In 2017, I had the privilege of embarking on a backpacking trip across Europe. I was overwhelmed by the sheer scope of history that unfolded in the places I visited. The history of the Holocaust, in particular, struck a deep chord within me. Walking through the ruins of Auschwitz and witnessing the vast expanse of Birkenau, I struggled to comprehend the true magnitude of lives lost during this horrific period. Surrounded by barbed fences and countless shed-like structures that once housed over a million prisoners, the enormity of the tragedy was almost too overwhelming to grasp.
It was only through reading personal accounts, such as Elie Wiesel's Night and Anne Frank's diary, that I began to connect with this tragedy on a human level. These personal experiences allowed me to truly understand the inhumanity of the Holocaust. Since that journey, I have mostly avoided fictional works set within this historical context. How can one craft a compelling story about something so horrific? However, when I stumbled upon Mitch Albom's latest novel, The Little Liar, I decided to take a chance on this work of fiction.
How do we know what is really true? In this story, we can be certain that everything we read is true because our narrator is Truth itself. Talk about credibility. The book follows Nico Krispis, an eleven-year-old Greek boy who has never told a lie in his life. When the Nazis invade his home, Nico hides while his family is taken by soldiers. A German officer eventually finds Nico and offers him a deal: his family's safety in exchange for Nico's help. The officer asks Nico to go to the train station daily and reassure his fellow Jews that the trains they are being forced to board are taking them to new homes with jobs and safety.
Unaware of the cruel deception, Nico faithfully carries out his task. It isn't until he sees his own family being loaded into a crowded boxcar that he realizes the horrific truth—they are all being sent to their doom at Auschwitz. Distraught by his unwitting role in this great lie, Nico is forever changed, never able to tell the truth again. In the intervening years, we follow Nico, his brother, their schoolmate, and the Nazi officer as they each grapple with the consequences of their actions, words, and the trauma they have endured.
The Little Liar begins as a moving parable about the value of truth, the consequences of deception, and the redemptive power of forgiveness. By having Truth as the narrator, Mitch Albom gives the story an authority it might otherwise lack. I was drawn into the story, captivated by the familiar historical context and the inevitable heartbreak. The first part of the book, which focuses on the Holocaust, is the most compelling. Albom then fast-forwards through history, showing how each character deals with the aftermath of their trauma. While the story concludes in a satisfying way, I couldn't help but wish for more depth from the characters.
My experience walking through historical sites and reading primary sources about the Holocaust highlighted the complexity of the individuals involved. In Albom's novel, however, the characters often feel one-dimensional. The good guys are entirely good, and the bad guys are unrelentingly evil. While this works from a narrative standpoint, it detracts from deeper contemplation and reflection. Take the Nazi officer, for example. Initially, he appears conflicted as he rescues Nico from certain death, but rather than struggling with his conscience, he quickly devolves into a caricature of evil. This lack of nuanced character development reduces the emotional impact of the story.
While there are glimmers of genuine heart and some clever plot developments, the main emotion I left The Little Liar with was a sense of coolness. It is a serviceable tale but one that leaves little lasting impact. My advice: dive into some of the non-fiction writing on this subject instead.
For more information, visit the author's website, Amazon, and Goodreads.
(2024, 40)
