Why Dresden, Part II: Dark Side of the Elbe
- emilyrogersmcgowan
- Jun 25, 2024
- 2 min read
During my trip to Florence on the Elbe, I was lucky to book a rental home in the riverside district of Loschwitz. Not only is it gorgeous and spared from the 1945 bombing, but it is also a location in the first chapter of my novel. From the Blaues Wunder bridge to a charming little coffee shop named Charlottes Enkel, Loschwitz was the perfect place to (literally) take a walk in my main character's shoes.
My first chapter features a crime scene in Weißer Hirsch, a historic Loschwitz spa neighborhood known for its lush forest, art nouveau villas, panoramic view of Dresden, and charming funicular railway.
The neighborhood’s name, Weißer Hirsch, translates literally to “White Stag,” a mythical creature famous in folklore for its ability to evade capture. It has symbolized purity, the otherworld, and the first sign of a noble quest. Where better to begin? I felt an immediate connection to my story, in which our main characters Elinor and Rudi find themselves hunting for the Protogeist.
I was also drawn in by the neighborhood’s darker history. Once considered “a crossroads of psychoanalysis, social reform, Jewish orthodoxy, and existentialist philosophy,” Weißer Hirsch was specifically targeted for ethnic cleansing by the NSPAD in 1938. Why does this matter to my story — or to its readers?
Because history didn't end in 1945.
In 2014, Dresden declared a ‘Nazinotstand,’ otherwise known as a ’Nazi Emergency,’ and this month, the far-right Alternative für Deutschland (AfD) party placed ahead of the governing SPD party for second-most German seats in EU parliament. Is it really such a stretch that my novel imagines Germany in a dystopian future?
This is not meant to patronize Germans or to suggest that they alone are prone to authoritarian regimes. "Never again" can happen anywhere to anyone under the right conditions, and if you doubt that, I recommend reading Morton Rhue's 1981 novel, The Wave. Fascism has a deceptive pseudo-spiritual allure — even in neighborhoods that look like a picture book.
My concern for Germany is rooted in my love for her. And for America, the land of my birth. Both nations are tangled in our future, present, and past. So, why not ask "what if?" Why not confront our fears of fear itself? And if we must, where better to begin than the beautiful, mythical dark side of the Elbe?
Sources/Resources
Nora Goldenbogen, ‘Nationalsozialistische Judenverfolgung in Dresden seit 1938 – ein Überblick’, Dresdner Hefte, 45, 1996, p. 76; cf. Gryglewskiop. cit. 107.
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