Described as 'a Francophile in German occupied Paris' he worked for the German Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Hartlaub disappeared at the end of the war never to be seen again.

This is a collection of diaristic impressions of the city written in 1941 that he left behind, and it is clear that had he continued to write he would have had quite a reputation by now, instead of hardly been known.

These writings will stir nostalgia in anyone who knows Paris, they are vivid and true, even after 82 years. He captures a city that despite occupation presents its normality.

The book is a description of place, and the diversity of people who are residing there when he is. It is rich in description, with no 'I', so at some stage description starts to feel relentless, and while I read over a third in one sitting, I had to pace myself for the rest. It should be noted that he did not edit the work, and may have changed it were he aware it was publishable.

The final part of the book describes the disintegration of the outgoing occupying Ministries.

Relentless it may become, but there is some exquisite writing here.

I have visited Paris a couple of times a decade since my late teens, and many memories were evoked as I started to read.

What I also thought about, and suspect he intended is to perceive how despite war, one might experience some kind of normality, and to wonder at that possibility. ( )