The Discontinuity of Small Things

by Kevin Haworth

This quiet story of the Holocaust chronicles the lives of several Danes through the summer of 1943. It is the discontinuity of small things--the scattered inconveniences, chance meetings, glimpses of... This description may be from another edition of this product.

• Format: Hardcover
• Language: English
• ISBN: 097131604X
• ISBN13: 9780971316041
• Release Date: April 2005
• Publisher: Quality Words in Print
• Length: 239 Pages
• Weight: 0.35 lbs.
• Dimensions: 0.9" x 5.8" x 8.6"

Customer Reviews

I Want to Quote The Last Lines

Because we know history, we know the danger that lies below the surface in this book, starting on the first page. Bakman, a young doctor, walks the streets of Copenhagen, moist pamphlets sticking to his ankles. From somewhere---perhaps from pamphlets like these, dropped from the sky---Bakman has heard that "there are places in Europe where Jews clean the streets. Dragged from their shops, scrubbing the pavement on their hands and knees." Bakman, and even the Jews of Denmark, have no idea how much worse than that it will be. That's the tension here. It's 1943 and the Jews are in danger, in spite of the "great understanding" between Nazi Germany and the Danish government. Denmark is supposed to remain independent of its rapacious neighbor, to coexist peacefully. As readers we know this will not continue. And there are characters in the book who do understand. Henrik, another young doctor, tells Bakman, "Don't you see? They're going to take the Jews. Pack them up and drive them away. It's what the Germans do. They take them and they turn them into ashes. They grind them into wallpaper paste." Bakman doesn't believe it. The Jewish Bergstroms don't believe it. The father has no idea what danger his family is in. He proceeds from day to day, as almost everyone does, under the mounting danger. Here is the discontinuity of small things, of the small details which are sometimes all we can see. Like most of us, Bergstrom lives history. He may understand it later. All along, the larger story is cracking open. The book's fifteenth chapter is titled "Creatures Heading for Extinction." On page 187 Bergstrom is told the truth, as he argues with a neighbor. "They're sending you to Poland," his neighbor tells him. Bergstrom doesn't believe it: "Who's sending me to Poland?" His neighbor, who speaks German and has overheard the news, says, "Who. The Germans. Who do you think?" The book's prose is often spare. Not exactly elegant: the story is too powerful for that. But there are descriptions that made me stop. Describing a tied-up fishing boat, Haworth writes, "The Jette sat solitary at the dock, a lone tooth in a worn mouth." He writes, "His body was like an appendage, a stalk attached to an over-busy brain, and all of its functions cleaved toward the autonomic." The ending of the book brings several story lines together, and there are heartening incidents, as the citizens of Denmark show great bravery as they try to protect the Jews--a people in their midst whom they know, but not well. I want to quote the last lines of the book, because they're perfect. But of course that won't do: they're perfect because of all that has come before them.

Kevin Haworth's novel is beautifully written, deeply moving. . . .

THE DISCONTINUITY OF SMALL THINGS is one of the best novels I've read in a long time. A striking difference between Haworth's book and other Holocaust literature is the degree of realism his work brings to readers whose lives were never directly touched by the Holocaust. When I read some of the other books, I felt so numbed and shocked that I couldn't believe what I "saw." It was horrifying, but didn't seem believable. I couldn't relate to it -- not only because I'm not Jewish, but also because I've never experienced war firsthand. THE DISCONTINUITY OF SMALL THINGS, which focuses not on the unspeakable horrors of the Holocaust, but on the hardships of daily life -- a preview of what was to come -- is different. What Haworth wrote seems real. This I can see happening. I can see it happening here in the U.S., too, and if it does, our experience may be much like that of the Danes during the 1940 German invasion and continuing occupation of their country. Awareness dawns slowly for Bakman. Nazi propaganda pamphlets rain down from the sky. And "Bakman has heard -- where he has heard he can't quite remember...it comes like change of weather -- that there are places in Europe where Jews clean the streets. Dragged from their shops, scrubbing the pavement on their hands and knees. Not in Denmark, of course. These things would never happen in Denmark." Carl Jensen, a fisherman in the village of Gilleleje, facing financial ruin during the occupation, feels desperate: The sea smelled rich and hungry. [...] The "small things" began to pile up: [Bakman] had never felt the war so presently as today. Each moment of the war until this day had been only a small adjustment: cold water instead of lukewarm in his shower, ersatz coffee instead of real, and milk only on occasion. A small stockpiling of incident.... But today -- seeing the mound of small weaponry at a fashionable square -- Bakman knows that something vital has changed.... The dream of a simpler, purer Denmark, lovely country by the sea, has passed him by. Haworth's characters seem as real as your family and friends. They are ordinary people who find within themselves extraordinary courage. THE DISCONTINUITY OF SMALL THINGS will break your heart, but it will also make you think. About the way the world was back then -- and the way it is now. --Arlene Sanders, Author of TIGER BURNING BRIGHT

A Quiet Passion

This small book does an excellent job of capturing the minor, seemingly inconvenient, events that can lead to a catastrophic history. Using several characters we see Denmark as the Nazi occupation changes lives. It's interesting how the characters' lives intersect. This book manages to be both literary and passionate. The spare writing style reminded me of Walker Percy's "The Moviegoer." This book has stayed with me long after I put it down.