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The Kommandant's Mistress
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Table Of Contents
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Awards, Select Reviews, & American Editions of The Kommandant's Mistress
About The Kommandant's Mistress
About the writing style of The Kommandant's Mistress
Other Books by Alexandria Constantinova Szeman
Copyright Page, with Permissions
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Author's Note on Revised & Expanded, 20th Anniversary Edition
My Start as a Poet
Writing my First Novel
Publishing The Kommandant's Mistress
On My Name
Special Notes to Readers about The Kommandant's Mistress
On the Three Different Endings
On Rachel as the Kommandant's "Mistress"
On Rachel's Poems & Books
On the Camp's Underground
Additions to the 20th Anniversary Edition
Revisions to the 20th Anniversary Edition
Original Story and Poem "The Kommandant" for The Kommandant's Mistress
The Kommandant's Mistress
Part One
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Part Two
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Part Three
Maximilian Ernst von Walther
Leah Sarah Abramson
Chapter-by-Chapter Scene Index (hyperlinked to text)
Discussion Questions (hyperlinked to text)
The Characters & Their Relationships
Epigraphs
Max's Six-Pointed Star
The Three Different Endings
Max's Ending
Rachel's Ending
Additional Questions on Max's and Rachel's Endings
The Biographies of Part Three
Questions About Endings in Biographical Entries
The Biographer of Part Three
Additional Questions Concerning the Three Endings
Rachel as the Kommandant's "Mistress"
The Theme of Parents & Their Children
Rachel & The Underground
Author's Note on Select Sources for The Kommandant's Mistress
Excerpts from Author's Other Books
Novels
About No Feet in Heaven
Excerpt from No Feet in Heaven
Part One: Nick
Gina
Hans My Hedgehog
Anatomy 101
High-Heels
GI Joe
About Only with the Heart, Revised, Medically Updated, & Expanded, 12th Anniversary Edition
About the writing style of Only with the Heart
Excerpt from Only with the Heart
Part One: Claudia: Chapter One
Short Stories
About Naked, with Glasses
Excerpt from Naked, with Glasses
"Naked, with Glasses" (the story)
Poetry Collections
About Love in the Time of Dinosaurs
Excerpt from Love in the Time of Dinosaurs
"Field Trip to the Serpent Mound"
"Should, Should Not"
"Ahab's Wife"
About Where Lightning Strikes
Excerpt from Where Lightning Strikes
"First Day of German Class"
"Dead: Out of Play Though Not Necessarily Out of the Game"
"Survivor: One Who Survives"
Creative Writing/Non-Fiction
About Mastering Point of View: Using POV & Fiction Elements to Create Conflict, Develop Characters, Revise Your Work, & Improve Your Craft; Revised, Updated, and Expanded, 12th Anniversary Edition
Excerpt from Mastering Point of View
Who's Afraid of Point of View?
Ten Myths about Point of View
Cover of The Szeman Sampler
Author BIO, Photo,
Amazon Page, Web-site,
Twitter, Blog, & Contact Information
About Alexandria
Alexandria's Amazon Author Central Page
Alexandria's Web-site
Alexandria's Blog: The Alexandria Papers
Alexandria's Twitter: @Alexandria_SZ
Contact Alexandria
Broken or Missing Links in E-Book?
Problems with Formatting?
Contact Editors @ RockWay Press
& We'll Get it Fixed For You
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Awards,
Select Reviews,
& American Editions of
The Kommandant's Mistress
Awards
• The University of Rochester's Janet Heidinger Kafka Award for "the outstanding book of prose fiction written by an American woman" (1994)
• Selected as one of The New York Times Book Review's "Top 100 Books of 1993"
• Talmadge McKinney Award for Research Excellence (Central State University, OH) 1993
Select Reviews
• "A fictional work of tortured brilliance and power... Devastating... Riveting... Remarkable." Patrick McGrath, New York Times Book Review
• "Szeman's uncompromising realism and superb use of stream-of-consciousness technique make this a chilling study of evil, erotic obsession, and the will to survive." Publishers Weekly (*review, denoting a work of exceptional worth & merit), © 1993 Reed Business Information
• "Daring... Intoxicating... Addictive." The New Yorker
• "Szeman has created a novel that announces her arrival as a major talent." Geoffrey Stokes, Boston Sunday Globe
• "Szeman never shrinks from the terrible truths of her dark theme... By choosing such a disturbing subject, and treating it in original and uncompromising ways, Szeman has added her voice to this essential literature of recent history." Hilma Wolitzer, New York Newsday
• "Riveting... A stunning achievement." Andy Solomon, San Francisco Chronicle
• "A novel of considerable power. Szeman's sense of character, place, and history is unerring, and her mastery of her narrative strategy is remarkable." Emily Wright, Atlanta Journal Constitution
American Editions
• First Edition published by HarperCollins 1993 (Hardcover/Cloth, 5 printings), HarperPerennial 1994 (Trade Paper, 4 printings);
• Second edition (including translations of Verdi's opera La Traviata) by Arcade Publishing 2000 (Trade Paper, 6 printings);
• Revised & Expanded, 20th Anniversary Edition, Trade Paper & e-Book, by RockWay Press 2012
About
The Kommandant's Mistress
Powerful and provocative, haunting and disturbing, lyrical yet profoundly unsettling, The Kommandant's Mistress portrays the complex power struggle between the Kommandant of a Nazi Concentration Camp and the Jewish inmate he forces to become his "mistress".
In this mesmerizing depiction of sexual subjugation, in which the conventional labels of "torturer" and "victim" obscure the unexpected realities of those positions, a young woman must survive the horrors of her daily servitude inside the Kommandant's office while
struggling with the moral obligation to aid others in the Camp. Aware of virtually every secret of the Kommandant's professional and personal life, the woman bears witness to the grotesque reality of the camp even as she memorizes the intimate details of a man fighting his own tortured existence.
After the war, their "relationship" in the Camp proves inescapable, as the past they share pursues them both, culminating in an encounter that is as shocking and disturbing as it is inevitable.
Winner of the University of Rochester's Kafka Award 1994 for "best book of prose fiction by an American woman" and chosen as one of The New York Times Book Review's "Top 100 Books of 1993", this Revised & Expanded, 20th Anniversary Edition contains new material: the author's original "story" and "poem" which formed the inspiration for the book; a Chapter-by-Chapter Scene Index (hyperlinked to the text itself); Discussion Questions for teachers, students, and book groups; and a preface which reveals the writing and original publishing history of the novel as well as an explanation of the author's name-change.
About the writing style of
The Kommandant's Mistress
The writing style of Szeman's novels is highly unusual, moving as it does from past to present to a further-back-past and to present again, seemingly without warning. It imitates how the mind works, especially with respect to memory, where everything always appears to be happening in the present; and where thoughts, sounds, smells, feelings, and words lead to memories which then lead to other thoughts, feelings, etc. and to other memories associatively.
Sometimes the switch between scenes in The Kommandant's Mistress is triggered by words in the narrator's memory; at other times, the switch is triggered symbolically by something in the previous scene(s).
For dialogue tags, only "s/he said" is used, even for questions (as William Faulkner does in his books & stories) so that the reader can interpret for himself how the character is saying the lines.
Other Books by
Alexandria Constantinova Szeman
Novels
• No Feet in Heaven
• Only with the Heart, Revised, Medically Updated & Expanded, 12th Anniversary Edition (RockWay Press 2012)
• The Kommandant's Mistress (1st Edition: HarperCollins 1993, 5 printings; HarperPerennial 1994, 4 printings; 2nd Edition [with translations of Verdi's opera La Traviata]: Arcade 2000, 6 printings), (formerly writing as "Sherri")
• Only with the Heart (1st Edition: Arcade 2000, 8 printings), (formerly writing as "Sherri")
Short Stories
• Naked, with Glasses
Poems
• Love in the Time of Dinosaurs
• Where Lightning Strikes: Poems on the Holocaust
Creative Writing/Non-fiction
• Mastering Point of View: Using POV & Fiction Elements to Create Conflict, Develop Characters, Revise Your Work, & Improve Your Craft; Revised, Updated, & Expanded; 12th Anniversary Edition
• Mastering Point of View: How to Control POV to Create Conflict, Depth, & Suspense; (Story Press 2001, 8 printings), (formerly writing as "Sherri")
Back to Table of Contents
The Kommandant's Mistress
a novel
Revised & Expanded
20th Anniversary Edition
Alexandria Constantinova Szeman
RockWay Press, LLC • New Mexico
For
Tom,
Here's [my hand],
with my heart in it.
William Shakespeare
The Tempest 3:3:89
For
Becky Keller,
il miglior fabbro
Gladly wolde he lerne,
and gladly teche.
Geoffrey Chaucer
The Canterbury Tales
Prologue: 308
For
Sharon Brown,
Thy word is a lamp unto my feet,
and a light to my path.
Psalms 119:105
Part One
For who can make straight
that which He hath made crooked?
Ecclesiastes 7:13
Chapter One
Then I saw her. There she stood, in the village store, her hair in a long braid down the center of her back, her skin white in the sunlight, and my hand went to my hip, seeking the weight of my gun. As the girl spoke, I stumbled back against one of the shelves, my fingers tightening at the leather around my waist. While the shopkeeper arranged the food in the bag, the morning sun glinted on the storefront windows, illuminating the girl. The wooden shelves pressed into my shoulders and back. Sweat dampened my forehead and ribs. Another shopper spoke, frowned, pushed aside my arm to reach a jar on the shelf behind me, but I didn't move. My hand slid down over my hip and leg. No, I'd forgotten that I no longer wore my gun.
There she stood. The first time my adjutant brought her to my office, she seemed frailer than in the yard: the faded grey dress hung loosely from her thinned shoulders. A red scarf was on her head. After my adjutant addressed me, I put down my pen and rose from my desk. I dismissed my adjutant and approached the girl. Her cheekbones were sharp under the skin, and the hollows around her eyes were faintly shadowed, but her lips were full, and the light grey gown fluttered over her small, firm breasts. I nodded as I slowly moved around her, my baton brushing her belly, hips, thighs. She didn't move away. I stroked my hand down the center of her back: she wore nothing beneath the thin gown. I smiled to myself as my fingers dragged themselves around her slender body, until the girl and I faced each other. When my baton lifted her chin, she didn't look away.
"Ja," I said, returning her stare. "Ja."
I didn't look away. I've never looked away. Even in the beginning, I faced it all, without blinking. I stared up at the speakers' platform and I nodded. All around me, eager young men wore black uniforms, like mine, under the clear night sky. We gazed up at the speakers' platform, at the small man in wire-framed glasses. He was only a name to us then, his face outlined by the flames of the torches surrounding the platform, surrounding us. Our chests swelled under the black wool. Our breath sounded in each other's ears as we leaned toward the podium to catch his words. In the dark, the speaker's glasses reflected the torchlight: bright flames burned in place of his eyes.
"We are the pure of this nation," he said. "We are the noble. We are the good. We are the hope of our country."
All of us officer candidates nodded.
"We don't fear to shed our own blood for our cause," he said. "More important, we don't fear to shed others' blood."
No, we'd never been afraid of sacrifice. We applauded until he raised his hand for silence.
"You have pledged your honor and duty, but I expect you to do more than your duty," said his voice from the flames. "I expect you to save our country. Save our country. Save our Fatherland."
The crowd roared. I gripped the butt of my pistol with one hand and raised my other hand in salute. It's difficult to explain to someone who wasn't there. The speaker, high on a platform above us, his arms raised to the dark of the night. The glow of the flames, the warmth of the uniforms, the smell of excitement. The glare of the light in our eyes. And all around me, my companions' voices, chanting, like a prayer.
"Meine Ehre heisst treue," I said. "My honor is my loyalty."
The glare of the light stung my eyes. The pistol was heavy in my hand, but comfortable. Warm. It was trembling. I gripped the top of the weapon and readied it for firing, pulling up and back on the two circles of metal at its top: snap, click. I raised the gun. My hand lowered. I took another drink of whiskey, set the glass on the back of the sink. I clenched my teeth, closed my eyes, and lifted the weapon again. Its muzzle pressed against cold flesh.
"Do it," I said. "Do it."
When I opened my eyes, the image of myself in the bathroom mirror fixed me: the muzzle gouged the skin at my right temple. My hair was like an animal's. My eyes like an inmate's. My stomach and throat heaved. I bent over the sink until the gagging stopped, gripping the cold basin with my
free hand. It seemed so easy to think of it: put the gun against bone. Pull the trigger. I'd fired the weapon so many times I could have used it in my sleep. I splashed my face with cold water. I stood. I held my breath and pressed the weapon tighter against my skull. Tighter. Tighter. Steel against bone. Bone against steel. Tighter. Tighter. Until my head hurt. No, I wasn't afraid: I wasn't strong enough.
"My head hurts, Daddy," said Ilse.
She slumped in her chair at the dinner table, grimacing as she rested her chin in her palm.
"From the gas," she said.
"Gas?" I said, my knife scraping against my plate. "I don't smell any gas."
"Maybe the stove needs to be checked," said Marta.
She wiped her hands on her apron after she set her own dinner plate on the table and leaned over the stove, squinting and sniffing near the burners.
"Maybe one of the pilots blew out," she said.
"Not that gas," said Ilse.
"What gas?" I said, putting down my fork and wiping my mouth with my napkin.
"The Jew-gas," said Ilse, leaning more into her hand.
"Jew-gas?" said Marta, standing up from the stove. "What are you talking about, Ilse?"
"The Jew-gas, the Jew-gas. The gas that kills the Jews."
"Max," said Marta, looking at me.