TORN PAGES

The fate and the power of books in wartime.

- CLAUDIA ROTH PIERPONT

At Christmas, 1939, a few months into the new World War, London bookshops were very busy. The war was bringing in a public eager to learn about weapons, planes, and the nature of the country that was once again the enemy. Confidence was high and curiosity, as much as fear, prevailed. Among recent titles, "I Married a German" had gone through five editions, and the Lewis Carroll-inspired illustrated satire "Adolf in Blunderland"-featuring Hitler as a mustachioed child and a Jewish mouse who has been in a concentration camp-sold out in days. Publishers, proudly demonstrating how different the English were from the book-burning Germans, had issued a newly translated version of "Mein Kampf," unabridged, which was selling fast; royalties were diverted to the Red Cross, which sent books to British prisoners of war. It was only the next summer, after the wholly unexpected collapse of France, when bombs began to fall and politicians warned that a German invasion was imminent when even Churchill questioned "if this long island story of ours is to end at last" that people confessed they were finding it difficult to read.