The Secret Purposes - David Baddiel

There are quite a few surprises in store for the reader of The Secret Purposes. It’s not so much the fact that David Baddiel confounds any expectations you might have of him from his TV comedian persona or that he shows himself here to be a first-class writer and storyteller – what’s more surprising is that, barring one or two concessions to modernity, this book remains so resolutely old-fashioned with the kind of storyline that would not be out of place in an old 1930’s or 1940’s black and white movie melodrama like ‘Waterloo Bridge’.

The novel is set against the background of the forced internment of German nationals to the Isle of Man in 1940. Most of the German nationals resident in the UK just happen to be Jewish refugees fleeing from the persecution that is beginning to escalate against them in Europe. At this stage however, the scale of the Nazis’ genocidal activities is not yet fully comprehended and it’s deemed more important to minimise risks and just lock-up anyone who might scare members of the public by speaking with a German accent until the government can decide how to deal with the situation.

Caught up in this situation is Isaac Fabian, a German Jew who has turned against his religion in favour of Communism and a forbidden marriage to a non-Jewish girl of Aryan appearance, Lulu. When Isaac is repatriated to the Isle of Man, Lulu petitions for his release, but this puts her into an awkward situation with a man who volunteers to help her out. Meanwhile, June Murray, a translator for the Ministry of Information is becoming aware of the growing problem in Germany and is appalled at the seemingly callous indifference of the Ministry, so she sets out, unauthorised, to the Isle of Man to gather some first-hand reports for herself. There she meets Isaac, and despite the circumstances, a relationship develops between them that is to have unforeseen consequences.

The relationships that are struck-up between June and Isaac and between Lulu and Douglas rely too much on coincidence and contrivance to be really convincing, but Baddiel makes a good case of presenting the contradictory elements of desire and responsibility and how the characters accommodate their actions to best suit their circumstances and rationalise those actions later. The characterisation is thoroughly convincing in this respect – each character having their own motivations and personalities, intensely pragmatic and driven – whether by desire or by their situation – by who they are and what they believe in – an immigrant, a German, a Jew, a wife, a mother, a prisoner, a government official. This kind of characterisation is carried through to even the smallest of secondary characters – the bumbling Army officials who dither between doing their duty (while not being entirely sure what their duty is) and not wishing to appear incompetent or even ungentlemanly to a lady. Only one character comes across as a something of a pantomime cad, but if you are prepared to go along with the whole old-fashioned romantic melodrama of the story, you’ll not worry about this too much.

This is a remarkably good book, carrying the reader along through some brilliantly constructed and insightful prose. From the premonitory musing of the elder Rabbi Fabian on the seven deadly sins as he crosses the seven bridges of Konigsberg presaging the weaknesses of man to the culmination of those evils in the holocaust forcefully brought home in the epilogue of the book – and from all the smaller human dilemmas of love, loss, duty and responsibility in-between – Baddiel presents a story that is clear, coherent, purposeful and serious in its tone and themes, yet is still a good, old-fashioned read.