49 pages • 1 hour read
Armando Lucas CorreaA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
As the title suggests, The German Girl is preoccupied with the question of what it means to be German. In 1939 Berlin, anti-Semitic sentiments are taking root, and Jewish Germans are told that they are not “pure” Germans. Hannah’s mother Alma, however, tries to instill in Hannah’s head that she is every bit as German as those who tell her that she is “impure.” Hannah is eventually thinks that the “pure” people are “the ones who should leave. They were not from here. We were. We were more German than they were” (9). It is a sign of strength, growth, and character in Hannah’s family that they reclaim the designation “German.” It is important to Alma to think of herself as German and not merely Jewish.
This situation is complicated, however, by Hannah’s ability to pass as a “pure” German. She is afforded special privileges simply by looking more Aryan. A photographer of political propaganda mistakes her for a “pure” type, not knowing that she has a Jewish heritage, and her photo lands on the cover of a prominent magazine popular among the “pure” girls at Hannah’s school. The novel derives its title from this mistake, which also points to the inherent ambiguity behind what it means to be German at the time. Who are the real Germans? Hannah’s family, or the “pure” Ogres?
A further complication emerges as Hannah and her mother’s lives unfold in Cuba. What does it mean to be German once one lives in another country altogether? Three different responses to this question emerge through the examples Alma, Hannah, and Gustavo. Alma clings to her German identity quite strongly, which makes her unable to adapt to her surroundings in Cuba. Hannah, meanwhile, retains her connection to Germany through her strong memories of her father and Leo, but she’s also able to become part of Cuba through her relationships with Hortensia and Julian. Gustavo, finally, represents another extreme; although he is technically German by heritage, he feels no indebtedness to German culture, and being German is not important to his identity in any way. On the contrary, he identifies as a Cuban.
Anna inherits these questions as she unravels her family’s complicated past. She says at one point, “In front of the mirror, I try to discover the German traits I must have inherited from a father who up till now I thought was Cuban. What do I see in the mirror? A German girl. Aren’t I a Rosen?” (42). The German Girl offers no clear answers to such questions but instead provides many portraits that allow the reader to ponder nationality and identity from many angles.
Many characters in The German Girl have intense relationships to the past. Both Alma and Anna’s mother spend large swaths of time in bed dwelling on past losses. Hannah’s mother thinks about the loss of her country, home, possessions, and husband, and decides that Cuba must “pay for the next hundred years” for all of her loss (251). By clinging to her German identity, she clings tightly to the past. In many ways, she never quite rejoins the present; she never makes a new life for herself in Cuba, instead remaining cloistered in her room.
Anna’s mother similarly remains trapped in the past. She refuses to acknowledge that her husband has died, and once she does acknowledge this, she too falls into a deep depression in which she locks herself in her bedroom to keep the past alive. The character of Catalina, however, teaches that such an attitude is a mistake. Catalina tells Anna that “you should go to your grave as lightly as possible” (230). This is a figurative way of saying that one must unburden themselves of their past. As Catalina then says, “We have to leave the past behind” (230). Another way of looking at the past is explored through the story of Hortensia’s life. Hortensia, whose parents were from Spain, “would probably be buried, too, because Spain was an illusion that belonged to the past” (224).
The prospect of suicide lingers throughout the novel. Before their journey, Hannah’s parents purchase lethal cyanide pills. Leo later informs Hannah that Hannah’s parents have a plan. If they cannot enter Cuba, then they will poison themselves with the cyanide—and poison Hannah as well. Finding these pills to prevent her own and her parents’ deaths becomes a central concern for Hannah. She is bent on surviving, yet several people onboard the St. Louis feel the opposite. There is the crew member who commits suicide by throwing himself overboard; Mr. Moser, who cuts his veins; and ultimately Leo’s father, who Hannah imagines poisoning Leo with cyanide before poisoning himself as well. All these deaths illustrate just how dire the situation of Jewish refugees and Jews in general was during their persecution in World War II. Faced with the loss of everything ranging from their vocations and their homes to families and ultimately their lives, many refugees saw no other option but to end their own lives.
Hannah says that “nobody in our family dies: it’s more that we let ourselves go” (307). It is significant that Hannah uses this phrase rather than saying her family commits suicide. Although there is an element of intention in their deaths, her parents die by “letting” a natural process occur. This seems to suggest an element of dignity to what some might consider an undignified death.
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