A WWII story of love, danger, and sacrifice — centering the trans people often written out of history - The Boston Globe (2025)

Less than four months after Adolf Hitler’s appointment as Chancellor of Germany in 1933, Nazi-led public book burnings would usher in a devastating era of fascism. Literature deemed subversive and “un-German” would be targeted. Among the first libraries destroyed belonged to Berlin’s Institute for Sexual Science, a preeminent research center and clinic devoted to the scientific study and advocacy of sexuality and queer identities. The fire destroyed more than 20,000 journals and books, including a vast archive of photographs and medical files, some documenting the world’s first gender-affirming surgeries. This violent act of erasure sought to both delegitimize and eradicate queer and transgender people from history itself.

Milo Todd’s breathtaking debut, “The Lilac People,” unearths an essential chapter in transgender history, one long obscured by stigma and oppression. Told between alternating timelines, the novel follows Bertie, a transman who witnesses Germany’s terrifying descent into fascism during the early 1930s, while also chronicling the weeks following the end of World War II in 1945, where a new and unexpected danger awaits with the arrival of the American Allied forces.

In the intervening 12 years, Bertie and his partner Sofie live in hiding on the family farm of a beloved friend named Gert, who failed to reunite with them after the trio was separated during a perilous escape from Berlin. Assuming the identities of Gert’s deceased grandparents, Bertie and Sofie manage the farm, keeping a low profile in the village of Olm. Bertie dreams of a life without persecution in America. He maintains a collection of newspaper clippings revealing the growing presence of transgender people “congregating there…the amount of articles proved that sometimes one could be found out, but they also proved how many more were not.”

Their quiet lives are interrupted when, shortly after the war’s end, Bertie discovers on his property the body of an unconscious man, “dressed in the dirtied stripes of a camp prisoner…[with] the black triangle sewn brash against the stripes.” After Bertie and Sofie revive him, he reveals himself to be Karl Fuchs, a transman who has escaped Dachau, despite the recent liberation of the camps. Bertie and Sofie are horrified to learn that the Allies have arrested queer prisoners. Despite the obvious risks involved, they decide to hide Karl. An order from the United States Army soon summons them to report for compulsory labor at the Oberer Kuhberg camp as part of the reparations program for Germans.

With the very real danger of their true identities being discovered, including a prison sentence of five years that upholds the draconian terms of Paragraph 175, “the harsher Nazi laws,” still in effect against queer people, Bertie realizes they have no choice but to flee to America. As their plans come together, Bertie gives Karl “transvesting lessons…to be convincing” to the world of his masculine identity. From modulating one’s voice to standing, walking, shaving and giving a proper handshake, Bertie scrutinizes Karl’s progress “with the eye of a perfectionist.” To survive, they must continuously hide themselves in plain sight.

As the novel moves forward in its 1945 storyline, the 1932 story line depicts the city’s flourishing queer community, blending fictional characters with historical people and places. Bertie routinely meets with friends for drinks at the Eldorado. By day, Bertie works at the Institute for Sexual Science as an assistant to its director, Dr. Magnus Hirschfeld, a groundbreaking sexologist and trans rights advocate, whom Hitler called “the most dangerous Jew in Germany.”

Well-paced and expertly crafted, the novel’s shifting timelines and intricate plot structure are reminiscent of Anthony Doerr’s “All the Light We Cannot See.” Its propulsive narrative, at times heart-stopping in its suspense and dramatic reveals, is interwoven with rich descriptions and historical passages that give context to a society held in the brutal grip of fascism. The novel’s focus on the bonds of love and friendship in the face of wartime atrocities recalls the ferocious heart of Martha Hall Kelly’s “Lilac Girls.”

Yet in the vast canon of World War II historical fiction, “The Lilac People” is wholly unique and original. The novel offers a fresh and timely perspective, illuminating the inclusion of a much-needed historical trans narrative, one that celebrates the soul-sustaining life force of community. As Karl sagely reminds his friends, no matter the efforts of violent and oppressive forces, transgender people have always existed, for “the history is us…and we’ll keep passing it on.”

THE LILAC PEOPLE

By Milo Todd

Counterpoint, 320 pages, $27

Olivia Kate Cerrone is the author of “The Hunger Saint.”