influence literature has on dreams and expectations? In what ways does her reading increase her isolation and estrangement from those around her? How do the heroines Beatrice admires (this page) and the specific works she refers to (this page, this page, this page–this page) help to create a sense of her character? What el
se do they add to Moore’s novel?
2. In addition to being her teacher, what role does Mr. Knox play in Beatrice’s life? What is the importance of his interest in bird-watching and making lists? In what ways do Mr. Knox’s habits and behavior anticipate the qualities Felix Metzenburg exhibits?
3. Why does Beatrice adopt the name of Maeve as she embarks on her adventure?
4. “Because her wealth served to isolate her, Frau Metzenburg did not trouble herself with the customary prejudices of her class. Herr Felix … was unusual in that neither money nor adoration had ruined him” (this page). How do Felix’s and Dorothea’s manners and demeanor differ, and how does this affect Beatrice’s feelings about each of them?
5. What do Inez’s description of Felix’s past and Beatrice’s observations of his daily activities establish about the changes occurring as the Nazis assume power? What hints are there of the injustices and cruelties to come?
6. What does the novel convey about the response of ordinary citizens to the extraordinary events occurring around them? Discuss, for example, Felix’s reaction to the invasion of Poland, the disappearance of his friends in Berlin, and the implementation of anti-Jewish laws; Fraulein Roeder’s “admiration of Hitler’s frequent speeches” (this page) and her insistence that “Frau Metzenburg’s great-grandmother had not been a Jew, despite the lies spread by the wicked (this page); Herr Elias’s revelation that he is Jewish; and Beatrice’s subsequent conversation with Casper about Jews (this page).
7. Beatrice says, “Part of [Dorothea’s] fascination, of course, was her secretiveness. She could not bear to be anticipated, or forestalled, taking great care to conceal a meaningless or innocent gesture” (this page). What information does Dorothea (or the author) withhold and why? Do the details about Dorothea’s background and marriage revealed later in the book cast a different light on her behavior and the things she values (this page–this page)?
8. Why do Felix and Dorothea remain in Germany despite Inez’s urging that they leave (this page)? Does hiding their treasures (and valuables given them by others) and the sheltering of refugees at their home represent a stubborn refusal to face reality, or can these be seen as acts of defiance—or hope?
9. At the Adlon Beatrice observes, “No one was who he appeared to be—it was too dangerous to be yourself, unless you were one of them, and perhaps even then” (this page). Does survival in wartime necessitate deception and self-deception? Does such intentional artifice undermine the moral foundations of a society? What effect, if any, does it have on an individual’s sense of self-respect?
10. Like the villagers in the novel, many Germans blamed the Jews for what was wrong in their country and dismissed reports that the Jews were being annihilated. Do you agree with Felix’s reflection that “By the time that we understand what is happening … we are already complicit” (this page). To what extent are Felix and Dorothea complicit in the madness that has engulfed Europe? Do their generosity and humanitarian efforts as the war progresses and the Red Army wreaks destruction on the countryside mitigate the blame and shame of their failure to act earlier?
11. What do Beatrice’s reports on actual events gathered from German, Swiss, and BBC news broadcasts, as well as the busy network of rumors, reveal about the often-blurry line between journalism and propaganda, fact and speculation? In this context, discuss the American choice to ignore for so long stories about the Reich’s systematic murder of Jews and other “objectionable” people (this page).
12. How does the discovery of the American soldier in the woods change Beatrice’s sense of purpose and self-worth (this page–this page)? In the course of caring for him and listening to his stories, what does she realize about what was missing in her own life?
13. Only hours after she leaves the American, Beatrice is brutally raped by Red Army soldiers (this page–this page). Is the juxtaposition of these two incidents significant? In what ways do the encounters, one tender, one horrific, symbolize Beatrice’s coming-of-age?
14. At the end of the war, Beatrice says, she and others were “left with the inexhaustible presence of evil.… We had survived, but we were different people” (this page). How does the legacy of the war and the new order in Germany shape the trials and the final tragedy Dorothea and Beatrice must deal with? What personal strengths and emotional needs underlie and nurture the intimacy between the two women? What signs are there that both women are ready to move on with their lives?
15. Several vividly drawn secondary characters enhance the intricacy of the portrait presented in The Life of Objects. What roles do Countess Inéz, Kreck, Herr Elias, Caspar, and Fraulein Roeder play in the novel and in Beatrice’s life? How does each character teach her something, or reveal something, that changes her understanding of the world?
16. Moore is a master at creating precise visual images–of clothing, household objects, and especially the rare items in the Metzenburg collections. In what ways do the finely wrought precision and vividness of these descriptions serve as a counterpoint to the dark themes Moore explores? Do they illuminate and explain the novel’s title?
17. How does The Life of Objects differ from other novels you have read about Europe during the Second World War? What effect does Moore’s choice of an uninformed young woman as narrator have on the power and credibility of the novel? In what ways does the book’s focus on a domestic drama deepen your understanding of the qualities, good and bad, that enable people to endure the atrocities of war?
Suggested Reading
Anonymous, A Woman in Berlin; Christabel Bielenberg, The Road Ahead and The Past Is Myself; Sebastian Faulks, Charlotte Gray; Anne Frank, The Diary of a Young Girl; Paul Griner, The German Woman; Ursula Hegi, Stones from the River; Ian McEwan, Atonement; Irène Némirovsky, Suite Française; Tatiana de Rosnay, Sarah’s Key; Douglas Skopp, Shadows Walking; Markus Zusak, The Book Thief
ALSO BY SUSANNA MOORE
Light Years: A Girlhood in Hawai’i
The Big Girls
I Myself Have Seen It: The Myth of Hawai’i
One Last Look
In the Cut
Sleeping Beauties
The Whiteness of Bones
My Old Sweetheart
The Life of Objects Page 20