A Hidden Life: A Memoir of August 1969

A Hidden Life: A Memoir of August 1969

by Johanna Reiss
A Hidden Life: A Memoir of August 1969

A Hidden Life: A Memoir of August 1969

by Johanna Reiss

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Overview

For years, Johanna Reiss’ American husband, Jim, encouraged her to return to Holland to chronicle the two years, seven months, and one day she had spent hiding from the Nazis in rural Usselo, Holland. In 1969, she finally made the trip. Accompanied by Jim and their two young children, Reiss intended to spend seven weeks researching the book that would eventually become The Upstairs Room, her Newbery Honor–winning account of her time hiding in the attic of a farmhouse in which for a time a contingent of Nazi soldiers was billeted. But unknown to the millions of people who went on to read her beloved classic, behind the dark and painful story of the book was a still darker tale: Reiss’ husband returned to America early and committed suicide at age thirty-seven, leaving no note. For Reiss, an ongoing reckoning with universal tragedy becomes particular: she is forced to reckon, too, with Jim’s death—and explain it to her children. Subtle and disturbing, the book is a powerful consideration of memory, violence, and loss, told in a stunning and sparse narrative style.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781631683886
Publisher: Graymalkin Media
Publication date: 08/08/2023
Sold by: Barnes & Noble
Format: eBook
Pages: 220
Sales rank: 949,698
File size: 1 MB

About the Author

JOHANNA REISS is the author of the classic young adult book The Upstairs Room, which Elie Wiesel praised in The New York Times Book Review as an “admirable account . . . as important in every respect as the one bequeathed to us by Anne Frank.” She is the winner of the Newbery Honor, the Jewish Book Council Children’s Book Award, and the Buxtehuder Bulle. She lives in New York City.

Author website: johannareiss.com

Read an Excerpt


A Hidden Life

A Memoir of August 1969



By Johanna Reiss
Melville House Publishing
Copyright © 2009

Johanna Reiss
All right reserved.



ISBN: 978-1-933633-55-8



Chapter One THE WAR that was never going to be followed by another one had been over for almost twenty-five years. In many parts of the world, plans were being made to commemorate the event, a speech here, a parade there, and "It Shall Never Happen Again" in places in between.

In New York, protests against the war in Vietman bounced off buildings and some people burned themselves alive, an act, said Jim, that showed how deeply they felt about the war. Not so, I said in the safety of my living room: "They're using the cause: They're sick."

In Holland, as an early anniversary present, the Dutch minister of justice suggested the release of the last three war criminals still in jail. "Why keep them any longer?" he said. "It's costly, inhuman, they're old, no longer well. Let's send them back."

"Don't!" people who had gathered in The Hague, the seat of government, screamed. Sini screamed too, and fainted. She said so in a letter that I read in my living room in New York. "Don't ... remember what happened with the one that was let go because of some incurable disease the doctor said he had? Once across the German border he all but strutted out of the ambulance and was given a hero's welcome."

Had I already been in Holland I wouldn't have taken to the streets, nor joined in the shouting. Encouraged too much by Johan, the man in whose house, room, bed I was saved. "Annie,"-my nickname as a kid-"Gives you no trouble, a good thing, too. I'll tell you why, I don't know exactly the, what-d'you call-'em, ins and outs, but some Jew had to be shot by the people who took'm in. He always wanted something, and complained if it didn't come quickly enough. They couldn't take it any more."

1969 had been a year of unrest everywhere. Holland too had protesters against the war in Southeast Asia. Those born after the Americans did their liberating paraded about, buttons on denim shirts and in outfits their parents had discarded as soon as stores carried wearables again. Wrong is wrong: Buttons and throats yelled "Yankee Go Home!" It was also the year in which tour buses, shiny and bearing names like Reiselust and Lebensfreude, fanned onto Dutch roads. Buses filled with middle-aged Germans, men in stiff blue caps, loudly pointing out guck mal-"look"-where they had done their fighting.

These same roads were also crowded with caravans, filled with Dutch people meticulously in something the Americans had invented: clothing that wouldn't wrinkle, no matter how long you'd sit in it. And sit they would, all the way to Normandy, to the cemeteries where Allied soldiers lay buried. Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine. Sure, it was not a cheery thing to be doing for their vacations, but this was a special occasion, exactly twenty-five years after D-day. Just think, all those young men who had been told to cross the ocean-a lot of them surely had not wanted to-and face the enemy so Europe could be free again. With them they carried candles and jars to put flowers in, once they got there.

I know, my own trip, I keep pushing it away-I'm getting there.

(Continues...)




Excerpted from A Hidden Life by Johanna Reiss Copyright © 2009 by Johanna Reiss . Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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