Authors: Jenna Blum
Tags: #Historical - General, #War stories, #World War, #German American women, #Holocaust, #Underground movements, #Bildungsromans, #1939-1945, #Fiction, #Literary, #Sagas, #Germany, #Jewish (1939-1945), #Historical, #War & Military, #Young women, #1939-1945 - Underground movements, #General, #Germany - History - 1933-1945, #1939-1945 - Germany, #Fiction - Historical
ANY WRITER OF HISTORICAL FICTION OWES A GREAT DEBT to the non-fiction masterworks of others. Though I consulted dozens of invaluable sources while researching
Those Who Save Us,
I was particularly reliant upon
The Buchenwald Report,
translated by David A. Hackett;
Frauen: German Women Recall the Third Reich,
by Alison Owings; and that bible of World War II material, William L. Shirer’s
Rise and Fall of the Third Reich.
I am also enormously indebted to the Steven Spielberg
Survivors of the Shoah
Visual History Foundation, for placing trust in me as an interviewer and thus granting me access to Holocaust survivors. And to the survivors themselves, who demonstrated unparalleled courage and generosity in sharing their stories, I cannot express adequate gratitude in words: Perhaps it will suffice to say that you are living miracles and nothing you have said will ever be forgotten.
On a personal front, there are a number of people who saved me during the writing of this novel. For three years they endured my ceaseless babbling about Nazis and understood when I didn’t pick up the phone. The prospect of honoring them was one of my fondest fantasies; and I do so now, in roughly alphabetical order, with great joy. Thanks to: my family, Frances J. Blum, Lesley M. M. Blum, and Joseph R. Blum, for their lifelong belief and love; the B.U. CO 201 faculty for the cake and enthusiasm; Chris Castellani, master mentor; Jean and Adel Charbonneau for their innumerable readings and unflagging encouragement; Stephanie Ebbert Devlin, my goodiest editor, and her husband, Ted Dev-lin; Dan Ellingson, who always told me
I Think I Can;
Eric Grunwald for correcting my limping German and supplying the
Backe Backe Kuchen
rhyme; my Grub Street students, who taught me through allowing me to teach them; the Harcourt alchemists who have transformed this manuscript into a book; Phil Hey and Tricia Currans-Sheehan at the
Briar Cliff Review,
who gave the original story such a wonderful home; Julie Hirsch, my Puppet—she knows why; Ken Holmes; the Kenyon girls; Doug Loy for the inspiration; triumvirate of cheer Necee Regis, cool Ann Tracy, and Joanna Weiss; Sister Cecila; Dave Sandstedt for the sunflowers and champagne; Sarah Schweitzer, whose patient counsel helped me knock Trudy; Dr. Sherri Szeman, fellow laborer in the era of the Reich; and Steve Wilmsen, for listening and for taking me to Woodman’s Clam Shack when I was blocked.
Special thanks to Stéphanie Abou, fierce and lovely super-agent, and Ann Patty, incomparable
Über
-editor, for believing in this book.
It takes a village to raise a child, which is precisely what writing a novel is. If I have neglected to name anyone in this village, please know that it is not for lack of heartfelt appreciation:
Dankeschoen.
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