The Ivan

Fiction

Stories my mother would never tell

The Ivan

By Erin Eldridge

189 pp. Austin Macauley Publishers 

Reviewed by Dennis C. Rizzo

The Ivan is set in Berlin at the very end of World War Two, during the occupation of the city by Russian troops and just prior to the division of the city following formal surrender. I was drawn to this book by stories told to me by my father, stories my mother would never tell.

My mother was born and lived in Vienna and went through the Nazification and then the Russian occupation of that city. She had friends and relatives who disappeared. She had a cousin who wandered back virtually catatonic from an SS unit he had been conscripted into – he was sixteen. The experiences she never would discuss are summed up well in Eldridge’s story of Elise, Erich and Valery (the Ivan), including life in the shelters and basements.

They had no news of events outside of their hiding place, no way of knowing anything about the status of the final battle for Berlin. The radio was useless because there was no electricity. One of the final broadcasts had informed the hapless populace of the Fuhrer’s death and the news had been received with universal indifference. There was no gas and no water either, apart from the outdoor pumps and hydrants, but, in a bizarre touch, telephones kept ringing spontaneously, even under the rubble. .... Frau Schumacher, indulging her flair for the dramatic, had stated quite matter-of-factly that, with no gas, they would have to hang themselves or find poison somewhere.

The story premise is compelling. These are the very real circumstances of a population facing their imminent demise at the hands of the Red Army, which had been portrayed for years as Neanderthals – an army they knew would be seeking revenge for atrocities committed on their country. The historical background is very accurate – from my own research – with terms and conditions spot on. I wish Eldridge had spent more time reworking the scenes, as it often feels like an information dump rather than scene setting.

Eldridge persists in telling us the story rather than showing it to us in the actions of the characters. Too often there are run-on sentences and very long (1.5 pages) paragraphs that could have been split to better effect. Dialogue is sparse and, in many place, stilted and limited to basic information that is already provided in the scene description. In the prisoner-of-war setting:

Back at camp, there was a bit of an atmosphere in their barracks since the conversation with Wolfgang, but the two young men didn’t spend much time there anyway, and when they did, they stuck together. Erich had confessed to Carl that he wasn’t sure how Wolfgang had made it into their particular camp, largely comprised of moderates, it seemed. He’d somehow slipped through the cracks as he came across as more of a die-hard Nazi.

I don’t want to be too harsh. The Ivan is a well researched story – and though I found the ending somewhat questionable, it was a good read. We do root for the protagonists, and Eldridge keeps us moving along in the story wondering what will happen next.