In the forum that follows, we may feel disconcerted while moving from article to article and site to site-after all, what could a wax figure of Gustave Eiffel, bullet holes in a church wall, or a museum logo of a poppy have in common? In the first piece, Vanessa Schwartz takes us on a visit to the Musee Gre'vin of late nineteenth-century Paris, where she offers us a view of the uncanny wax figures and of the entrepreneurs behind the scenes. Moving to post-World War II France, Sarah Farmer guides us through the preserved ruins of Oradour-sur-Glane, where inJune 1944 the Nazis brutally killed 642 inhabitants and subsequently burned the town to the ground. Finally, Daniel Sherman presents us with the opportunity to study the workings of three French war museums-all built in the last thirty years, and each dedicated to one of the two world wars. The incongruities among these articles are readily apparent: the enclosed museums juxtaposed with an open-air memorial; the former seemingly artificially constituted, the latter meant to remain just as it was left. We might be led to ponder how the tragic features of the Oradour ruins relate to the entertaining aspects of the Musee Gre'vin. Moving from article to article we also sense shifts in emphasis between current and historical events: Schwartz highlights the Musee Grevin's fascination with the present, whereas Farmer and Sherman pose questions about the function of memory. Furthermore, these accounts feature a broad range of organizers and people who have enthusiastically promoted these projects. In Schwartz's article there are the businessmen, who promoted contemporary Parisian life, democracy, and their pocketbooks; in Farmer's the survivors
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