The Boy in the Striped Pajamas

“But there were no other streets around the new house, no one strolling along or rushing around, and definitely no shops or fruit and vegetable stalls. When he closed his eyes, everything around him just felt empty and cold, as if he was in the loneliest place in the world. The middle of nowhere.” 

“The loneliest place in the world” is Auschwitz, the infamous concentration camp of which Bruno’s father is in charge. Throughout the novel, Bruno calls it “Out-With,” as another indication of his inability to grasp the seriousness and horror of the situation. Boyne utilizes the boys description of “the middle of nowhere” to juxtapose life in Berlin and life at the site of some of the war’s most gruesome murders, without revealing any of the grisly details. 

“Bruno had a pain in his stomach and he could feel something growing inside him, something that when it worked its way up from the lowest depths inside him to the outside world would either make him shout and scream that the whole thing was wrong and unfair and a big mistake for which somebody would pay one of these days, or just make him burst into tears instead. He couldn’t understand how this had all come about.” 

This quote ostensibly focuses on Bruno’s unhappiness for having arrived at a place that he does not recognize nor like, but Boyne uses it as a metaphor for the condemnation of the whole war—and particularly of The Final Solution to exterminate Jews. It also indicates Bruno’s growing understanding that something is deeply wrong with the world. The boy senses a profound discrepancy between his reality and the outside reality, but has no words to describe it.

“‘I don’t think the other children look at all friendly,’ said Bruno, and Gretel immediately stopped putting one of her more terrifying dolls on a shelf and turned round to stare at him.

‘What did you just say?’ she asked.

‘I said I don’t think the other children look at all friendly,’ he repeated.

‘The other children?’ said Gretel, sounding confused. ‘What other children? I haven’t seen any other children.’”

In this conversation with his older sister, Bruno verbalizes for the first time the existence of the people behind the wire fence. Being older, Gretel has a sense that this is something they should not discuss or even acknowledge, but Bruno is not old enough to have learned to stay quiet—something that he will learn throughout the novel. Furthermore, Bruno does not recognize the Jews’ desperation for what it is. To him, it simply looks like lack of friendliness, and their poor state of health appears as if they are all children.

“To begin with, they weren’t children at all. Not all of them, at least. There were small boys and big boys, fathers and grandfathers. Perhaps a few uncles too. And some of those people who live on their own on everybody’s road but don’t seem to have any relatives at all. They were everyone.” 

Connected to the previous quote, the opening of Chapter 4 clarifies the situation for Bruno and for the reader by revealing the ages of the prisoners. “They were everyone” is a powerful sentence that encapsulates the completely terrifying situation: one whole people is present in the camp beyond Bruno’s house. The fact that they are all men metaphorically connects Bruno and his father to the prisoners by association. 

“About twenty feet further along from the garden and the flowers and the bench with the plaque on it, everything changed. There was a huge wire fence that ran along the length of the house and turned in at the top, extending further along in either direction, further than she could possibly see. The fence was very high, higher even than the house they were standing in, and there were huge wooden posts, like telegraph poles, dotted along it, holding it up. At the top of the fence enormous bales of barbed wire were tangled in spirals, and Gretel felt an unexpected pain inside her as she looked at the sharp spikes sticking out all the way round it.” 

The garden and the flowers on Bruno’s side of the fence contrast brutally with the “huge wire fence” which extends beyond the horizon, indicating the immensity of the camp. Its height symbolizes the impossibility of escape and the desperate situation of the prisoners. Spirals of barbed wire frighten Gretel and provoke physical pain, as she involuntarily imagines the fate of anyone caught in the wire’s spikes. The children face unimaginable and for them incomprehensible horror from Bruno’s bedroom window. 

“As they left they stood in a row together like toy soldiers and their arms shot out in the same way that Father had taught Bruno to salute, the palm stretched flat, moving from their chests up into the air in front of them in a sharp motion as they cried out the two words that Bruno had been taught to say whenever anyone said it to him.” 

Bruno was taught to salute Hitler without understanding what that implies. As a young boy, he sees soldiers and his father as something glorious and powerful, but Boyne utilizes a simile “like toy soldiers” to indicate for the reader the impersonality and insignificance of each particular soldier. They all serve Nazism and are to a large extent under the thumb of higher powers. 

“He imagined that there were insects living in the spaces between the paint and the ceiling itself which were pushing it out, cracking it wide, opening it up, trying to create a gap so that they could squeeze through and look for a window where they might make their escape. Nothing, thought Bruno, not even the insects, would ever choose to stay at Out-With.” 

Boyne metaphorically uses the image of insects pushing to break free from the walls to indicate Bruno’s confused thoughts of the number of prisoners, their general state of filth and decay, and their desperation as they “try to create a gap” to push through. Bruno identifies with them because he himself feels trapped in “Out-With.” The author skirts around the main issue of the novel—the horror of concentration camps and the Holocaust—by offering images and ideas that are indicative of things but do not openly address them. This is in keeping with the perceptions of his young protagonist. 

“‘You’re not a doctor.’

Pavel stopped peeling the carrots for a moment and looked across the table at Bruno, his head held low, his eyes looking up, as if he were wondering what to say to such a thing. He sighed and seemed to consider it for quite a long time before saying, ‘Yes I am.’

Bruno stared at him in surprise.” 

The character of Pavel—and his terrible fate—introduces to the readers and to Bruno the idea that in Nazi-occupied Europe Jews are no longer considered human beings with lives, occupations, and thoughts of their own. Boyne echoes this sentiment through many details in the novel, but Pavel’s former occupation, which helps Bruno when he falls off the swing, is a stark reminder that the man has been stripped of all of his dignity, his identity, and his purpose. 

“And were they really so different? All the people in the camp wore the same clothes, those pajamas and their striped cloth caps too; and all the people who wandered through his house (with the exception of Mother, Gretel and him) wore uniforms of varying quality and decoration and caps and helmets with bright red-and-black armbands and carried guns and always looked terribly stern, as if it was all very important really and no one should think otherwise.” 

Through Bruno’s developing understanding and maturing conscience, Boyne asks one of the key questions in the novel: Is there really any difference between people? The only thing Bruno notices is the different kind of uniform, but even then, they are all wearing uniforms of one kind or another. As Bruno sees it in simplified terms, there are two groups of people divided by the wire, but the only thing that makes a true difference are the guns one group wears and their sense of superiority. 

“However, after a moment he looked up and Bruno saw his face. It was quite a strange face too. His skin was almost the colour of grey, but not quite like any grey that Bruno had ever seen before. He had very large eyes and they were the colour of caramel sweets; the whites were very white, and when the boy looked at him all Bruno could see was an enormous pair of sad eyes staring back.

Bruno was sure that he had never seen a skinnier or sadder boy in his life but decided that he had better talk to him.” 

Boyne utilizes Bruno’s first glimpse of Shmuel to describe the Jewish boy in detail, focusing on the features that are the result of his incarceration: grey skin, large eyes due to his skinniness, and immense sadness. Bruno does not realize the implications of Shmuel’s appearance, just as he does not understand the “pajamas” that the prisoners wear. The very fact that he calls them pajamas throughout the novel shows that Bruno’s child mind cannot grasp the immensity of the Holocaust. For Bruno, Shmuel is largely a fascination, an enigma, and an adventure in a place where he is lonely and without friends. For Shmuel, Bruno becomes a lifeline. 

“‘Poland,’ said Bruno thoughtfully, weighing up the word on his tongue. ‘That’s not as good as Germany, is it?’

Shmuel frowned. ‘Why isn’t it?’ he asked.

‘Well, because Germany is the greatest of all countries,’ Bruno replied, remembering something that he had overheard Father discussing with Grandfather on any number of occasions. ‘We’re superior.’” 

Bruno’s repeating of ideas he heard from his father and grandfather indicates how propaganda becomes inculcated into young people’s mind. Since Bruno loves his father, he will automatically believe anything he says and take it as a given. Boyne again shows readers the lack of understanding on the child’s part, because Bruno is too young to grasp the implications of self-perceived Aryan superiority. He becomes an unconscious mouthpiece for Nazism, sitting on his privileged side of the fence. However, his communication with Shmuel opens up a new way for Bruno to see and experience things. 

“‘Pavel is not a doctor any more, Bruno,’ said Maria quietly. ‘But he was. In another life. Before he came here.’

Bruno frowned and thought about it. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said.

‘Few of us do,’ said Maria.

‘But if he was a doctor, why isn’t he one still?’” 

Talking to Maria, and feeling safe to ask questions because he instinctively understands Maria’s position in the household, Bruno begins to voice his doubts and shows an attempt to understand reality as it assaults him from each side in Auschwitz. He asks a logical and legitimate question: If a person used to be something, why are they not the same thing anymore. Boyne uses this question as a starting point to open up a discussion on how those in power decide the fate of the defeated. These are big ideas for Bruno’s mind, but Boyne structures the events of the novel in a way that lead the boy inexorably to the tragic understanding. 

“‘The soldiers don’t normally like people getting better,’ said Shmuel, swallowing the last piece of bread. ‘It usually works the other way round.’

Bruno nodded, even though he didn’t quite know what Shmuel meant, and gazed up into the sky.”

Faced with Shmuel’s reality, Bruno is often at a loss as to how his own life and Shmuel’s coexist in the same space. His gazing at the sky indicates his instinctive desire to run away from the conversation and from understanding the implications of what Shmuel is saying about the soldiers. As mentioned before, Bruno learned that soldiers are powerful and good, and he finds himself having to consider a different take on reality, one that feels dangerous and unpleasant. 

“‘And what reason did he give, might I ask,’ continued Father, ‘for leaving Germany at the moment of her greatest glory and her most vital need, when it is incumbent upon all of us to play our part in the national revival? Was he tubercular?’

Lieutenant Kotler stared at Father, confused. ‘I beg your pardon?’ he asked.” 

Boyne infuses the conversation between Father and young Lieutenant Kotler—who is, although unlikeable, now put on the spot for the beliefs of his own father—with an atmosphere of danger and fear. Even through Bruno does not understand the full implications of the conversations, Boyne structures the dialogue in such a way as to give the reader a clear idea that Kotler’s father was against Nazism and has left the country for neutral Switzerland at the outbreak of World War II. Readers understand from Father’s cold and superior tone that this will decide Lieutenant Kotler fate—alongside the fact that the young man is becoming intimate with Bruno’s mother—and brings to mind the idea of the ‘sins of the father’ being passed onto their sons. It also foreshadows Bruno’s death as a symbolic consequence of his father’s actions. 

“‘I don’t know why you’re so anxious to come across here anyway,’ said Shmuel. ‘It’s not very nice.’

‘You haven’t tried living in my house,’ said Bruno. ‘For one thing it doesn’t have five floors, only three. How can anyone live in so small a space as that?’ He’d forgotten Shmuel’s story about the eleven people all living in the same room together before they had come to Out-With, including the boy Luka who kept hitting him even when he did nothing wrong.” 

The author uses Bruno’s privileged position in the world and his youthful lack of understanding as a leitmotif through the novel to underscore the horrors of reality. Bruno’s desire to see the inside of the camp is a product of his boredom and his inquisitive spirit; despite Shmuel’s vaguely terrifying stories, Bruno focuses on his own desires. As a typical child, Bruno perceives his own reality as being the only possible reality, and fails to grasp the warning of Shmuel’s imprisoned existence. 

“‘And yesterday he told me that his grandfather hasn’t been seen for days and no one knows where he is and whenever he asks his father about him he starts crying and hugs him so hard that he’s worried he’s going to squeeze him to death.’

Bruno got to the end of his sentence and realized that his voice had gone very quiet. These were things that Shmuel had told him, but for some reason he hadn’t really understood at the time how sad that must have made his friend.” 

Bruno finds a way to talk about Shmuel to his sister by pretending he is his imaginary friend. Boyne uses this as a metaphor for the terrible truth that for most Germans, Jews really do not exist as human beings, and therefore Shmuel is, to a certain extent¸ imaginary. Additionally, only as Bruno repeats what Shmuel told him about his father does he begin to realize the suggestion behind the story: Perhaps he does not understand that Shmuel’s grandfather is dead, but he understands missing people he loves, and this makes him sad. Bruno learns to connect with Shmuel’s life by reflecting it through a prism of his own experiences. 

“Sometimes he brought more bread and cheese with him to give to Shmuel, and from time to time he even managed to hide a piece of chocolate cake in his pocket, but the walk from the house to the place in the fence where the two boys met was a long one and sometimes Bruno got hungry on the way and found that one bite of the cake would lead to another, and that in turn led to another, and by the time there was only one mouthful left he knew it would be wrong to give that to Shmuel because it would only tease his appetite and not satisfy it.” 

Even though Bruno is a good boy who cares for his friend, sometimes he will eat the food he sneaks out of the house for Shmuel, without thinking about the fact that Shmuel is dying of hunger—simply because he does not understand that this is happening. Bruno, as most boys in his situation would, fails to think beyond the basic needs and ideas of a young peer, and he falls prey to his simple desires. This is what, ultimately, leads to his death: the very fact that he is an ordinary, curious boy. In this passage, Boyne again underlines the senselessness and terror of war. 

“The boy stared at the food in his hand for a moment and then looked up at Bruno with wide and grateful but terrified eyes. He threw one more glance in the direction of the door and then seemed to make a decision, because he thrust all three slices into his mouth in one go and gobbled them down in twenty seconds flat.” 

The scene where Shmuel comes to Bruno’s house to clean the tiny glasses because he has tiny hands is terrifying on its own. This quote emphasizes another element of horror: Shmuel is so starved and weak that even his realistic fear of being caught cannot prevent him from taking food from Bruno. Boyne’s description of how he “thrusts’ three slices of meat into his mouth is deeply sad because it speaks volumes about the boy’s desperation. 

“His stomach churned inside him and he thought for a moment that he was going to be sick. He had never felt so ashamed in his life; he had never imagined that he could behave so cruelly. He wondered how a boy who thought he was a good person really could act in such a cowardly way towards a friend.” 

Bruno’s fear in front of Lieutenant Kotler is understandable—so is his weakness as he fails to protect his friend, because he is just a small boy. However, the shame he feels shows that Bruno is maturing and developing allegiances that are not the product of his father’s desires. However, his values and the idea of honor is a representation of his education and upbringing, and through this Boyne shows that there are elements of positive thinking within everyone, regardless of what horrors they willingly commit. 

 “‘I don’t understand why we’re not allowed on the other side of it. What’s so wrong with us that we can’t go over there and play?’

Gretel stared at him and then suddenly started laughing, only stopping when she saw that Bruno was being perfectly serious.” 

Bruno’s simple, child logic prevents him from developing ideological thinking that recognizes sides and opposites. His natural instinct as a child as well as his strict upbringing lead him to presume there must be something he has done to exclude himself from the forbidden place. Gretel’s laughter shows what a difference several years make, as she is aware of the divides between her family and Jews. 

“‘Papa,’ said Shmuel. ‘We can’t find him.’

‘Can’t find him? That’s very odd. You mean he’s lost?’

‘I suppose so,’ said Shmuel. ‘He was here on Monday and then he went on work duty with some other men and none of them have come back.’

‘And hasn’t he written you a letter?’ asked Bruno. ‘Or left a note to say when he’ll be coming back?’

‘No,’ said Shmuel.” 

The conversation between two boys illuminates starkly the difference of their circumstance: Shmuel is saddened yet resigned, aware of too many similar incidents to hold much hope for his father’s return. Bruno, on the other hand, does not grasp the immensity of the implications at all; his asking about a letter or a note comes from his understanding of his world, and the gulf between the two boys, although seemingly a short distance separated by a wire, is much deeper than that. 

“Shmuel turned just as Bruno applied the finishing touch to his costume, placing the striped cloth cap on his head. Shmuel blinked and shook his head. It was quite extraordinary. If it wasn’t for the fact that Bruno was nowhere near as skinny as the boys on his side of the fence, and not quite so pale either, it would have been difficult to tell them apart. It was almost (Shmuel thought) as if they were all exactly the same really.” 

This is one of the key passages in the novel: Shmuel, forced by circumstances to develop more maturity and understanding of the world and its cruelties, notices that there is no difference between Bruno and himself—or between any two boys really. The author uses this realization to emphasize the meaninglessness of war and divisions. On some level, Bruno understands the same thing because he treats Shmuel as his equal, but he is unaware of the associations that their similarities and apparent differences introduce into the reality of their existences. 

“And then the room went very dark and somehow, despite the chaos that followed, Bruno found that he was still holding Shmuel’s hand in his own and nothing in the world would have persuaded him to let it go.”

The boys’ first prolonged touch becomes their last symbolic embrace as they face death. In death, they instinctively comfort each other through sharing how they feel about one another. Through this image, the author also underscores the leitmotif of the two boys representing two sides of the same entity. They have crossed the boundary that separated them, and they symbolically merge into one through death. This also reminds readers of the meaningless nature of divisions and false differences.