Reviews for The History of History

The average rating for The History of History based on 2 reviews is 3 stars.

Review # 1 was written on 2012-01-05 00:00:00 Jonathan Lymer The way I see it, there are two kinds of books in this world. The first kind are entertainment. This is a broad category, filled with strange bedfellows. There are the fluff books we read for laughter, romance, thrills, escapism. But there are also books that we read, usually non-ficition, that expand our horizons. These are Malcolm Gladwell books, or Tony Horowitz's A Voyage Long and Strange, or A World Lit Only By Fire. We learn from them, and they are certainly not fluff, but they still fall into the same category of entertainment, they are an enjoyable pasttime. The second category of books are very different from these. They are often not enjoyable. They make us uncomfortable, they bring us to the brink of what is bearable, and sometimes they pass beyond that line. We are unsettled by them, and reducing them to a number of stars out of five seems almost impossible. Books in this category, for me, are those that I often hated to read. Lolita is certainly one. A Streetcar Named Desire is another. Books that detail a character's descent into madness are always difficult for me to read--perhaps because they make me realize how close we all can be to tottering on the edge. Or, to quote Margaret from The History of History, they make us realize that we have more madness within us then we ever knew. While I often hate these books, and loathe their plots or one or more of their characters, I read them because they are the epitome of what literature can be. Literature should expose our zones of comfort, and move us beyond those boundaries of comfort. Not all literature, surely, should fit this definition, or I suspect the madhouses would overflow. But this kind of literature, while difficult to read, is absolutely necessary. We need those books that challenge us to move beyond our norms, if only for us to re-examine why we have the boundaries we do, and why they exist for us in certain places. It is only after those thoughts that I can begin to 'review' The History of History. Online blurbs, or the description inside flap of the jacket, don't really do justice to what the reader enters. Yes, a woman wakes up in the forest outside of Berlin and cannot remember the past several months. Yes, the story involves her trying to remember what happened to her, while exploring the tragic history of her city. These descriptions, however, are too straight-forward to adequately describe the novel. The book is not so direct, and Margaret's descent into madness follows the other-worldly paths found in 1970s U.S. films with strange headtrips, in which the viewer always must ask if they can trust what is happening on screen. It is a bit of Fear and Loathing in Berlin, but with World War II tightly wrapped within the narrative. I did not enjoy this book, per se. But, I did tell more people about what I was reading, and discuss it with more people, than I normally do with my reading material. It is a book that necessitates discussion, if only to pull the reader out of Margaret's world and back into the sunlight. Would I recommend this book? Absolutely, but only to those that find value in books that inhabit the second category for books, those firmly planted outside the realm of pasttime and entertianment, and see books as doorways to worlds we may not like.

Review # 2 was written on 2013-02-13 00:00:00 John Ferrebee The sad thing about this work is that Hattemer-Higgins is potentially a powerhouse writer. When she writes with focus, the page is on fire and the story gallops along like a madwoman escaping the asylum. She is brilliant. You just can't get enough of what she's going to say next, where she's going to take you. Unfortunately, there are just not enough of those pages to redeem the novel. First of all, she tries too hard, and it is painfully evident in numerous passages. I felt, at times, that I was being given a Kindergarten Primer on the Holocaust; on guilt, both personal and collective; and on history itself. I was being lectured, admonished, instructed and sometimes even berated. Really? Does the reader deserve this? Her characters are weighed down with mind-boggling obtuseness and mind-bending obliqueness. She doesn't know where she's going, so how can they? And so, by implication, how can we? It's like following David Lynch's dwarf around in the dark -- but not nearly as much fun. The metaphors become painful. For one, the city as flesh, as woman, is hammered again and again. (Yes, I get it, I say after the 10th time. Now please stop.) And then, you begin to question your own sanity. Maybe she didn't mean what I think she meant, because she keeps repeating it, so maybe I should change my mind. I think there is a brilliant story hidden in this little (wal)nut, but she needs a rewrite. Where was the editor in all of this? If she lost 30%, and tightened the story line she would light up the sky, for it is evident that there is much in her that can shine.