A nonfiction book offers a meticulous account of the assassination of a prominent Socialist by right-wing terrorists during the Nazi occupation of France.

Once France’s Third Republic was replaced by an authoritarian Vichy Regime, the future prospects of Marx Dormoy seemed inauspicious. He was a famous French Socialist politician who vehemently opposed an appeasement with the Germans. He also waged a relentless and ultimately successful takedown of the “Comité secret d’action révolutionnaire,” colloquially known as the Cagoule, right-wing extremists who supported the replacement of the republic with a Mussolini-style Fascist regime. Dormoy was arrested and confined to the town of Montélimar in 1941 by dint of an order signed by Maréchal Philippe Pétain. Then on July 26 of that year, Dormoy was assassinated—a powerful bomb was planted in his hotel room. Brunelle and Finley-Croswhite provide a dizzyingly painstaking investigation of the crime and its perpetrators, demonstrating conclusively that it was executed by members of the Cagoule and likely had support from high-ranking officials within the Vichy government. The authors limn a remarkably precise anatomy of the “politically dangerous” police investigation that ensued as well as a lucid and moving synopsis of Dormoy’s courageously patriotic life, which ended with an “ignominious demise.”

At the heart of this gripping historical study is a portrait of a frighteningly divided France beset by political polarization, a nation that continued to struggle with those fissures after the war. Dormoy’s “life, death, and legacy is also the story of the struggle over the ways in which French people chose to remember, or forget, the last decade of the feeble Third Republic and the terrible war years as they sought to build a new France after the Liberation, a France that, it must be remembered, exonerated many, if not most, for their wartime crimes.” In fact, even the erection of a statue of Dormoy in Montluçon years later proved controversial. The same France that could not bring all of the politician’s murderers to justice found that it could not fully grapple with the meaning of his life: “Dormoy was largely forgotten by 1950 because France needed to recover from the trauma of the war and construct a consensus about French identity that required a selective amnesia about the troubled 1930s and the war years. The very existence of a French ‘civil war’ needed to be elided from historical memory in order to avoid the same conflicts that rent France before the war from breaking out again once peace in Europe had been restored.” As impressive as the account of Dormoy’s death and the portrait of his life are, the intellectual backbone of this marvelously edifying book remains the nuanced articulation of France’s identity crisis, one not resolved but rather repressed in the wake of its wartime trauma. At some points, readers may feel buried under a pile of minutiae—the authors spare no details, often packaged within long, cascading paragraphs. But this is a minor quibble—this magisterial study deserves and amply repays readers’ patient labors.

A thrilling work of historical scholarship, thoughtful and scrupulous.