Luis Pous signed this review No flowers or wreaths on La Voz de Galicia on 17 May. The title was quite explicit: "A breathtaking chronicle from the epicenter of evil" Evil has always been one of the main issues that has occupied literature. There are, to cite just one of the greatest, tragedies of Shakespeare, that board and just the adventures of some unforgettable evil (real and fictional). But there is a moment in history when evil reaches the height of the absolute. Absolute evil that is called Auschwitz and what happened there, and the other death camps, and can only be run from the testimony of those who survived the endless horror unleashed by the Nazis thoroughly and the society that nurtured. Fiction can do little against the reality of an endless abyss.
Because, as stressed by Camus and other intellectuals, they have gone the last eyewitnesses to the Holocaust, we can only cling to texts such as this overwhelming No flowers or wreaths (editorial Peripheral).
With raw prose, Odette Elina-Jewish and a member of the Resistance-related in these thrilling pages stay in Auschwitz and how it could be dodging the ovens, the starvation, cold, disease and madness. From short and blunt fragments of text and illustrations of the author herself, the book stands a devastating testimony from the routine at the epicenter of human barbarity: the struggle for survival and relationships with her co-hut, the invaluable a simple piece of cloth acquired in the inferno, the daily work, his time in the infirmary, or the arrival, finally, the Russians in the field. No concessions to morbidity or of sentimentality, Odette Elina is able to count lines in how far the horror: "It would be a sad day much more than we expected. We had to drive to one hundred Auschwitz strollers.
"They were of all kinds. Large, low, old, modern, beautiful, poor. But still kept the warmth of the babies who had sought shelter and which had just been burned. [...]
"To make that journey had chosen a hundred women. [...]
"A hundred women touched fondodel helplessness and despair. "
Because, as stressed by Camus and other intellectuals, they have gone the last eyewitnesses to the Holocaust, we can only cling to texts such as this overwhelming No flowers or wreaths (editorial Peripheral).
With raw prose, Odette Elina-Jewish and a member of the Resistance-related in these thrilling pages stay in Auschwitz and how it could be dodging the ovens, the starvation, cold, disease and madness. From short and blunt fragments of text and illustrations of the author herself, the book stands a devastating testimony from the routine at the epicenter of human barbarity: the struggle for survival and relationships with her co-hut, the invaluable a simple piece of cloth acquired in the inferno, the daily work, his time in the infirmary, or the arrival, finally, the Russians in the field. No concessions to morbidity or of sentimentality, Odette Elina is able to count lines in how far the horror: "It would be a sad day much more than we expected. We had to drive to one hundred Auschwitz strollers.
"They were of all kinds. Large, low, old, modern, beautiful, poor. But still kept the warmth of the babies who had sought shelter and which had just been burned. [...]
"To make that journey had chosen a hundred women. [...]
"A hundred women touched fondodel helplessness and despair. "
A devastating testimony.
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