David Rosenberg's brief stop on his road from Auschwitz was the small seaside town of Södertälje, 30 kilometres south of Stockholm, where he pitched up in 1947. He had arrived in Sweden in 1945, in his early twenties, one of 10,000 refugees taken in by the Swedish government immediately after the war.
By Andrés Neuman (Trans: Nick Caistor and Lorenza Garcia) Pushkin Press, £8.99
The son of Argentine émigré musicians, Andrés Neuman was born in Buenos Aires but now lives in Spain. He has written five novels, four books of short stories and this is his third book to be translated.
Three years ago on an especially wet afternoon in Norfolk I was sat around with two cousins. We were laughing and joking about occupations that were going out of fashion. Someone mentioned Nazi hunting and a light went on in my brain. I may even have raised a finger as if to say, "watch this space".
"Hunger," says novelist Adele Geras, evoking life in besieged Jerusalem in 1948. "That's my main memory." Just four then, she vividly remembers sitting in the shelter at night hearing the guns, and later the victory parade.
Recalling the shortage of food, she describes how her uncle once managed to get his hands on a tin of sardines and sat all the cousins around their grandmother's big table.