High bar set for historical fiction
Gundi, Irma and Hilde all find themselves at a Lebensborn Society house for future mothers who are deemed to be racially fit. Each woman is there for the same reason: to usher life into the world. But the three main characters have different stances on Nazi Germany and its burgeoning eugenics program.
Often overlooked in history, women are the focus of Jennifer Coburn’s novel “Cradles of the Reich.” The horrors of Nazi Germany are no secret, and there’s no shortage of World War II literature around, but Coburn manages to peel back layer after layer of shocking misconduct, maintaining suspense all the while.
Irma Benz, who retired from nursing after witnessing tragedy in the Great War, wants nothing more than to settle down and live a normal life with her fiance. That is, until she finds a Jewish woman secretly living in his house.
Gundi Schiller, the quintessential young German Aryan woman, is pregnant with a Jewish man’s baby. She possesses levels of morality and selfevaluation well beyond her years, yet she is unable to fathom the cruelty of the Reich, her inexperience in suffering a byproduct of her youth and beauty.
Hilde Kramer, a prospectless high school graduate, discovers a future for herself as the mistress of a high-ranking official. Her naivete and inexperience mixed with inside knowledge and loads of propaganda lead her into deeper, murkier waters as she desperately seeks validation and status.
“Cradles of the Reich” switches between their points of view, urgency dictating which woman’s name appears at the top of each chapter. Coburn applies thorough research and a strong dose of empathy to embody her characters
and provide reasons for their complacency or compliance in a deadly regime, epitomizing how unaware some Germans were of exactly how the Third Reich operated.
A WWII newbie who knows little to nothing of the subject would find the book horrifyingly educational. A scholar of Nazi Germany would be pleasantly surprised at the nuggets of fact embedded throughout the fiction and the overall accuracy.
Every historical fiction novel should strive to be this compelling, wellresearched and just flat-out good. — Donna Edwards, Associated Press
Something sinister lurks in the woods
enveloping the fading industrial town of Johnstown, Pennsylvania. When Liz Rocher was a child, one of her friends disappeared, only to be found with her organs removed. When Liz was old enough, she moved away. But as Erin E. Adams’ “Jackal” opens, Liz reluctantly returns to attend a friend’s wedding.
Being a Black female in Johnstown — and in America — is fraught with peril, Liz knows. At the wedding, another Black girl ventures into the woods
and vanishes. To Liz, the circumstances are horrifyingly similar to the loss of her childhood friend. Gradually, she discovers that local Black girls have gone missing, one every June, for generations — police always dismissing the incidents as runaways or animal attacks.
The first half of “Jackal” unfolds as a criminal investigation, but the novel slowly morphs into a gothic horror story. The monster in the woods is all too real. The author grew up in Johnstown, one of only three Black children in her school. As she recently put it, “I’ve lived with this story all my life.”
“Jackal” is a terrifying tale of the fears and hatreds generated by racism and class inequality — and of the monsters these fears and hatreds have created. It shares the sensibilities of Jordan Peele’s film “Get Out,” but Adams brings to it a depth possible only in books.
Although this is the author’s first novel, it is an extraordinary achievement. Her prose is exquisite, portraying characters and settings with a painter’s eye and the lyricism of a poet. For the most part, she tells her propulsive story without preaching.