Even more complicated was the fact that the firebombing of Dresden had become a political touchpoint, sometimes held up by right-wing nationalists as a kind of counterpoint to the suffering of Jews and other groups in concentration camps. In writing The Women in the Castle, I tried very hard to avoid being influenced by any sense of what I should or shouldn’t write, especially on account of any subject being “owned” by a certain cultural or political group, but this gave me pause. I certainly didn’t want my story to be read in this light, and the chapter I wrote was so sad, so totally dark I almost couldn’t bear to read it.

When I showed it to my editor, she agreed; it was too much and felt out of keeping with the more restrained pathos of my novel, so it never became part of the finished book.

However, I have spoken to a few readers who mentioned that they would love a fuller understanding of how Ania Brandt took on her friend’s identity (it is briefly explained on page 269). But for those of you who would appreciate a more detailed picture, I have chosen to include the additional chapter here.

I hope you will read it with a generous ear, and know that I don’t think it is quite up to its own task.

Additional Chapter

February 13, 1945

PEOPLE SHE LOVES always die on Ania’s birthday. She tells herself this is because she has an old soul. A strong soul, like a freight train, strong enough for the dead to hang on to. But now there are so many clinging to her they nearly bring her to a stop.

When the day begins, it promises to be a good one. They have reached Dresden, “Florence on the Elbe,” a city thought to be safe from Allied bombings on account of its lack of heavy industry, its International Red Cross station, its famous beauty and culture. People say Winston Churchill has a favorite aunt who lives here, or that the Allies are preserving its lovely Art Nouveau apartment houses, Baroque palaces, and spacious villas to become their capitol after the war. Who knows? In any case, it is the city Ania has, for all these many miles, been walking toward.

The weather is fine—almost clear for the first time in weeks. When the sun flashes between the clouds, it is warm enough to feel on your cheeks. They stop and turn their faces upward, absorbing the rays like flowers storing up the sun. The day is Fasching, the German holiday of Shrove Tuesday, and despite the war, Dresden is celebrating. On the streets, children play games and wear homemade masks. There is an improbable whiff of joy, even recklessness, in the air.

“Here it is,” the other Ania says, smiling, as they approach the famous buildings at the city’s center. “Your birthday present!” She makes a sweeping gesture that includes the beautiful Frauenkirche, the Johanneskirche, the Semperoper.