A Lyrical Tapestry of Parisian Resilience: A Compelling Literary Journey

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Review of The Courtyard by Benjamin Parket, Alexa Morris

What do people lose in a war? Ultimately, many lose their lives. However, the list of what else can be lost includes home, safety, security, livelihood, family connections, education, hope for the future, and identity. This is not a complete list, of course, but it covers the most significant devastations. I wish it would serve as a reminder to those who want to go to war for whatever reason. If they consider what they can lose, it might deter them from the path of aggression. I don’t have high hopes, though.

Benjamin Parket, the author of the autobiographical “The Courtyard,” experiences most of these losses before, during, or after the two-plus years he and his family spent in hiding during World War II in Paris. What stands out in this novel, compared to other war memoirs, is not just the positive outcome but how the first and last of the list above transformed during those crucial years: the concepts of home and identity.

The narrowest definition of home is the place where one lives. For others, like myself, it is the place where my beloved family lives. Wherever they are, that is where my home is. For Ben, home became both a wider and a narrower place. The apartment where he spent two years in hiding was so much tinier that it’s hard to imagine a whole family fitting in there. I take that back: it is only hard if you haven’t read Anne Frank’s diary or other descriptions of spaces where people are willing to pull themselves into to survive. Ben’s and his family’s physical living space was heavily contracted compared to their previous apartment.

On the other hand, the moment when a near stranger helped him and his family with a well-timed warning, his world seriously expanded. It marked the beginning of learning to accept and live with the help of a sustaining community. For every single individual of the dozens or more who were aware of them, it could have cost their lives by not betraying them. But they did not. The citizens of “The Courtyard” were all heroes. Home, in this sense, is not just the space where you are safe, but the people who keep it safe for you. As the last words of the book summarize on page 188:

In a working-class courtyard in Paris, during the darkest period of World War II, a small group of people came together to save a Jewish family. Compared to the story of many Jews during the Holocaust, not that much happened. And because not much happened, everything has been possible.

The urban village not just raised him, but sustained him in every possible way. Thus, the heart of the home encompassed all those involved in this positive, unspoken conspiracy.

Identity is another key theme of the book. Ben was nine years old at the beginning of the hidden years, so he spent two of his most formative years under these conditions. The kindness he received from strangers counterweighed the cruelty of the world around him. I wonder whether observing life in the courtyard, with all its human activities and examining every segment of the space repeatedly, had anything to do with his later decision to become an architect. And what else could an architect title his autobiography than a concept from his vocation? The space defined by the walls around it, and not the walls themselves, was essential to him. The hole in his life that could have ended him was filled with protection by near strangers. That became a key to his identity.

I have four main reasons to recommend this book to everyone:

1. It gave me immense pleasure to learn about the details of Ben’s whole life, at least up to his 91st year. The last 50 pages cover the period from 1944 to the present. To read about where and how he lived, who he loved and how, what happened to his parents and siblings gave me the kind of satisfaction that one gets when one can see the totality of something. This summary of a fulfilling life is the ultimate victory that transcends mere survival.
2. Sometimes it seems that in our libertarian times, being grateful is a disappearing virtue. I hold onto it and appreciate it wherever I see it. If you only have time for a few pages, read the list of miracles that follow these lines after page 186: “When I think of the countless things that had to go right for us to survive the war, it feels like a miracle.” The grace and gratefulness is one of the most heartwarming things I have ever read.
3. If you are a learning addict like I am, and if you know little about the details of Jewish middle-class life, you will learn a lot about Paris during the war. That is always a delight.
4. It was fun to read despite the topic. The book has a rich, descriptive narrative style. Its vivid sensory details, such as the smell of boiled cabbage and the sound of the accordion player, bring the courtyard setting to life. The perspective shifts between first-person narration and third-person omniscience, allowing the reader to experience both the personal memories and the broader historical context.

The authors, Benjamin Parket and Alexa Morris, his daughter-in-law, can evoke a sense of nostalgia while exploring universal themes of loss, resilience, and the enduring human spirit, making this text a compelling and thought-provoking read. I highly recommend engaging with this work to gain a deeper understanding of the human experience during wartime and its lasting effects on individuals and communities.

Disclaimer: I have received a digital copy of this book and a small amount from the author, which did not affect my review in any way.

The book on Instagram: @thecourtyardmemoir

Year first published: 2025

The book's page at the publisher's site