By turns acerbic, self-mocking, playful, even absurd, this autobiography deals with all Blumenfeld's subjects - his Jewish family, the Germans, the Vichy French, his models and New York publishers - with equal measures of wit, mockery and irony. He spares himself least of all. Born in turn-of-the-century Berlin, Blumenfeld was drafted in to serve in World War I, first as an ambulance driver (although he couldn't drive) and then as book-keeper at a field brothel, and was awarded the Iron Cross for giving his sergeant ... Lire la suite
By turns acerbic, self-mocking, playful, even absurd, this autobiography deals with all Blumenfeld's subjects - his Jewish family, the Germans, the Vichy French, his models and New York publishers - with equal measures of wit, mockery and irony. He spares himself least of all. Born in turn-of-the-century Berlin, Blumenfeld was drafted in to serve in World War I, first as an ambulance driver (although he couldn't drive) and then as book-keeper at a field brothel, and was awarded the Iron Cross for giving his sergeant French lessons. Between the wars he was part of an avant-garde circle that included such artists as Else Lasker-Schuler and George Grosz and members of the Dada movement. During World War II, Blumenfeld was interned in a series of French camps, but eventually arrived in New York, where he found work with "Vogue" and "Harper's Bazaar".
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