Review of Legion of the Damned by Sven Hassel (1953, Weidenfeld & Nicolson)

I first read the Legion of the Damned as a teenager, along with a number of others in the series. I remember it quite differently to the present reading, perhaps coloured by the other books. Legion was the first book and supposedly the most auto-biographical. Indeed, the main character is the author and it follows his experiences of the Second World War serving in the German army, predominately on the Russian front. Far from glorifying war, or trying to recast the German crusade in a positive light, Hassel details the brutality of war for those on the frontline, made bearable by the comradery of fellow soldiers, most of whom are destined to die, letters from home, and snatched love affairs. Indeed, it is an anti-war book, critiquing those in power and their lackeys, and the savagery of the regime and battle.

It starts with Hassel being convicted of desertion, his time in prison and labour camps before being transferred to a penal battalion deemed expendable. It then traces his traversal of Europe and various wartime activities until the near the end of the war. There are brief interludes of levity and humanity, but generally it is grim reading. There are also hints at involvement in the anti-Nazi movement, though these are sketched over. It’s not clear how much is fiction (which is how the book is sold), and how much is autobiographical; though it is clear that it is based on Hassel’s experiences. The telling is quite episodic with a weak narrative structure, some of the scenes are brief, and it does end quite abruptly, though it is trying to cover a number of years in a relatively brief book. Nonetheless, the tale does debunk the myth of the glory of war, giving a strong sense of the horror of a brutal regime and total war, and the weariness and emptiness of endless frontline service.

Review of A Death in Vienna by Frank Tallis (Arrow, 2006)

1902 in Vienna and a beautiful and alluring spiritualist, Charlotte Löwenstein, is found dead in her home.  The room has been locked from the inside and, although shot, there’s no bullet.  Inspector Oskar Rheinhardt is assigned to the case, but he’s quickly floundering given the apparent supernatural nature of the murder.  He turns for help to his friend Dr. Max Liebermann, a follower of Sigmund Freud, who has his own troubles fighting against his superiors who prefer electrotherapy over psychoanalysis.  Between them they start to investigate the spiritualist’s death, focusing on the group that attend her weekly séances, including a stage magician, a locksmith, a wealthy banker and his wife, a seamstress, a Hungarian count fallen on hard times, and a politically ambitious seller of surgical instruments who dates a rich but unattractive heiress.  Slowly they start to piece together what happened that night, with Oskar Rheinhardt playing Watson to Liebermann’s Holmes.  They are aided by the talented scientist, Amelia Lydgate, an English woman in Vienna hoping to study medicine that Liebermann has been treating for hysteria bought on by a traumatic event.  Then a second murder occurs.

There’s lots to like about A Death in Vienna (also published as Mortal Mischief).  The plot is cleverly conceived and well executed, with a couple of substantial subplots that add, rather than detract, from the story.  The locked room element of the story is well realised and Tallis does a good job of keeping various suspects in the frame.  The characterisation is nicely executed with respect to all the principle and secondary characters, with Rheinhardt and Liebermann being nice, complementary foils.  There is also a strong sense of place and attention to historical detail.  The story is very much set in Vienna, with its streets, shops and galleries, and is rooted in its culture, politics and science at the turn the twentieth century.  Despite all these qualities, the storytelling was a little flat and wooden at the start, but it soon livened up to become an engaging and engrossing read.  I’ll be checking out the next book in the series.

Review of Brenner and God by Wolf Haas (Melville International Crime, 2012; German 2009)

A former cop, Brenner now works as a chauffeur, shuttling two year old Helena between her mother, an abortion clinic doctor living in Vienna, and her developer father who spends most of his time in Munich.  When Brenner forgets to fill the car with gas the night before a trip he has to stop at a petrol station.  When he goes inside the shop to pay and get some chocolate for Helene he returns to find her gone, seemingly kidnapped.  A short while later, Brenner has lost his job and has decided to find Helena himself, starting his investigation with the leader of the pro-life group that campaigns outside the clinic of the young girl’s mother.  In so doing, he unwittingly starts a murderous spree.

Brenner and God is a curious book.  The story is told through an anonymous narrator who both tells the story and 'talks to' the reader, sometimes telling them what to do ('My dear Swan, pay attention, this is important').  It’s a style that I found increasingly irritating, partly because it comes across as somewhat patronising.  There are also a number of what are meant to be profound digressions, providing insights into modern society, but most fall flat.  As for the story, it’s a kidnapping story with a twist, based on two unrelated but coincidental threads.  The plot is interesting enough, but its telling felt a little underdeveloped in terms of its realisation, characterisation and sense of place.  I never felt as if I got to know any of the characters in any substantive way and some barely played a role or were under-used (for example, the cop to whom the reader is given a relatively substantial introduction near the beginning then disappears until the end when he very briefly re-appears).  This should have been a book I that I thoroughly enjoyed given the theme and supposed dark humour, but it just didn’t click into place for me, mainly due to its voice and underdeveloped narrative.