The Darkroom of Damocles

Nineteen-year-old Henri Osewoudt is a tobacconist in the small town of Voorschoten.

He lives above the shop with his ugly wife (and cousin) Ria, his psychologically unsound mother and their lodger. Turned down for military service, he joins the Home Guard, but this no compensation for the dullness of his life.

One evening, a lieutenant named Dorbeck drops by the shop and asks him to develop a roll of film. Osewoudt is struck by his close resemblance to Dorbeck, the only differences being Dorbeck's dark hair and the stubble on his chin (Osewoudt is blond and, despite his age, does not need to shave). The similarity is noted by Dorbeck as well, who returns several days later to ask Osewoudt to hide his uniform and borrow a suit.

Thus begins a series of increasingly hazardous adventures, which draw Henri deep into the underground world of the Dutch Resistance. He carries out the elusive Dorbeck's orders unquestioningly; he also begins a relationship with a Jewish woman living under an assumed name. Eventually, he is betrayed to the Germans by his feckless wife.
Osewoudt survives the war, but is immediately denounced as a traitor. When he hears the evidence lined up against him, he realises that his only hope lies in proving that Dorbeck actually exists.

Hermans tells his story with ice-cold panache. From the moment Osewoudt carries out his first assassination, he is thrown headlong into an increasingly complicated network of contacts. He evades capture and then is caught; he is helped to escape, but no one knows by whom; he is interrogated repeatedly, but cannot back up his story with evidence.

As Osewoudt's increasingly frenetic attempts to convince his accusers that he is innocent come to nothing, Hermans asks us to consider whether in fact the mysterious Dorbeck even exists. Is he, like his mother, driven by delusions? The book's postscript, a quote from Wittgenstein, hints at this: 'I can look for him when he is not there, but not hang him when he is not there. One might want to say: "But he must be somewhere there if I am looking for him." Then he must be somewhere there too if I don't find him, and even if he doesn't exist at all.'

Philosophy aside, The Darkroom of Damocles is a clear-sighted and proximate picture of life in occupied Holland. It is a pacy and exciting adventure story, but Hermans also leaves us alone in a crepuscular world of half-truths to decide for ourselves whether Osewoudt is a hero, a traitor, or an unlucky victim of circumstance.

Nineteen-year-old Henri Osewoudt is a tobacconist in the small town of Voorschoten. He lives above the shop with his ugly wife (and cousin) Ria, his psychologically unsound mother and their lodger. Turned down for military service, he joins the Home Guard, but this no compensation for the dullness of his life.

One evening, a lieutenant named Dorbeck drops by the shop and asks him to develop a roll of film. Osewoudt is struck by his close resemblance to Dorbeck, the only differences being Dorbeck's dark hair and the stubble on his chin (Osewoudt is blond and, despite his age, does not need to shave). The similarity is noted by Dorbeck as well, who returns several days later to ask Osewoudt to hide his uniform and borrow a suit.

Thus begins a series of increasingly hazardous adventures, which draw Henri deep into the underground world of the Dutch Resistance. He carries out the elusive Dorbeck's orders unquestioningly; he also begins a relationship with a Jewish woman living under an assumed name. Eventually, he is betrayed to the Germans by his feckless wife.

Osewoudt survives the war, but is immediately denounced as a traitor. When he hears the evidence lined up against him, he realises that his only hope lies in proving that Dorbeck actually exists.

Hermans tells his story with ice-cold panache. From the moment Osewoudt carries out his first assassination, he is thrown headlong into an increasingly complicated network of contacts. He evades capture and then is caught; he is helped to escape, but no one knows by whom; he is interrogated repeatedly, but cannot back up his story with evidence.

As Osewoudt's increasingly frenetic attempts to convince his accusers that he is innocent come to nothing, Hermans asks us to consider whether in fact the mysterious Dorbeck even exists. Is he, like his mother, driven by delusions? The book's postscript, a quote from Wittgenstein, hints at this: 'I can look for him when he is not there, but not hang him when he is not there. One might want to say: "But he must be somewhere there if I am looking for him." Then he must be somewhere there too if I don't find him, and even if he doesn't exist at all.'

Philosophy aside, The Darkroom of Damocles is a clear-sighted and proximate picture of life in occupied Holland. It is a pacy and exciting adventure story, but Hermans also leaves us alone in a crepuscular world of half-truths to decide for ourselves whether Osewoudt is a hero, a traitor, or an unlucky victim of circumstance.