Edmund de Waal didn't set out to write a bestseller. He's a potter. He spends his days making white porcelain vessels that look like they're shivering on a shelf. But then he inherited a collection of 264 Japanese netsuke—tiny, intricate carvings of rats, monks, and woodcutters—and everything changed. Honestly, The Hare with the Amber Eyes is basically a detective story where the detective is a ceramicist and the clues are smaller than a matchbox. It's about how a family can go from owning half of Europe's wealth to owning nothing but what fits in a pocket.
It's a heavy book, but it doesn't feel like one. You've got the Ephrussi family, this massive Jewish dynasty that was once as famous as the Rothschilds. They were everywhere—Odessa, Paris, Vienna. They bought art. They built palaces. And then the Nazis came. Most people think of history in terms of maps and treaties, but de Waal shows us history through the palms of hands. If you've ever held an object that belonged to a grandparent and felt a weird jolt of connection, you'll get why this book hit so hard when it came out in 2010.
The Paris Years: Charles and the Impressionists
The story starts in 1870s Paris with Charles Ephrussi. He was a dandy. He was the guy who probably inspired Marcel Proust’s character Swann in In Search of Lost Time. Charles was the one who first bought the netsuke during the "Japonisme" craze. He kept them in a black lacquer vitrine in his study. Imagine him, dressed in velvet, showing off a tiny ivory hare with amber eyes to a room full of painters like Renoir and Degas.
Actually, the hare is literally in a painting. Or sort of. Renoir’s Luncheon of the Boating Party features a man in a top hat in the back—that’s Charles. It’s wild to think that this tiny carving, this "hare with the amber eyes," was sitting in a room while the foundations of modern art were being laid. Charles didn't just buy art; he lived it. But the book isn't just about glamour. It's about the subtle, creeping antisemitism of Parisian society. One day you're the toast of the town; the next, you're the "outsider" because of the Dreyfus Affair.
Moving to Vienna: The Palais Ephrussi
The netsuke eventually move to Vienna as a wedding gift for Viktor Ephrussi. This is where the story gets darker. The Palais Ephrussi on the Ringstrasse was a monument to success. It was huge. It was cold. It was filled with gold leaf and servants. The netsuke were moved to the dressing room of Viktor’s wife, Emmy.
This is a crucial detail: the children were allowed to play with them. While the adults were busy being "important" in the salons, the kids were on the floor with the tiny ivory dogs and tigers.
Then 1938 happened. The Anschluss.
The Nazis didn't just take the money; they took the dignity. They walked into the Palais and started stealing everything. Tapestries, paintings, the library. The Ephrussi family was erased from their own home. It’s gut-wrenching. De Waal describes the scene where the Gestapo is throwing things out of windows. You feel the physical loss. It's not just "property." It's the texture of a life being sanded down to nothing.
How the Netsuke Survived
This is the part that sounds like a movie but is 100% true. Anna, the family’s loyal maid, saved the netsuke. While the Nazis were busy looting the big stuff—the silver, the Old Masters—Anna was slipping the tiny carvings into her pockets, two or three at a time. She hid them in her straw mattress. Think about that for a second. The entire Ephrussi fortune was gone, but 264 tiny objects survived because a woman stayed brave in a house full of monsters.
- The Survival: Anna kept them until the war ended.
- The Return: When Elisabeth (Edmund’s grandmother) returned to Vienna, Anna gave them back.
- The Journey: They went to Tokyo with Ignace (Edmund’s great-uncle) and finally to London.
It’s sort of poetic that the netsuke ended up back in Japan for a while. They went home, even if the family couldn't.
Why We Still Care About the Hare with the Amber Eyes
So, why does this book still matter? Why is it still sitting on "Must Read" lists fifteen years later?
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Because it’s about the "afterlife" of things. We live in a world of disposable junk. Most of what we buy today will be in a landfill in five years. But The Hare with the Amber Eyes reminds us that objects carry memories. They are witnesses. The hare saw the lights of Paris, the darkness of the Gestapo, the neon of Tokyo, and the rain of London.
De Waal’s writing style is what makes it work. He doesn't write like a historian. He writes like a guy who understands how clay feels. He uses words like "tumble" and "tactile." He makes you want to reach out and touch the ivory (even though it's ethically complicated now). He’s honest about his family's flaws, too. They weren't perfect. They were immensely wealthy and sometimes out of touch. That nuance is what gives the book its "human quality."
The Cultural Impact and the Auction
In 2018, there was a huge moment for fans of the book. The Jewish Museum in Vienna held an exhibition of the Ephrussi archives. Later, many of the netsuke were auctioned at Sotheby’s to raise money for the Refugee Council.
Some people were upset. They thought the collection should stay together. But de Waal argued that these objects were meant to be handled, to be moved, to be part of people's lives—not just stuck behind glass forever. The hare itself, however, remains with the family. It’s the anchor.
There's something deeply moving about the fact that the money from these objects—saved by a woman who protected her employers' legacy—is now helping modern refugees. It brings the story full circle. It’s not just a "holocaust memoir." It’s a book about displacement and what we carry with us when we are forced to leave.
Addressing the Critics
Not everyone loves the book. Some historians find de Waal’s prose a bit too "precious" or "flowery." Others point out that focusing on a super-wealthy family can skew our perception of the Jewish experience during the war. Most people didn't have a Palais or a loyal maid with a straw mattress.
That’s a fair point. But de Waal isn't claiming to tell everyone's story. He's telling his story. And by focusing so intensely on these 264 objects, he actually makes the scale of the tragedy feel more personal. It’s hard to wrap your head around six million. It’s much easier to wrap your head around one man losing his library or one woman hiding a tiny wooden rat in her pocket.
Actionable Ways to Experience the Story
If you haven't read the book, start there. But don't just read it—look at it.
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- Visit the Palais Ephrussi: If you’re ever in Vienna, you can still see the building on the Universitätsring. It’s a bank now, mostly, but the exterior still screams "Old World Power."
- Check out the Netsuke at the V&A: The Victoria and Albert Museum in London has an incredible collection of netsuke. You can see for yourself how small and detailed they really are.
- Explore the Digital Archive: The Jewish Museum Vienna has digitized much of the Ephrussi family history. It’s a rabbit hole (pun intended) worth falling down.
- Read de Waal’s other work: If you like his vibe, The White Road is his "sequel" of sorts, focused on the history of porcelain.
Final Thoughts on a Tiny Hare
The real takeaway from The Hare with the Amber Eyes is that nothing is permanent, but everything leaves a trace. The Ephrussi palaces are gone or repurposed. The money is spent. The people are passed. But the hare is still there. It’s still cool to the touch. It still has those little amber eyes that seem to be looking at something just out of frame.
History isn't just dates in a textbook. It's the dent in a floorboard. It's the way a certain piece of ivory feels in your pocket. It's the stories we choose to keep telling.
To truly understand the weight of this story, you have to stop looking at the "big" history and start looking at the small stuff. Pick up a copy of the book, find a quiet corner, and prepare to feel a lot of things about a tiny piece of wood. It's worth the emotional heavy lifting.
If you want to dive deeper into the visual history, search for the "Ephrussi Family" archives online. Seeing the faces of Charles, Viktor, and Emmy makes the narrative even more haunting. You can also look up Edmund de Waal’s own ceramic work to see how the "whiteness" and "emptiness" he describes in his family history translates into his actual art. It's all connected. The clay, the ivory, the memory.