I don’t generally read novels about the Holocaust, but this one was lent to me and I felt the weight of an “ought to”. For me, the Dairy of Anne Frank in my teenage years and Primo Levi later were enough, although I understand why authors still write them – particularly in this case, where the story concerns the author’s relatives. It’s very readable: poignant and gripping. I was stopped in my tracks by thoughts that reading it inspired: to be “outsidered” when you think you are “one of us”.