“East West Street” by Philippe Sands
I’m a great believer in bookish serendipity; I often find that a seemingly random series of events will lead me to a book; and although I may not read it straight away, the right time or circumstances will arise when I know that I need to read this particular volume NOW. That’s kind of what happened to me with “East West Street”; I first came across Philippe Sands when I reviewed the lovely little Pushkin Press volume, “City of Lions”, back in 2016. This consisted of Jozef Wittlin’s essay on the city of Lemberg/Lviv/Lvov/Lwow and was accompanied by a piece by Sands on the city of his ancestors. I hadn’t come across Sands or his work before that book, but it transpired that he was a noted human rights lawyer who was also an author; and his “East West Street” sounded fascinating and very much a book I’d like to read. So I added it to the enormous wishlist…
Fast forward a few years, and at the start of 2020 (a time known as Pre-Covid, when I could still go into book and charity shops…) I stumbled across a copy of “East West Street” in the local Oxfam book shop. I was happy to bring it home at last, but although I was keen to read it, somehow it didn’t make its way to the top of the pile straight away. But it’s been in my sightline a lot recently, the more so because I’ve seen Sands giving some very interesting talks on his work and research on the online literary festival circuit this year. And my recent reads seemed to be pushing me in its direction; including “Paula”, “Stanley Brent” and particularly Stefan Zweig’s “Journeys”, all of which touched on the conflicts of the 20th century in some way. After I finished reading “Paula”, I knew this would be the next book I picked up.
As I mentioned, Sands is a human rights lawyer, known for his work on crimes against humanity; indeed the book is subtitled “On the Origins of Genocide and Crimes Against Humanity”. Its genesis came when he was asked to give a lecture on his work at Lviv University, an invitation he gladly accepted. As he explains in the introduction, his work has been informed by the Nuremberg Trials and the judgements handed down, which were responsible for introducing the concepts of “genocide” and “crimes against humanity” into the lawbooks. But Sands had an additional reason for wanting to visit Lviv; for his maternal grandfather Leon Buchholz had been born there and this was the perfect chance for Sands to do a little research into family history. However, as Sands prepared his lecture he stumbled upon a fact which seemed not to have been noticed before: the two men who were responsible for the concepts of genocide and crimes against humanity reaching Nuremberg, Hersch Lauterpacht and Rafael Lemkin, had both lived and studied in Lviv. This was the spark which set Sands off on a long journey exploring not only his family history, but also Lviv’s connections with the men who were so important to the Nuremberg trials; and also the effects on the city and its inhabitants by Hans Frank, the Nazi governor of the region.
‘What haunts are not the dead, but the gaps left within us by the secrets of others,’ the psychoanalyst Nicolas Abraham wrote of the relationship between a grandchild and a grandparent. The invitation from Lviv was a chance to explore those haunting gaps. I accepted it…
So in alternating chapters, Sands traces the lives of his grandfather, Lauterpacht and Lemkin, as well as the people around them and other family members; and he looks at the Nuremberg trial in respect of Frank’s part in it and the struggle to get the new terms accepted by all the countries involved. We find out about grandfather Leon’s life, the fate of many of Sands’ family members, who survived and how; we follow the tortuous path taken by the two men trying to brings their crimes into legal existence, as well as their own personal lives and losses; and we witness (fortunately not too often, but enough to spell out starkly how vile it was) the disgusting behaviour of those in the Nazi regime. Truly, man’s inhumanity to man is shocking and horrifying.
Despite their common origins, and the shared desire for an effective approach, Laterpacht and Lemkin were sharply divided as to the solutions they proposed to a big question: How could the law help to prevent mass killing? Protect the individual, says Lauterpacht. Protect the group, says Lemkin.
The story told in “East West Street” is often dramatic, and although there is by necessity discussion of the legal concepts, this is never dry or dull, as Sands writes so well. In particular, the differentiation between the concepts of “crimes against humanity” (the mass killing of individuals) and “genocide” (the attempt to wipe out a specific ethnic group) might just seem to be technicalities, but Sands makes it very clear how complex that differentiation is. All of the stories told, whether of Sands’ grandfather and family, or the men attempting to bring mass murders to justice, are incredibly powerful and moving; even those with a smaller part in the tale are memorable, and although I am fairly familiar with histories of the Holocaust and the Second World War, I was brought up short sometimes; for example, when Curzio Malaparte made a few fleeting appearances. His presence was unsettling and made me even less sure what I thought of him…
In many ways this a book which is hard to write about in anything but broad terms, because the amount of detail in it is incredible and you really just need to read it yourself! Interestingly, there is often reference in the book to the Wittlin essay; it’s a touchstone for Sands throughout the narrative, although Wittlin’s view of the past of Lviv is perhaps a little idyllic. As I mentioned in 2016, control of the city changed eight times in the three decades between 1914 and 1944 (it’s currently part of Ukraine), and in his essay Sands was realistic about the difficulties faced by Jewish residents; those hardships are clearly spelled out in “East West Street”, and the reader is left in no doubt about the horrors meted out to Jewish people over the years (and indeed decades and centuries). The pogroms in particular were revolting, and the liquidition of the Jewish Ghetto in 1943 was unspeakable.
“East West Street” is one of those books you go on a journey with and which changes your life. It’s a monumental work of scholarship, meticulously presented with notes and maps and copious photos (often quite emotive); and it’s also a deeply personal book which weaves together the fate of Sands’ family, the horrors of the 20th century and the long-term effects of attempts to create justice for all. Sands seems impressively indefatigable in his researches, doggedly following up the most tenuous lead to see where it will take him. One particular aspect which surprised me (although it shouldn’t have, bearing in mind what I think about politics and politicians…) is that strong resistance to the introduction of the term “genocide” came from America – apparently they feared it could be applied to their treatment of Native Americans and their Southern Black population… 😦
Reading this book was definitely a case of right book, right time. In the middle of a global crisis, at a time when we had already been seeing how horribly intolerant we humans are of each other and how right-wing nationalistic behaviour is on the increase, it’s a sobering and timely reminder of how these things can creep up on us and what the results can be. I guess it’s shocking too that Sands is still in demand as a human rights lawyer and that nations have not stopped slaughtering their citizens. However, it’s also uplifting to hear the stories of those people who helped their fellows survive, hiding them, smuggling them out of danger and standing up for their brother and sister human beings. I was in the right frame of mind for “East West Street”, particularly after spending time with Stefan Zweig; and it didn’t disappoint. It’s a fascinating, sometimes harrowing, work, skilfully combining autobiography and history, and Sands has created an absolutely gripping and moving read; one that will certainly stay with me for a long time. I can highly recommend it – one of my books of the year – and I actually can’t wait to read the follow-up, “The Ratlines”.
*****
As I mentioned above, Philippe Sands has made a number of appearances at online literary festivals this year, mostly talking about his current book “The Ratlines”. He’s a fascinting speaker, and some of these sessions are still available online:
Edinburgh book festival – in conversation with Ian Rankin:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M4twt7izL8k
Charleston Festival – discussion with Eva Hoffmann:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cg2jGrB6yrU&t=20s
Sands also had a wonderful talk with Stephen Fry at the Hay Festival, but you have to register and pay to see these talks now.
Sep 21, 2020 @ 07:26:00
This is indeed marvellous. I am reading this book at the moment. I came across it as a result of a similar set of circumstances. Saving your review to reread when I finish the book. Thank you
Sep 21, 2020 @ 11:15:06
It is – such an important book I think – glad you’re reading it!
Sep 21, 2020 @ 07:26:02
I like the way you’ve shared your journey towards this book… so often it’s serendipity in our reading which is the spark:)
Sep 21, 2020 @ 11:14:35
It is! I love flaneuring my way around books… ;D
Sep 21, 2020 @ 23:25:39
Now that’s a nice expression… I may steal that for future use:)
Sep 22, 2020 @ 11:05:24
😀 LOL! It’s definitely what I do!
Sep 21, 2020 @ 08:09:56
This sounds a fascinating and important book, and I also enjoyed hearing how you came to have it and how it worked its way up the pile!
Sep 21, 2020 @ 11:14:13
It really is compelling. And yes – I’m a great believer in the right book at the right time! 😀
Sep 21, 2020 @ 08:44:05
Such an interesting post. Sands’ book sounds both fascinating and enlightening. Some years ago I read (and reviewed) Żanna Słoniowska’s The House with the Stained-Glass Window which tells Lviv’s story through one family, bringing home what it is to live in a place which is perpetually batted about from one country to another. You might have come across it already.
Sep 21, 2020 @ 11:13:42
It’s certainly an absorbing and often eye opening book – and quite gripping! Interestingly I think I have a copy of The House With the Stained Glass Window somewhere so I will definitely have to dig it out – thank you! 😀
Sep 21, 2020 @ 09:00:31
The Ratlines is on my radar. A fascinating read I would think
Sep 21, 2020 @ 11:09:05
It sounds amazing – this one was certainly brilliant!
Sep 21, 2020 @ 13:49:36
This does sound such an important book. I have City of Lions buried in the TBR – you’ve inspired me to dig it out!
Sep 21, 2020 @ 14:30:14
It’s *very* important, I think – particularly in our current climate. As for City of Lions, I loved it – hope you enjoy!
Sep 21, 2020 @ 15:27:46
Great review. Thanks.
Sep 21, 2020 @ 15:34:26
Thank you! Most welcome! 😀
Sep 21, 2020 @ 17:22:58
I love the serendipity of how this book found its way to you, it’s funny how books can do that. This does sound incredibly powerful, it’s so important these stories continue to be told, so we don’t forget, just how awful human beings are capable of being to one another.
Sep 21, 2020 @ 20:40:43
Yes, books *do* find you sometimes I think – certainly that was the case here. And it was a really powerful reminder of events we mustn’t forget.
Sep 21, 2020 @ 17:33:13
Fascinating post, Karen – not only the book itself but also the others texts you have mentioned along the way. These family stories can be so compelling…and a salutary reminder of some of the horrors of the past, especially given where we are now with world events.
Sep 21, 2020 @ 20:39:54
Thanks Jacqui. There has been a kind of synchronicity with my reading lately, and it wasn’t a conscious thing – it just seemed to happy. This book worked particularly well I thought because of the blending of the personal elements and the historical ones. A really great read.
Sep 21, 2020 @ 21:06:15
Bookish serendipity, one of my favorite things. I’m kind of skimming your post because this book is one that I’d like to get to sooner rather than later, it sounds fascinating on so many levels. The Edinburgh Festival interview was excellent, glad it’s still available online. And bless the Festival and their staff for the great job they did.
Sep 22, 2020 @ 11:06:09
It’s a great read and I hope you enjoy it. I’ve found his talks fascinating, and the Edinburgh one particularly good – Rankin was an excellent foil!
Sep 22, 2020 @ 02:30:08
This is really spooky because I have the Stefan Zweig (perhaps after you mentioned it?) to read and a sample of this one as well! So now I know to read them together. Serendipitous!
Sep 22, 2020 @ 11:05:09
Ooo-er! Very serendipitous! I hope you enjoy them! 😀
Sep 22, 2020 @ 19:04:35
I love these serendipitous journeys and thanks for the links
Sep 22, 2020 @ 20:08:18
Most welcome! 😁
Sep 25, 2020 @ 20:04:39
This is a book I feel that I should have already had on my TBR, but it’s not there, so thank you for that. And not that you need any help adding to your own list, but if you don’t already have a copy of Samantha Powers’ book (Genocide), it’s a worthwhile addition to the shelf. (She has just a couple of chapters that would overlap directly, with this read, IIRC. It’s a very compelling read, too, but it sounds like the reasons for that are slightly different, which interests me.)
I’m so intrigued by the appearance of Eva Hoffman, too. I loved her book Lost in Translation and have been thinking of rereading.
Sep 25, 2020 @ 20:08:55
This really is a powerful book, and one I can’t recommend enough. But apart from its importance it’s also compelling reading. I hope you can get a copy. And thank you for the hints in other directions, too (I think). Watch the interviews if you can – they’re fascinating!
Sep 26, 2020 @ 14:15:02
I don’t read a lot of non-fiction but this sounds well worth following up. I also loved hearing about your journey to the book – I find this, too, that a sometimes meandering path takes me to a book I love.
Sep 26, 2020 @ 14:56:07
It’s an excellent read, Grant – so gripping that you almost don’t feel like you’re reading non-fiction. I do love the way a book sometimes finds you, and this was a very happy find.