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Lowell: Downtown & Around

Lowell: Downtown & Around

By Leo Racicot

During my growing up years, downtown Lowell was the epicenter of social life for residents. A thriving, even at times bustling area, especially on weekends and at the holidays but actually most any day of the year, shoppers could be found teeming Merrimack Street. Sundays, Lowellians would browse its window displays. This window shopping was about the only thing people could do, after church services; state Blue Laws forbade stores, bars and restaurants from doing business on Sundays. To young people now, the very idea that we amused ourselves by walking from storefront to storefront and merely looking causes them to groan and roll their eyes. Our own walks usually began at the corner of Merrimack and John Streets where Fanny Farmer Candy Shop was located. Even when closed, the shop wafted of good chocolate and became a favorite place to linger. We then crossed over to Cherry and Webb Company on the opposite corner, a deluxe department store whose window dressers always did the store up splendidly. On weekdays, when it was open, Marie always took Diane and me up to the third floor to say “hello” to her chum, Mrs. Backus, a pert lady who was always “just so” in her wrinkle free skirts and blouses, her spangled wrists, cameo pins at the throat. I liked Mrs. Backus; she always scented herself with Jeanne Lanvin perfume and seemed always happy to see Diane and me. After having a visit with her, Marie would cross us over to J.M. Fields, a store I found too boring to pay much attention to. It was on the corner of Merrimack and Central Streets in the old Boothe Building. After Fields went out-of-business, the store became H.L. Green’s which I loved. It seemed to carry everything anyone could want: clothes, home furnishings, toys, toys, toys. It even had a big downstairs. The store had no elevators so customers had to walk down a large marble staircase. One time, my mother was walking us down when, at the bottom of the stairs, we were stopped by a very old lady who seemed thrilled to see me and kept telling my mother what a good boy I was, smart, “so smart”. I had no idea who she was and rudely said so. Her intrusion was keeping me from getting over to the toy section. I wasn’t nice. Later, my mother explained to me that the lady was my kindergarten teacher at The Morrill School, Miss Stanley. To this day, whenever this meeting at Green’s crosses my mind, I feel so ashamed that I hadn’t remembered Miss Stanley, whom I’d like so much when she was my teacher.

On downtown excursions, we tried hitting all the different stores but, in those days, there were so many of them, we didn’t have the time. We liked walking further up Merrimack Street on the same side as Green’s and our mother would stop in at The Dutch Tea Room where she’d treat us to a grilled cheese sandwich, a chocolate frappe. When I was a teen in high school, I got a job there washing dishes in the kitchen. I think I lasted a day before deciding, “the heck with this!” and quit. Joe remembers I worked there for only a day, I think it was longer than that but not much longer. I liked the wall murals, of little Dutch boys and girls in their Dutch wooden shoes, the sweeping mosaic floor designs. For a long time after the restaurant went under, the new owners left a portion of that floor untouched, near the front door. When passing by, Joe and I used to stop to inspect it, take a photo of it, though we think it must be gone now…

Up a couple of doors was Pollard’s Department Store. It was part of a larger complex of buildings that had once housed a Lowell dry goods store, and covered the area between Middle and Palmer Streets. Next to it was Prince’s, both of whose main entrances were on Merrimack Street. The fun of these two stores was that you could cut through them to a back exit, cross through a dark, somewhat spooky alley and find yourself in a second Pollard’s, a second Prince’s. These, for me, were the more interesting stores, much more interesting that their “parent” Daddy stores I’d just come out of. I was more likely to look around longer, actually buy something in those stores. Prince’s sold art supplies: paints, easels, brushes, paint-by-number kits, fancy pens, pencils, notebooks, typewriters, carbon paper (do today’s young people know what carbon paper is??) Some stores leave you with a good feeling, just by being in them. Prince’s was one of those stores for me.

On Palmer Street was Palmer’s Restaurant, a popular stop for shoppers wanting a pick-me-up between stores. Palmer’s offered traditional American fare: hamburgers with fries, frappes, ice cream sodas, and had a relaxed atmosphere. Further up, at the corner of Merrimack and Shattuck Streets was The B.C. (Boston Confectionary), one of the three Lowell homemade candy stores at that time (the other two being Dana’s on Gorham Street and Blue Dot, on Bridge. The B.C. actually had a dining counter with stools and dining booths, also a place where travelers could rest their weary feet. Somewhere in this area was Liggett’s Drugstore where Linda Scanlon worked as a fountain girl during her high school years.  Crossing to the other side of Merrimack, you found The Bon Marche Department Store (which later became a satellite of Jordan Marsh), an always bustling place, no matter the time of year but especially at Christmastime when it would go all-out with decorations and dazzling window displays.

A few doors down was J.M. Fields, next to Cherry and Webb. I thought of it as being in the same vein as Green’s, offering a variety of products, though less upscale than Bon Marche’s or Pollards.  Woolworth’s and Kresge’s could be found next to each other in the next block. They were fun places for a kid to explore. Each sold live goldfish. If you bought one, the clerk would put it in a plastic bag with water. You had to be extra careful carrying that home. Joe told me about the time the clerk put his fish in a cardboard carton. The fish of course had died by the time he got it home. We loved Woolworth’s counter fountain. A few times a year, the store would string colored balloons above the top of the counter, each balloon containing a slip of paper with a price written on it. Customers got to pick a balloon and pop it. The price that fell out was the amount you’d pay for an ice cream sundae. One time, Joe won a banana split for a penny.

The stores, in those days really lived up to their advertising as “Five-and-dimes”; many of the items sold could be had for a dime or not too much more. I’m aghast when I see what’s being charged for items that cost mere pennies in my day. In 2025, the sale tag reading “2 for 9 dollars” is considered a steal.  This takes my mind to Record Lane. In the ’60s and ’70s, you could buy a newly-released LP for as little as 50 cents. I don’t know what to make of the prices of “vinyl” nowadays. Only recently, I saw George Harrison’s All Things Must Pass double album going for 75 dollars. I bought it for $2.50 at Boston’s Jordan Marsh when it first came out in 1970. I still had money left over for one of Jordan’s scrumptious blueberry muffins.

Record Lane was on Central Street, a street where there was always lots to do; The Bell Shop, The Deb Shop, The Children’s Shop (where our mother liked to bring Diane to look at pretty clothes), Martin’s Department Store was across the street from those. I hated having to buy clothes made for heavy kids. I was on the pudgy side and had to be taken to the husky section of the store where giant black letters on the wall read HUSKY. Oh, the shame. But I remember the fitter, a very nice guy, with jet black hair, combed back (the wet look) and a pock-marked face who always took his time with me, going out of his way to make me feel less self-conscious. The only colors they stocked for stocky kids were blacks, greys and dark blues. Supposedly, these were “slimming” colors. I always wound up looking like I was going to a funeral. I did look forward to being waited on by Jerry. Also, on Central Street were the department stores, Lemkins and Harry Bass. I never went in either but Marie bought a lot of her clothes at Harry Bass and used to sing that stores’ praises to the rafters.

A favorite restaurant our mother always took us to was The Epicure which struck me as being fancier than all other downtown restaurants. Inside, above the main door, it read: “Through these portals pass some of the most beautiful girls in the world”. That made me think of The Ziegfeld Follies showgirls I’d recently seen in the movie, Funny Girl.

A good time could always be had at Harvey’s Bookland, located a couple of doors up from Record Lane. Harvey’s was a treasure chest of used books (hard and paperback), comic books, vintage newspapers and magazines. The place was sort of a jumbled mess but that was half the fun of it. God forbid anyone had ever thrown a match in there. Anthony Kalil and I would come out with arms full of goodies which we’d then take home to scour through.

Some out-of-the-way or out-of-town stores were available whenever Marie got tired of walking the downtown. These had to be driven to. Let’s see…there was Mammoth Mart out on Plain Street. It’s parent company, King’s, was located in the Boott Mills just beyond John Street. K-Mart, also a popular stop-off was located in Stadium Plaza on Route 38, on the Tewksbury Line. I also remember Grant’s, Ames, Bradlees. Marie would hit a couple of these stores and they’d make up our Sunday fun.

With the appearance of the suburban mall, everyone was eager to experience this new form of cultural amusement, Aunt Marie included. Of course, malls, with their many connecting stores and eateries (one mall even boasted a multi-screen cinema) signaled a mass exodus of shoppers from urban life. Not many people wanted to stick to the downtown they’d always known, abandoning it for a trip out-of-town to these slick new centers of the modern age. In fact, to this day, many cities haven’t rebounded from the decline and fall they experienced with the coming of the malls. It saddens me to say it but downtown Lowell these days looks like a war zone and has for many years. In the mid-1970s, Lowell native, Paul Tsongas, revitalized a dying Lowell when, as a U.S. Congressman, he championed the idea of the government granting Lowell National Historical Park status. Paul’s was a quietly dynamic voice and his idea passed handily in Congress. It succeeded in making Lowell a better place to live, if only for a while. Paul’s bid in 1992 for president failed; his measured, low-key manner was no match for the more effusive Bill Clinton. I would like to have seen Paul as president. He was a man of principles, innately decent. I remember he came to Lowell High to speak to our class about us considering signing up with The Peace Corps, with whom he had served as a young man. He had me so fired up, I dreamed for a time of applying but knew in my heart, it wasn’t possible for me to leave my ailing mother. I’ve learned, too, that it’s much better to have goals, not dreams. I forget who said it. Dreamers dream; they do not do.

But what’s this got to do with malls?? Marie’s favorites were Pheasant Lane Mall on the Lowell/Tyngsboro line, Billerica Mall, Nashua Mall. My favorite was Northshore Shopping Center (Peabody Mall) which, in those days, was an outdoor mall; its stores not yet enclosed in a building, as they are now. I got such a kick out of that. I have a clear memory of seeing a giant Easter Bunny walking the parking lot, handing out candy from a giant Easter basket. Or the tin soldiers from Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker lining the same lot. A child’s delight.

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Fanny Farmer’s candy box

Cherry & Webb Department Store

Downtown Lowell, 1960s

Pollards Department Store ad

Prince’s main floor

Dutch Tea Room

Bon Marche ad

Record Lane

King’s Discount Store

Peabody Mall

Tin Soldiers at Peabody Mall

BOOK REVIEW: Poet in High Street Park

Book Review: Poet in High Street Park

Book by J.D. Scrimgeour

Review by Richard Howe

Salem is one of my favorite cities in Massachusetts. In the late 1990s, two evenings each week, I would drive there for classes at Salem State College (now University) in pursuit of my Master’s Degree in History. In recent years, at least twice each year I visit the Peabody Essex Museum for some of the great exhibits on display. And in the nicer weather, wandering around the downtown and waterfront, guided by the painted red line on the pavement, is always an exhilarating experience. My affection for Salem is not diminished by the townspeople having executed my maybe relative, Elizabeth Howe, on July 19, 1692, for allegedly practicing witchcraft.

With that as background, I welcomed a copy of Poet in High Street Park, a collection of stories and poems from J.D. Scrimgeour, a 30 year resident of Salem who teaches at the University and served as the city’s poet laureate.

Scrimgeour came to Salem from outside New England when he landed a teaching job at the university. Along with his spouse and two sons, they lived in a modest house in the city and immersed themselves in community life, often through youth sports, especially baseball.

In this book, Scrimgeour’s stories capture the look, sound and feel of everyday life in the city, from endemic pollution from the recently-closed coal fired power plant to urban challenges like homelessness and inequality of income, education and expectations. He inserts a healthy dose of Salem history along the way, demonstrating how from past decades and even a century ago, still exert a profound influence on the community.

I was particularly impressed by his depiction of his students at the college and the difficulties they face in the pursuit of a degree in the face of the demands of real life from jobs, childcare, family disruption, and low expectations. Anyone who has been involved in education in Lowell, even peripherally, will recognize the circumstances that Scrimgeour so ably describes.

Although set in Salem, Poet in High Street Park will speak to anyone interested in American cities and the challenges faced and rewards gained by those who live in them.

The book is available online from Loom Press.

Dazzling Paris Once Again

Dazzling Paris Once Again

By Louise Peloquin

In America, he is considered one of the great painters of the end of the 19th century and the beginning of the 20th. In France, he had fallen into oblivion. And yet, this artist perfectly seized the Parisian society of his time. His portraits show characters worthy of Proust’s novels. From 1874 to 1884, this virtuoso of the palette succeeded in capturing the intimacy and the secrets of worldly Parisian circles during “La Belle Époque.” (1) 

The Glass of Porto

     At the Musée d’Orsay until January 11th 2026, “Éblouir Paris” or “Dazzling Paris”, gathers more than 90 works from world museums and private collections to retrace John Singer Sargent’s stay in the capital of France. Born in Italy to American parents, Sargent (1856-1925) spent most of his time in London but Paris played a crucial role in his career. This special exhibition was organized in partnership with New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art for the centennial of the artist’s death. It charts Sargent’s rise to fame from 1874 when, at only 18, he began training in Carolus-Duran’s studio, to the 1884 “scandal” of his masterpiece, the portrait of Madame X, presented at the Salon (2) of 1884. Works Sargent produced during this decade are assembled for the first time in this exhibition.

Sargent only produced three self-portraits in his career. Here he is in 1886 at age 30. (3)

Sargent self-portrait

     As a very young man, Sargent’s works already displayed technical mastery as this “Light and Shade” drawing proves. (4)

“Light and shade” – drawing of a young man

     In “Head of a Male Model”, painted in the final months of his training under Carolus-Duran, we see how Sargent followed his teacher’s instructions to load the brush with paint and execute fast, energetic strokes to construct volumes using contrasting tones from dark to light on a dark background. (5)

“Head of a male model”

     In an interview, exhibition commissioner Caroline Corbeau-Parsons presents the artist and his work: (6)

“Sargent worked tirelessly to develop an unequaled technique which allowed him to work very quickly to create dazzling effects and capture the psychology of his models. With a single gesture, he managed to seize an expression, a thought.”

     Sargent’s portrait of writer, translator and art critic Madame Allouyard-Jouan, for example, prompted author Henry James to comment: “(This face) remains engraved in my mind as a masterful interpretation of the allure that comes with experience.” (7) 

Portrait of Madame Allouard-Jouan

Caroline Corbeau-Parsons speaks about Sargent’s artistic journey:

“Sargent was extremely cultured. He spoke five languages, traveled throughout Europe during his childhood – Italy, Switzerland, Germany, France. The Parisian intellectual community of his time appreciated his conversation and his art and so, very quickly, he found his place in their circles. In fact, he was a a prodigy. His extraordinary talent rapidly opened the doors of the Salon for him in 1878 at the age of 22. But in order to seduce the visitors of Europe’s most prestigious art exhibition, the novice painter knew that he had to produce exceptional work. Every year the public awaited him and praised him, like in 1883 with his astoundingly modern adaptation of ‘Las Meninas’ of Velasquez. Its beauty is mysterious and troubling as if revealing the very soul of his models. And when a work of art aroused commentary, it was good for business.” (8)

The daughters of E. D. Boit

Caroline Corbeau-Parsons continues:

“But how could an artist succeed in captivating the attention of 300 000 visitors among 5000 works of art all piled up one on top of the other? He had to paint what had never been seen before. In 1881, Sargent began a portrait of a new genre, that of Docteur Pozzi. Pozzi was one of the fathers of gynaecology in France, a man who enjoyed an important social status. He was well-known for his charisma, his beauty and his philandering. He was also a very cultured individual who frequented Parisian circles. Sargent’s portrait of Docteur Pozzi was unusual for the era – a man in a red dressing gown in front of a red background. Men were normally represented with virility in their black suits. But the Pozzi portrait presents a more feminine, graceful side. To avoid scandal, Sargent decided not to expose the work in Paris but rather in London. But on the other side of the channel, it did not escape criticism.” (9)

Dr. Pozzi

Caroline Corbeau-Parsons:

“Sargent nevertheless sought to make a sensation to seduce Paris. He undertook a second portrait which was even more ambitious and quite linked to Docteur Pozzi’s – that of Madame X. Behind this enigmatic title hides Virginie Gautreau, an American expatriate married to a wealthy banker. She was known for her strange beauty and made the headlines of gossip gazettes for her extravagant extra-marital adventures. Among her lovers was, wouldn’t you know it, Docteur Pozzi. All of the ingredients came together to create another scandal to the delight of Parisian society. And that is exactly what happened in 1884. It is already very rare to paint the portrait of a woman in profile. You see that the lines of this portrait are very marked. The painting is almost entirely black and white. Madame X’s skin is very white in contrast with the black gown. She holds the crinoline behind her in such a way as to make the gown appear as a sheath dress. The scandal also arises from Madame X’s lowered strap which suggested that the dress could slip off to bare her bosom. The painting is extremely modern. From the very opening of the Salon, protests arose against Sargent’s painting because it was a mirror of Parisian aristocracy and the reflection of the decadence that it preferred not to see. Sargent was an American painter, a stranger. Displaying the immorality of a foreign woman in the sacred ‘Salon’ was shocking and improper. When Sargent’s commissions declined, he decided to leave Paris to settle in London. As for Madame X, she was eventually also banished from Parisian high society.”

    The “Dazzling Paris” exhibition presents various “views” of “Madame X”, for example:

• a photographic reproduction of the portrait as Sargent originally exposed it at the 1884 Salon and later modified. (10) 
• An unfinished copy. (11) 
• A detail of the final portrait. (12) 

Print of the original “Madame X” with the fallen dress strap

Unfinished copy of “Madame X”

Detail of the final “Madame X” portrait

Detail of photo of Sargent in his studio

“Madame X” hangs majestically in her own room at the Musée d’Orsay where curious visitors swarm to discover “le scandale.” Some cruelly comment on her distinct profile, comparing it with today’s canons of cookie-cutter beauty. After a few minutes of loitering and listening, I concluded, and happily so, that the sheer elegance of Sargent’s work remains bewitching 141 years later. Its unusual aesthetics places it in a sphere of its own. “Madame X” towers over the run of the mill.

I went to the exhibition at the opening time slot and so was able to contemplate Sargent’s spectacular works at relative leisure. But as the minutes passed, the crowd thickened, causing unpleasant jostling. Even so, I lingered, meandering in rooms just visited, taking in the sheer beauty of Sargent’s “tableaux”, remembering  Henry James’s assessment of his friend whose work “offers the slightly ‘uncanny’ spectacle of a talent which on the very threshold of its career has nothing more to learn.” Were JSS still among us, he would have been thrilled at the commotion around his creations.

To close this piece, here is my sampling of “Dazzling Paris”, an exhibition whose beauty elevated me to a state of beatitude.

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British author Violet Paget (1856-1935), AKA Vernon Lee, was Sargent’s childhood friend. In his frequent letters to his fellow expatriate, the artist recounts the ups and downs of his life in Paris. Violet agrees to sit for him during one of his stays in London. In only three hours, he captured the glow of her intelligence. One almost expects her to come out with a witty quip. (13) 

“Vernon Lee”

This portrait of Amalia Subercaseaux, wife of the Chilean consul in Paris, earned Sargent a medal at the Salon of 1881. She was praised as the archetype of the Parisienne of the time, despite the fact that she was from Chile. (14)

Portrait of Madame Ramon Subercaseaux      

     Although sculptor August Rodin was 16 years older than Sargent, the two became friends and even exhibited together in 1884 in Brussels. Sargent participated in promoting Rodin’s work in England and later gave him this portrait which, much like Vernon Lee’s, perfectly captured the sculptor’s gaze. (15)

Auguste Rodin

After meeting Gabriel Fauré in 1886, Sargent became passionately enthusiastic for the musician’s compositions and performances. Fauré, head high but not arrogant, appears to contemplate a new horizon where music breaks free from the standards of the past. (16)

Gabriel Faure

     Admired by artists of his time, fencing master and historian Arsène Vigeant sat for many portraits. In this one, Sargent, once again, gives life to his model. He depicts a piercing, determined look, as if Vigeant were about rise from his armchair and grab the gleaming foil behind him. (17)

Arsene Vigeant

     In this portrait, Spanish dancer Carmen Dauset Moreno, whom Sargent met at the 1889 Universal Exposition in Paris, seems to be stepping onto the stage in her glittering yellow costume. Art critic Claude Bienne commented: “Monsieur Sargent excels at capturing something both attractive and disquieting in his subjects, and it is because of this that his art becomes superior.” Indeed, as in all of the previous portraits presented above, the model’s expression and attitude are boldly expressed, bringing her to life. (18) 

Carmen Dauset Moreno

     Sargent not only excelled in portrait painting but also in plein air scenes. As a child, he had enjoyed the many holidays in Britanny with his parents and returned there in 1877. Numerous studies of authentic scenes inspired him to compose this large-scale painting presented at the 1878 Salon. “Setting out to fish” earned him his first critical success. He audaciously used light and color to depict women and children en route to gather shellfish. (19) 

“Setting out to fish”

     “Wineglasses” demonstrates how Sargent mastered effects of light early on in his career. This is probably an arbor at the Hôtel Chevillon on the outskirts of the Forest of Fontainebleau where artists liked to meet. (20)

“Wineglasses”

     A trip to Naples and Capri in the summer of 1878 inspired Sargent to create this painting, showed at the Salon of 1879. The model, Rosina Ferrara, who sat for many artists, is languorously leaning against an olive tree. (21)

“Among the olive trees”

     Sargent’s nomadic life fed his inspiration to create unique compositions. He traveled extensively around France, Italy, Spain and Morocco and was filled with their colors, textures and atmosphere. Not until 1878, at the age of 20, did he visit the United States and, although he regularly returned there for commissions of his work, America never became his permanent home.

“Atlantic Sunset” invites you to discover John Singer Sargent wherever your own personal journey takes you. (22) 

“Atlantic sunset”

(Photos taken by Louise Peloquin on November 26, 2025 at the Musée d’Orsay “Dazzling Paris” exhibition.)

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1. “The Glass of Porto” – 1884, Fine Arts Museum of San Francisco.

2) The Salon was an art fair that attracted hundreds of thousands of visitors every year to Paris. In Sargent’s time, it was the largest exhibition of contemporary art in Europe with hundreds of artists and several thousand artworks gathered under one roof. For young artists like Sargent, it was the place to be noticed by the Academy of Fine Arts, critics and art lovers. Between 1877 and 1885 Sargent presented one or more paintings at the Salon every year.

3) “Self-portrait” – 1886, Aberdeen City Council Archives, Gallery and Museum.

4) “Light and Shade” – circa 1874-1877, the Õmer Koç Collection.

5) “Head of a Male Model” – circa 1878, private collection.

6) Caroline Corbeau-Parsons’s interview translated by Louise Peloquin.

7) “Portrait of Madame Allouard-Jouan” – 1882, Paris Petit Palais.

8) “The Daughters of Edward Darley Boit” – 1882, MFA Boston.

9) “Dr. Pozzi at Home” – 1881, Los Angeles Hammer Museum

10) Album of photographic reproductions of painting by Sargent at the New York Metropolitan Museum of Art.

11) Unfinished copy of  “Madame X” – Tate, London.

12) “Portrait of Madame X” close-up — 1883- 1884, New York Metropolitan Museum of Art.

13) “Vernon Lee” – 1881, Tate, London.

14) “Portrait of Madame Ramòn Subercaseaux” – Circa 1880-1881, Faye S. Sarofim Foundation.

15) “Auguste Rodin” – Circa 1884, Paris Musée Rodin.

16) “Gabriel Fauré” – Circa 1889, Paris Musée de la Musique, Philharmonie de Paris.

17) “Portrait of fencing master Arsène Vigeant” – 1885, Musée de la Cour d’Or, Metz France.

18) “La Carmencita” – Circa 1890, Paris Musée d’Orsay.

19) “Setting Out to Fish” – 1878, Washington, National Gallery of Art.

20) “Wineglasses” – Circa 1875, The National Gallery, London.

21) “Among the Olive Trees, Capri” – 1878, private collection.

22) “Atlantic Sunset” – Circa 1876 – 1878, private collection.

The risks of denying history by Marjorie Arons-Barron

The entry below is being cross posted from Marjorie Arons-Barron’s own blog.

The Granddaughter is a pretty straightforward novel by German writer Bernhard Schlink, translated by Charlotte Collins. The time is contemporary Germany, and Berlin book store owner Kaspar comes home to find wife Birgit dead in the bathtub, apparently by drowning.  They had met in the early 60’s, in a divided country. They had fallen in love at university, he having traveled as a student to East Germany on several occasions in the early sixties. He helped her to escape from the GDR, and their early marriage seemed solid. Birgit, however, is hiding a dark part of her history, an affair with a married man that had resulted in an unwanted pregnancy and a life-altering decision.

Kaspar never learned about the tragic event until, as a grieving widower, he read an autobiographical novel Birgit had been working on before her death from depression, drugs and alcohol. Central to Birgit’s ability to adapt to her new life in West Germany had been her struggle over whether to search for the infant girl she had turned over years before to the married lover. Much of the book takes place well after the 1990 fall of the Berlin Wall, when Kaspar sets out to find the daughter and, now, a 15-year-old granddaughter.

This book is interesting to me for its setting.  There’s a small amount of character development. But, as one who traveled to Berlin and East Berlin both in 1961-62, shortly after the Wall had been built, and again in 1990, immediately after the wall came down, I found the historical and cultural differences between the East and West particularly fascinating.

Birgit had been a child of East Germany and believed in the myths of the German Democratic Republic, with the deeply embedded false promise of its own brand of nationalist socialism. Kaspar is a man of the enlightened West, a reader (and seller) of books, deeply imbued with the music, theater and arts of the world in which he grew up. Years after reunification, some who had lived on the former East side were still angry from the loss of the GDR. They suffered economically, and, over time, the antisemitism and xenophobia, repressed for years, rose to the surface.

Kaspar’s journey to find his stepdaughter and granddaughter brings him face to face with far-right Holocaust deniers, gay haters, despisers of foreigners, skinheads given to acts of violence.

In 1962, visiting a beer hall in Berlin, I remember my blood running cold to observe older men with their WWII medals pinned to their collars, stand and lift their steins fervently to the rousing anthem “Deutschland, Deutschland uber alles,” signaling to their younger compatriots the glories of their past. Such fearsome nationalist emotions still run deep.

Nearly 30 years later, in 1990, traveling though Eastern Europe with a group of editorialists meeting with students, labor leaders, politicians and others, I asked the then-head of the German Christian Democratic Party, who would go on to be mayor of the reunified Berlin, about the rise of skinheads and increasing attacks on Jews.  His answer was a chilling “boys will be boys.”

Today, we see the rise of the far right in Germany and throughout many countries in Europe. The Economist has followed the rise of such extremist parties in Europe, which now outnumber the more stable conservative and social democratic parties for the first time since 1933. And here, in the United States, we see Donald Trump’s sickening admiration of Hungary’s Viktor Orban, Russia’s Vladimir Putin and other authoritarian leaders. Earlier this year, Vice President J.D. Vance even supported the radical right German party Alternative for Germany (AfD), providing an official stamp of legitimacy to these dangerous rising powers.

The narrative of The Granddaughter will hold the reader’s attention, but, as an attempt to come to grips with the lesson of the past, it is not as compelling as Schlink’s 1995 book The Reader. It is, however, an effective exploration of the effect of political extremism on families and society. The Granddaughter (1921) is less important to me as a literary accomplishment than as a  very timely red-flag warning of the tenacity of right-wing hatred and blindness to the truths of history. It’s yet another reminder of the fragility of liberal democracy in the face of rising right-wing radicalism.