Culture writer Ilina Jha reviews Barbara Yelin’s novel, Irmina, in the wake of Holocaust Memorial Day.
Content warnings: mentions of racism, anti-semitism, Nazism, the Holocaust, World War II
Irmina by Barbara Yelin (translated from the German by Michael Waaler) is a graphic novel inspired by the true story of Yelin’s grandmother. The book follows Irmina, a young German woman who heads to London in the mid-1930s seeking a career and independence. There, she meets Howard, one of the first Black students studying at Oxford University. Their blossoming relationship ends however, when financial difficulties force Irmina to return home. When her contact with Howard is broken, Irmina finds herself trying to survive and thrive under a Nazi regime that leads her to look away from its horrors.
The story itself is well-told, with interesting and complex characters. None of them can be explained simply, and they are in many ways contradictory. Irmina is honest and stands up for Howard when he is racially abused, and yet, from the beginning of the novel, she seems disturbingly unconcerned about the developing Nazi regime and what it might mean for everyone. Howard prefers to keep his head down and not challenge the racist abuse thrown at him while in London, but he goes on to enter politics in Barbados and helps forge a new and improved future for his country and its people. The novel does not shy away from the realities of the developing relationship between Howard and Irmina, showing both the highs and lows, their shared interests, and their heated arguments.
The illustrations are excellently drawn and coloured. Darker colours such as black and grey feature heavily during the Nazi Germany section of the novel, conveying the horrific and oppressive nature of this period. What is most fascinating is the small details that add huge importance to the story – an illustration of people walking past a shop might seem unimportant, but the sign on the door reading ‘Juden unerwünscht’ (‘Jews not welcome’) is a haunting reminder of the Nazi regime’s persecution of Jews and other minority groups.
Yelin addresses the inspiration behind the novel before the book starts, and reveals that she asked herself upon finding her grandmother’s letters and diaries: ‘Why did she turn into a person who did not ask questions, who looked the other way, one of the countless passive accomplices of her time?’ The question of what it means to be an ‘ordinary German’ leading up to and during the Second World War pervades the entire novel. The Irmina at the beginning of the novel – who questions social norms and behaviours, defends Howard from racism, and tries to make her own way in the world – seems very different from the woman who later obeys the Nazi regime, conforms to its expectations of women, and looks away from the horrors of the Holocaust. But in many ways Irmina, who does not seem to be a ‘bad’ person, is also much the same. So perhaps what is most disturbing about this story is the way in which an ‘ordinary’ individual can come to believe in a regime that demonises minority groups of people, with devastating consequences. Yelin reveals how an ‘ordinary German’ could become so complicit in a regime that tortured and murdered millions.
Overall, Irmina is beautifully crafted and deeply thought-provoking, and I would highly recommend it.
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