The Tattooist of Auschwitz is one of those books I wish I could say I loved, but unfortunately makes me feel like a monster when I have to admit that it didn’t work for me. I find it incredibly difficult to rate memoirs & true stories low, but please remember that in no way does my enjoyment of the novel as a piece of literature affect the horrific events that Lale lived through. Having said that, this book has been fictionalised, so that does remove it slightly from reality, as it’s hard to tell how much creative license Morris wielded.
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I think what the story was trying to put across was the way human nature is capable of finding love and some small spark of happiness even in the darkest of times, but I just found Lale and Gita’s instant love rather over the top. This is where I sound like a heartless monster for saying their commitment to each other in the face of monsters didn’t move me 🙈 But that has more to do with the writing style than the love in itself.
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There was nothing special about Morris’s writing, and I’ve learned that she is a screenwriter by day, so perhaps her talents there just don’t translate into novel writing. Everything felt melodramatic, and I don’t really think it’s appropriate for a book set in Auschwitz to feel frivolous...
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Some parts of the book did resonate with me - particularly the way life inevitably trudges on even when for others it is ending in the most horrific way imaginable. There’s a scene where Lale is tasked by his boss to put together a football team made up of prisoners to play a team of Nazi guards, and while they play a somewhat friendly match, ash rains down from the nearby crematorium. Again, not sure how much of this is poetic license, but it’s a striking image.
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I don’t really want to rate this one because as I’ve said, it’s hard to rate someone’s life story. But if I had to on writing alone, I’d give it 2 stars.