It took me a long time to read this book. Getting from cover to cover only took me a day but choosing this spine over the other books’ spines in my bookcase took me 6 years. Maybe the war in Ukraine and the current mood of uncertainty in Europe created an opportunity for me to dive into the misery of another war.

As an insight into life in the Warsaw ghetto, I find this book singular. Szpilman’s account is detailed yet succinct; you’ll get no vivid description of the flowers growing in the gutter, but Szpilman doesn’t spare the reader the terror of occupation. In a way, I found Szpilman’s clinical account of his experiences almost made them more incredulous.

I also reflected on the lack of animosity toward the perpetrators and those that did not give aid. Szpilman’s empathy for his fellow man and the difficult choices they were forced to make got me wondering what right later generations have to be anything but empathetic.