No Place to Lay One’s Head is an incredibly important piece of social history. Françoise Frenkel, a Jewish woman, was forced to flee from Berlin, where she had opened the city’s first French bookshop in 1921, during the Second World War.
Originally planning to open a French bookshop in Poland, she found the market so saturated that she went to Berlin instead. Frenkel’s bookshop attracted ‘artists and diplomats, celebrities and poets’, and brought her ‘peace, friendship and prosperity’. Of her customers, Frenkel notes: ‘Over time I grew to know my bookish clientele. I would try to fathom their desires, understand their tastes, their beliefs and their leanings, try to guess at the reasons behind their admiration of, their enthusiasm for, their delight or displease with a work.’
Despite booming business, and a slew of regular customers, Frenkel’s dream was crushed following Kristallnacht. After nobody stood up for her, and she felt her position becoming more and more precarious, Frenkel was advised by the French consulate to make the move to France just a few weeks before the start of World War Two. On the eve of her departure, she tells us: ‘That night, I understood how I had been able to withstand the oppressive atmosphere of those last years in Berlin… I loved my bookstore the way a woman loves, that is to say, truly.’
When Paris, the city in which she has made her home, is bombed, Frenkel has to flee once again, first to Avignon, and then to Nice. Of the Nazi Occupation, she describes: ‘What an image, the birth of this monstrous and ever-growing human termite colony spreading swiftly through the country with a sinister grinding of metal; a colony with the potential for incalculable collective strength.’ Horrified by the scenes she sees, she goes into hiding, and ‘survives only because strangers risk their lives to protect her.’
The detail which Frenkel includes about the myriad ways in which life is changed is both important, and appreciated by this reader. When she is residing in Nice, she comments on the difficulties which she faces every single day, often to do the simplest things, like buy food: ‘The background to this existence was the waiting, a canvas upon which ever more meagre hopes and ever gloomier thoughts together embroidered their nostalgic motifs.’
I warmed to Frenkel immediately, finding her at once dreamy and pragmatic. On the very first page of No Place to Lay One’s Head, for example, she describes the following: ‘For my sixteenth birthday, my parents allowed me to order my own bookcase. To the astonishment of the joiner, I designed and had built a cabinet with glass on all four sides. I positioned this piece of furniture, conjured from my dreams, in the middle of my bedroom.’ Of the books which took pride of place here, she writes: ‘Balzac came dressed in red leather, Sienkiewicz in yellow morocco, Tolstoy in parchment, Reymont’s Paysants clad in the fabric of an old peasant’s neckerchief.’
No Place to Lay One’s Head is a remarkable book. We sadly know very little about Frenkel herself, aside from basic biographical details, such as that the memoir was written ‘on the shores of Lake Lucerne’ between 1943 and 1944. However, I found myself utterly fascinated by her; by her choices, and her words. Her memoir, which was originally published in Geneva, Switzerland, in 1945, was rediscovered in an Emmaus Companions charity jumble sale in 2010, and was republished in its original French. The memoir is now being translated and into numerous languages for the first time. Stephanie Smee’s English translation is fantastic; nuanced and incredibly readable. I read every sentence with a deep, consuming interest. There is a real immediacy to what Frenkel relays, an urgency.
Novelist Patrick Modiano, who penned the preface, comments that from his own research, Frenkel ran her bookshop with her husband, Simon Ratchenstein, ‘about whom she says not a word in her book’. Indeed, I got the impression throughout that Frenkel was an incredibly independent woman, almost astonishingly so for the time in which she was living. Modiano goes on: ‘What makes No Place to Lay One’s Head unique is that we cannot precisely identify its author. This eyewitness account of the life of a woman hunted through the south of France and Haute-Savoie during the Occupation is all the more striking in that it reads like the testimony of an anonymous woman, much as A Woman in Berlin… was thought to be for a long time.’
Of course, No Place to Lay One’s Head is heartbreaking and harrowing. However, Frenkel is sure to include comic moments from time to time. Her writing is so controlled, and she was always aware of which tone to strike. The thought of her family, many of whom she receives no news about throughout her narrative, keeps her going, and stops her from giving up.
By far the biggest emotion Frenkel shares is gratitude toward all of those who helped her. Even in instances where she is betrayed, she displays very little anger or resentment. I will close my review with the rather moving dedication she added to her absorbing memoir: ‘I dedicate this book to the MEN AND WOMEN OF GOODWILL who, generously, with unfailing courage, opposed the will to violence and resisted to the end.’