When Books Went to War

by Molly Guptill Manning

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Frontispiece

  Introduction

  A Phoenix Will Rise

  $85 Worth of Clothes, but No Pajamas

  A Landslide of Books

  New Weapons in the War of Ideas

  Grab a Book, Joe, and Keep Goin’

  Guts, Valor, and Extreme Bravery

  Like Rain in the Desert

  Censorship and FDR’s F - - - th T - - m

  Photos

  Germany’s Surrender and the Godforsaken Islands

  Peace at Last

  Damned Average Raisers

  Afterword

  Acknowledgments

  Appendix A

  Appendix B

  Notes

  Index

  Illustration Credits

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2014 by Molly Guptill Manning

  All rights reserved

  For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 215 Park Avenue South, New York, New York 10003.

  www.hmhco.com

  The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:

  Manning, Molly Guptill, date.

  When books went to war: the stories that helped us win World War II / Molly Guptill Manning.

  pages cm

  Includes bibliographical references and index.

  ISBN 978-0-544-53502-2 (hardback) —

  ISBN 978-0-544-57040-5 (trade paper) —

  ISBN 978-0-544-53517-6 (ebook)

  1. World War, 1939–1945—United States—Literature and the war. 2. Books and reading—United States—History—20th century. 3. Publishers and publishing—United States—History—20th century. 4. American literature—20th century—History and criticism. 5. War in literature. I. Title.

  Z1003.2.M36 2014

  028'.90973—dc23

  2014033571

  eISBN 978-0-544-53517-6

  v1.1214

  Illustration credits appear on [>].

  For my husband, Christopher Manning

  Introduction

  “Were you ever so upset emotionally that you had to tell someone about it, to sit down and write it out?” a Marine asked in a letter to the author Betty Smith. “That is how I feel now,” he confided.

  “You see I am . . . 20 year[s] old . . . but I feel twice that age. I went through hell in two years of combat overseas . . . I just wanted you to understand that despite my youth I have seen a little bit of suffering.”

  At the time this Marine wrote his letter, malaria ravaged his body and he was hospitalized and confined to bed rest. Yet he credited the illness with saving his life. During his time in sickbay, he was given an Armed Services Edition of Smith’s A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. “I have read it twice and am halfway through it again,” and “every time I read it, I feel more deeply than I did before,” he said.

  “Ever since the first time I struggled through knee deep mud . . . carrying a stretcher from which my buddie’s life dripped away in precious blood and I was powerless to help him, I have felt hard and cynical against this world and have felt sure that I was no longer capable of loving anything or anybody,” he wrote. He went through the war with a “dead heart . . . and dulled mind,” believing he had lost the ability to feel.

  It was only as he read A Tree Grows in Brooklyn that something inside him began to stir. “I can’t explain the emotional reaction that took place, I only know that it happened and that this heart of mine turned over and became alive again. A surge of confidence has swept through me and I feel that maybe a fellow has a fighting chance in this world after all. I’ll never be able to explain to you the gratitude and love that fill my heart in appreciation of what your book means to me.” It brought laughter and joy, and also tears. Although it “was unusual for a supposedly battle-hardened marine to do such an effeminate thing as weep over a piece of fiction, . . . I’m not ashamed,” he said. His tears proved he was human.

  “I don’t think I would have been able to sleep this night,” he wrote in closing, “unless I bared my heart to the person who caused it to live again.”

  The American forces serving in World War II were composed primarily of citizen soldiers—people who had no notion of going to war until Pearl Harbor was attacked. Many volunteered and others were drafted, and together these unprepared and unknowing souls faced a daunting combination of hurried training at bare-bones facilities, and days and weeks of transport, boredom, and fear. They experienced horrors and unimaginable scenes of violence and destruction for which no training could fully prepare them, and, for many, recuperation in hospitals spread around the world. They were constantly reminded of their proximity to death. As one soldier remarked, it was not uncommon to “have breakfast with a man and at supper time he has been buried.”

  The war took a tremendous physical and psychological toll on the men who fought it. The infantrymen plodded through endless mud, advanced as snipers fired at them, and slumbered in the comfort of rain-filled foxholes—sometimes to the lullaby of squealing mortars in the distance and buzzing insects swarming about them. They always seemed to be wet, dirty, muddy, uncomfortable, and exhausted. They marched and fought through searing heat and bitter cold, faced disease—malaria, typhus, and infections of all kinds—and bore the brunt of the enemy’s bullets and bombs. It is understandable why they referred to themselves as the “God-damned infantry.”

  The pilots and crews of the B-17 Flying Fortresses, B-24 Liberators, B-25 Mitchells, B-26 Marauders, and B-29 Superfortresses faced a different series of perils: flying a steady course as flak pierced holes in their planes, engaging in sudden aerial battles, and witnessing crew members suffer or die from injuries incurred midflight. Their limbs became painfully numb as they endured subzero temperatures during long journeys in unheated aircraft, and the relief they experienced upon safe return was often accompanied by the devastation of learning that others did not complete the trip back. Many planes crash-landed, ran out of fuel, or just plain crashed. The B-24s and B-26s did not earn the monikers Flying Coffin and Widow-Maker for nothing.

  Those in the Navy had their own set of problems. The initial thrill of sailing the seas and seeing the world from a gleaming ship was chilled by the isolation of days and weeks spent outside the sight of land. “Loneliness” and “boredom” took on new meanings. Meanwhile, the constant threat of lurking submarines and the mere sight or muffled din of an approaching enemy plane rattled the nerves of even the bravest sailor. There was no disguising cruisers or destroyers on the open sea. When the “music” started, they were like ducks in a shooting gallery.

  The days were grinding, the stress was suffocating, and the dreams of making it home were often fleeting. Any distraction from the horrors of war was cherished. The men treasured mementos of home. Letters from loved ones were rare prizes. Card games, puzzles, music, and the occasional sports game helped pass the hours waiting for action or sleep to come. Yet mail could be frustratingly irregular—sometimes taking as long as four or five months to arrive—and games and the energy to play them could not always be mustered after a long day of training or fighting. To keep morale from sinking, there needed to be readily available entertainment to provide some relief from war.

  The story of the Armed Services Editions—portable, accessible, and pervasive paperbacks like the edition of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn that so moved a young Marine to write Betty Smith—is a remarkable one. They were everywhere: servicemen read them while waiting in line for chow or a haircut, when pinned down in a foxhole, and when stuc
k on a plane for a milk run. They were so ubiquitous, one sailor remarked that a man was “out of uniform if one isn’t sticking out [of] the hip pocket!” They were the most dependable distraction available on all fronts. Whenever a soldier needed an escape, the antidote to anxiety, relief from boredom, a bit of laughter, inspiration, or hope, he cracked open a book and drank in the words that would transport him elsewhere. Every soldier and sailor abided by a strict policy of swapping and exchanging books, no matter how worn. The print could be smudged, the pages ripped or falling out, and still a book would continue to make the rounds. As one sailor said, “To heave one in the garbage can is tantamount to striking your grandmother.”

  They weren’t just for entertainment and diversion. Books also served as the premier weapon in fighting Adolf Hitler’s “war of ideas.” Nazi Germany sought control over people’s beliefs, not just their bodies and territory. From the 1933 state-sanctioned book burnings in Germany to the purging of libraries across Europe as nations were conquered by the Nazis, “un-German” reading material was threatened with extinction. The scale of destruction was impressive. By V-E Day, it is estimated that Germany had destroyed over 100 million books in Europe.

  And yet the story of the Armed Services Editions is largely untold. It was an astonishing effort. The government supplied more than 120 million free books to ensure that America’s fighting men were equipped with spirit and resolve to carry them through their battles.

  With books in their pockets, American GIs stormed the beaches of Normandy, trekked to the Rhine, and liberated Europe; they hopped from one deadly Pacific island to the next, from the shores of Australia to the backyard of Japan. Some read to remember the home they had left behind, others to forget the hell that surrounded them. Books uplifted their weary souls and energized their minds. As the letter to Betty Smith reveals, books had the power to soothe an aching heart, renew hope for the future, and provide a respite when there was no other escape. For many of America’s servicemen, books were their most important equipment.

  After the war, the accessibility of mass-market paperbacks—together with the GI Bill—helped build a new literate middle class, spreading reading to a wide and democratic public. The wartime book programs had made The Great Gatsby into a classic, engaged dozens of authors in pen pal relationships with thousands of soldiers, and touched the minds and hearts of millions of men and women.

  This is the story of pens that were as mighty as swords.

  ONE

  A Phoenix Will Rise

  What is to give light must endure burning.

  —VIKTOR E. FRANKL

  EVEN THE MISTY drizzle that blanketed Berlin did not dampen the merriment surrounding the grand parade held on May 10, 1933. Thousands of students, proudly wearing their university colors, walked through the foggy streets by glittering torchlight as they made their way toward the Bebelplatz, the main plaza between the Friedrich Wilhelm University and the Opera House. Forty thousand spectators gathered in the plaza to behold the spectacle that was about to unfold; another forty thousand assembled along the parade route. In the center of the Bebelplatz, a massive pyre of crossed logs, twelve feet long and five feet high, awaited. As the first revelers arrived, they threw their torches onto this peculiar structure. Blue flames shot skyward. It was a breathtaking sight. Soon the skeleton of logs erupted into a glowing mass of fire.

  Meanwhile, a procession of automobiles snaked along the periphery of the Bebelplatz. Some of the students formed an orderly line between the cars and the crackling flames. The crowd watched as one student reached into the first vehicle, taking a book from a pile stacked inside. The book was then passed down the line, from one hand to the next, until it reached the student standing closest to the fire, who hurled it into the flames. The crowd burst into applause. In this manner, one book after another quickly made its way to the blaze. Some students grabbed armfuls of them, pacing between the automobiles and the inferno, fueling the fire each time they passed.

  The initial destruction was interrupted only briefly, so that one of the student organizers could deliver a speech about the purpose for the gathering. To ensure the purity of German literature, he said, it was necessary to burn all “un-German” books and documents that threatened the national movement of Nazi unity. This included all works by Jewish authors, for “the Jew, who is powerful in intellect, but weak in blood . . . remains without understanding in the presence of German thought, fails to dignify it and, therefore, is bound to injure the German spirit.” The extermination of these offensive volumes would make the nation stronger by ridding it of ideas antagonistic to Germany’s progress. When the book burning resumed, another student announced the names of authors whose books were being destroyed, and explained why their ideas were harmful to Germany. Sigmund Freud was denounced for falsifying German history and degrading its great figures. Emil Ludwig was criticized for his “literary rascality and high treason against Germany.” Erich Maria Remarque was condemned for denigrating the German language and the nation’s ideals. Author after author was named. Book after book was burned, and the crowd cheered as if they were watching a sporting event. And so it continued for hours into the night.

  Although it had been rumored that the book burning was solely orchestrated by an overzealous student organization, it became clear that it was done with the blessing of the Nazi Party when Dr. Paul Joseph Goebbels, the “Minister of Public Enlightenment,” arrived to make a speech. Goebbels oversaw the Reich Chamber of Culture, which regulated Germany’s literature, press, radio, theater, music, art, and film. He used his influence to mold German society to suit Hitler’s ideology. Goebbels was wary of politically progressive authors who championed such causes as pacifism, socialism, reform, and sexual freedom. Books that so much as hinted at such themes were condemned to the flames.

  When Goebbels ascended the swastika-draped rostrum, he declared that “Jewish intellectualism is dead” and that “national socialism has hewn the way.” Gesturing toward the scene before him, he continued:

  The German folk soul can again express itself. These flames do not only illuminate the final end of the old era, they also light up the new. Never before have the young men had so good a right to clean up the debris of the past. If the old men do not understand what is going on, let them grasp that we young . . . men have gone and done it.

  The old goes up in flames, the new shall be fashioned from the flame of our hearts.

  After Goebbels’s speech, the song “The Nation to Arms” punctuated the night air and the students again took to throwing books into the mountain of fire.

  To ensure that Berlin’s book burning would have a wide audience, it was broadcast live over the radio and filmed. Movie theaters across Germany soon showed footage of Berlin’s bonfire with commentary explaining that harmful books eroded German values and must be destroyed. As this message spread, ninety-three additional book burnings were held, each attracting a large audience and intense media coverage. The students of Kiel University assembled two thousand examples of literature considered harmful to the German spirit, built a giant bonfire, and invited the public to watch as they burned the offensive books. In Munich, students led a picturesque torchlight parade before collecting one hundred massive volumes from the university library to be publicly burned. At another event in Munich, five thousand schoolchildren gathered to burn Marxist literature, and were urged that “as you watch the fire burn these un-German books, let it also burn into your hearts love of the Fatherland.” In Breslau, five thousand pounds of heretical works were destroyed in a single day.

  As book burnings spread across Germany, the Nazis also targeted any individuals who harbored anti-Nazi sympathies. Those suspected of entertaining views harmful to Germany were subjected to house searches; if anything objectionable was found, the offenders were punished. Some were never seen again. Quiet hysteria spread; many people preemptively destroyed documents and books that might be problematic. According to one report, when a local woman was given
a tip that she should make sure her home was “really clean,” she “immediately burned [her] books and papers and the next day endured a search.” Nazis published lists of books fit for burning; among the authors named were Karl Marx, Upton Sinclair, Jack London, Heinrich Mann, Helen Keller, Albert Einstein, Thomas Mann, and Arthur Schnitzler.

  Helen Keller wrote an impassioned letter to the student body of Germany, expressing her shock and disbelief that the birthplace of the printing press had become a crematory for this invention’s posterity. “History has taught you nothing, if you think you can kill ideas,” she scolded. “Tyrants have tried to do that often before, and the ideas have risen up in their might and destroyed them.” “You can burn my books and the books of the best minds in Europe, but the ideas in them have seeped through a million channels and will continue to quicken other minds,” she said.

  Others joined Keller in censuring the youth of Germany. Nobel Prize winner Sinclair Lewis denounced the book burnings, stating the works being destroyed were some of the “noblest books produced by Germany in the last twenty years.” He added that the authors whose writings were thrown into the flames “should feel nothing save satisfaction at receiving this unintentional tribute from an organized mob.” In London, H. G. Wells gave a defiant speech on intolerance, echoing some of the same sentiments as Keller. Book burnings “had never yet destroyed a book,” Wells said, as “books once printed have a vitality exceeding any human being, and they go on speaking as though nothing had happened.” “It seems to me,” he went on, “that what is happening in Germany is a clumsy lout’s revolution against thought, sanity and books.” Although he admitted that he did not feel safe in England, and believed that authors could one day be lynched or sent to concentration camps because of the perceived danger their books presented, he found comfort in a single idea. “In the long run,” he said, “books will win, and the louts will be brought to heel, and sane judgment will settle with all the braying and bawling heroics of these insurgents.” In the meantime, Wells protested Germany’s actions by providing a refuge for endangered titles. With the cooperation of other authors, Wells established the Library of Burned Books, which opened in Paris in the spring of 1934. The library housed copies of all books banned or burned by the Nazis, and held in safekeeping writings and books donated by German refugees and anyone who felt their books might be at risk.