The mouse-and-cat metaphor for the Holocaust that Art Spiegelman established in his first volume of Maus: A Survivor’s Tale, is continued in Volume II of Maus, with its grimly sardonic subtitle of And Then My Troubles Began. Volume I of Maus ended with the artist’s father and mother, Vladek and Anja Spiegelman, at the gates of the Auschwitz death camp in 1944. Volume II takes the reader inside, on a terrifying and powerfully rendered journey through the Nazis’ machinery of genocide.
Like its predecessor, Maus II is a framed tale. Art Spiegelman builds upon Vladek's testimony of Holocaust experiences, as well as those of two other family members – Vladek’s first son/Art’s older brother Richieu, who died as a small child during the Holocaust, and Art’s mother/Vladek’s wife Anja, who took her own life in 1968, two decades after the end of the Second World War. In the process, Art must do his best to deal with his own feelings of depression and “survivors’ guilt,” even though he was not born until after the Holocaust -- and he must cope with his feelings of mingled love for and resentment toward his rapidly aging father.
And, as with Maus I, Maus II utilizes an elaborate visual metaphor to tell its true-life story of the Holocaust. The Jewish prisoners are depicted as mice, the Nazis as cats, the Polish civilians as pigs. This bold artistic risk on Spiegelman’s part somehow draws into particularly stark relief the cruelty and absolute horror of the Holocaust; the drawing style, with relatively thick lines, heavy on black and grey, somehow keeps the story from taking on a safe, History Channel-style distance from the reader.
One way in which Maus II differs from Maus I is that in this second book, Spiegelman has the chance to examine the consequences of the success of the first one. A large panel shows Spiegelman’s writing desk atop a pile of corpses, showing his feelings of ambivalence about having written a Holocaust book when he himself is not a Holocaust survivor. As interviews with German, Israeli, and American journalists (all of them wearing masks) go in increasingly strange directions, a businessman offers Spiegelman a grotesque licensed-merchandise deal: “Maus -- you’ve read the book, now buy the vest!” (p. 42)
Spiegelman, who grows smaller and smaller throughout this ordeal, as if undergoing a reversion to childhood, goes to see his therapist; and it is in the conversation between the two that some of the core themes of Maus II emerge. Spiegelman talks of how, for all that he resents about his father Vladek, he admires the resourcefulness that helped Vladek survive. The therapist, himself a Holocaust survivor, says, “Then you think it’s admirable to survive. Does that mean it’s not admirable to not survive?” Art is taken aback: “I think I see what you mean. It’s as if life equals winning, so death equals losing.” And the therapist builds upon those ideas – and, one senses, upon his own Holocaust experience: “Yes. Life always takes the side of life, and somehow the victims are blamed. But it wasn’t the best people who survived, nor did the best ones die. It was random!” (p. 45)
That theme certainly resonates throughout Maus II. Vladek’s survival of the Holocaust was partly a matter of his resourcefulness and his ability to learn new skills quickly: at Auschwitz he mended shoes, worked tin, and taught English, earning in the process extra food or lighter duties, and gaining some degree of protection from powerful people within the camp. At other times, however, his living rather than dying was simply a matter of being in the right line or barrack or work detail at the right time, while people in another line or barrack or work detail were being taken away to be shot or gassed.
As one of the jobs that Vladek had while imprisoned at Auschwitz was as a tinsmith, he is in a strong position to tell the story of the Nazis’ plans to commit genocide and then destroy the evidence of their crimes against humanity. Having worked on disassembly of the gas-chamber and crematorium buildings at Auschwitz as the Soviet army drew near the death camp, Vladek can provide Art with the information that he needs to draw a complete and accurate schematic.
In five panels that are very straightforwardly rendered, with no stylistic flourishes, Vladek, in the present day, tells Art and Art’s wife Françoise, as they sit together over lunch, “The Germans didn’t want to leave anywhere a sign of all what they did. You heard about the gas, but I’m telling not rumors, but only what I really saw. For this I was an eyewitness” (p. 69). The last panel moves the reader from a contemporary lunchtime in the Catskills to the chimney of a crematorium building, with smoke curling up in the background behind it.
As the Nazi regime crumbles and the Allied forces advance, that theme of survival being largely a matter of chance receives further emphasis; Vladek and his fellow prisoners are detained and abandoned by two different squads of Wehrmacht soldiers before being formally liberated by an American patrol. Yet even as Maus II chronicles Vladek’s post-liberation life experiences, the fundamental experience of loss is emphasized. When Art asks Vladek at one point about Anja, meaning that he wants to hear about Anja’s Holocaust experiences, Vladek, in close-up, looks down sadly as he replies, “Anja? What is to tell? Everywhere I look I’m seeing Anja…From my good eye, from my glass eye, if they’re open or they’re closed, always I’m thinking on Anja” (p. 103). Later, in a large panel that is divided into five smaller panels, Vladek looks down disconsolately at family photographs scattered across the floor of his home and reflects that “only my little brother, Pinek, came out from the war alive…from the rest of my family it’s nothing left, not even a snapshot” (p. 116).
Maus II ends on an uncertain note. On the one hand, there is the joy of Vladek and Anja’s reunion in postwar Poland: “It was such a moment that everybody around was crying with us….We were both very happy, and lived happy, happy ever after.” On the other hand, there is that note of loss again in the way a tired Vladek dismisses Art by mistakenly calling him by the name “Richieu” – Vladek’s murdered son, Art’s murdered older brother: “I’m tired from talking, Richieu, and it’s enough stories for now…” (p. 136)
Closing as it does with an image of the gravestone for Vladek and Anja Spiegelman – a quiet reminder that Anja took her own life in 1968, over a decade before Vladek Spiegelman died from natural causes in 1982 -- Maus II is a moving tribute: by a son to his lost parents, and by a talented artist to the millions killed in the Holocaust.
Addendum, 30 January 2022:
I returned to Maus in the aftermath of a Tennessee school board's removal of the book from their county schools' 8th-grade language-arts curriculum. I read the transcript of the meeting in which the McMinn County school board voted to ban Maus. Unsurprisingly, the board members' reasoning was a veritable catalog of logical fallacies. For example:
One board member pointed out that the book contains words that, if spoken out loud by students, would fall under the system's disciplinary code. This is an example of oversimplification -- leaving out relevant facts or considerations about an issue. Teaching a book that contains curse words does not legitimize the speaking of those curse words from the book, out loud, in a school's locker room or cafeteria. A teacher reading the book out loud, in class, can simply skip over the objectionable words. Everyone already knows what those words sound like.
A board member did not like it that the book showed hangings carried out by the Nazis -- said it was too much for 13-year-olds. Perhaps someone could remind that board member that plenty of people 13 years old, and younger, were murdered by the Nazis during the Holocaust. The youth and innocence of those children did not protect them from the perpetrators of genocide.
And a board member, attacking the book, pointed out that author Art Spiegelman was once an illustrator for Playboy magazine. This is a classic example of guilt by association -- and one that may have resonated in the conservative religious community where Maus was being removed. But it does not work in logical terms. One can disapprove of Playboy magazine, if one wants to, and can still recognize Maus as a great and important work of art.
This is the kind of "reasoning" that always motivates book-banners. Whatever their ideology, they think that they can decide, better than you can, what ideas are good or bad for you.
Fight the censors. Read banned books.