INTERVIEW: Joanna Rubin Dranger, Author of Remember Us to Life: A Graphic Memoir

Interview By Hillary Moses Mohaupt

Joanna Rubin Dranger’s graphic memoir Remember Us to Life combines personal reflection, archival research, photographs and other ephemera, oral history, and other forms of research and storytelling, and the result is a sobering, stunning chronicle of her Jewish family past and present. She sets out not only to record her family’s migration from Poland and Russia to Sweden, but also to recover the names and stories of family members who were lost in the Holocaust. She wrestles with the responsibilities of remembering, especially in a world where antisemitism, racism, and other forms of hate still run rampant.

Joanna has been awarded the Stora Svenska Illustrator Prize, the Swedish Series Academy’s Adamson statuette, and the Nordic Council’s Literature Prize. She was the first female professor of illustration at Konstfack University of Arts, Crafts, and Design. She lives in Stockholm with her husband and three children. I had the opportunity to connect with her by email to learn more about her writing process and research, and how books like hers can help foster empathy and connection.

Hillary Moses Mohaupt: Thank you so much for this book, which really puts to use the strengths of its form as a graphic memoir. Your drawings allow you to insert the voices and photographs of your family members, as well as illustrations and copies of newspaper articles and other archival documentation. The book brings people to life. We see their faces, hear their voices, and read how newspapers first reported on the pogroms, raids, and systematic loss of rights and life. Can you talk a little bit about the power of graphic forms for memoir?

Joanna Rubin Dranger: I personally love the graphic memoir and the graphic novel format — it’s a unique storytelling language that allows for the seamless combination of images and text, making it particularly well suited for conveying complex narratives. The power of images is that they can communicate emotions and nuances that words alone sometimes cannot. Some visuals are direct and striking, capable of expressing complicated emotions in an instant.

In Remember Us to Life, certain images needed to be actual photographs of artifacts—like the Swedish Nazi registry cards documenting Jews, which were discovered hidden behind a wall after the war. These historical traces carry a weight that only a real photograph can convey.

At the same time, illustrations allow me to create connections and contrasts within the story. For example, a small Polish Jewish child introduced earlier in the book later reappears, juxtaposed with a passage about how the Swedish press was almost unanimous in its opposition to accepting 500 Polish Jewish children. These children were seen as “Eastern Jews” and were deemed a potential threat, with claims that their presence could provoke antisemitism in Sweden. This interplay between visual storytelling and historical documentation enhances the emotional impact, making the past both immediate and personal.

HMM: Your book is such a beautiful witness of your family’s life before, during, and after the Holocaust, and it also offers an important narrative about the impacts of antisemitism and hate carried out at a catastrophic scale. How did you prepare yourself to write this book? 

JRD: When I first began working on this book, I had no clear sense of where it would lead. I actually started with what I believed to be a surprisingly positive story — my grandmother’s parents’ immigration to Sweden in 1906 after fleeing violent pogroms in Białystok. They settled in the southern Swedish countryside, built a prosperous life, and in our family their story had always been told almost like a love story between my grandmother’s family and Sweden.

But as I delved deeper, I began to realize there were missing pieces, unanswered questions—and missing people! There were gaps in the narrative and relatives no one had spoken about. Once I started searching for answers, I couldn’t stop. Every clue led to another, revealing hidden histories and forgotten lives. This book is not only an exploration of my own family’s past but also a larger story about Jewish lives and about Sweden’s role during the war, about silence, memory, and the shadows of antisemitism.

HMM: You chronicle some of the research in this book, both archival and oral histories, in the book itself, and the emotional stress involved with comparing and verifying your family stories, when you knew them, with records at places like Yad Vashem. Can you share a bit about your research process?

JRD: The research process was both deeply rewarding and emotionally exhausting. I started with what I thought I knew—family stories, photos, recorded interviews, anecdotes, and scattered pieces of information passed down through generations. But I quickly realized that there were gaps, contradictions, and, most painfully, forgotten names.

Archival research became a crucial part of my journey. I searched records at places like Yad Vashem, the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, and Swedish archives, cross-referencing information to verify details. Sometimes I would follow long research paths only to find no answers at all; other times, I uncovered facts that completely reshaped my understanding of my family’s past.

Digitization has transformed this kind of research. The vast online archives of Yad Vashem, for example, allowed me to access documents that, in the past, would have required traveling across the world to find. Being able to search by name, place, or even a fragment of information enabled me to piece together connections in ways that would have been unthinkable just a few decades ago. However, researching Jewish relatives often comes with additional challenges, especially due to variations in spelling and transliterations from Yiddish, Hebrew, or other languages into English and other alphabets.

Oral history was just as important. Speaking with relatives was transformative. Sometimes, it wasn’t that the information had been lost—it was simply that no one had ever asked the questions before. Other times, my questions triggered memories or prompted someone to finally retrieve a long-forgotten box of photographs or documents. One of the most emotional moments in my research was discovering two albums filled with photographs of my grandfather’s family—people I had previously only known from a single blurry image. Suddenly, they came alive.

We also know more today than we have before. There is now a wealth of information available about Sweden’s actions during the war. In the bibliography of my book, one can see that many important books and films have been released in the past two decades, shedding new light on this history that has been hidden or downplayed.

Ultimately, the research process reinforced for me how fragile memory can be — but also how powerful it is. The more I uncovered, the more I saw how history isn’t just something in the past. It lives in the present, shaping identities and influencing how we understand ourselves and our place in the world.

HMM: In one section of the book, you recount going to a confirmation class as a child and share an antisemitic incident with the priest. You describe this incident as being a gateway to understanding your own Jewish identity, your “in-betweenness.” You write, “Unlike boxes, identities can be as spacious as you like.” How do you think a book like yours might help readers navigate “in-betweenness” and perhaps understand their own identities a little bit better?

JRD: Since the book was published in Sweden and Norway, I’ve been deeply moved by the responses from readers who have reached out to share what it means to them. Many express a strong connection to the feeling of “in-betweenness.”

It’s incredibly powerful to see your own experience reflected in art and literature. When something you’ve always felt but never had the words to articulate is suddenly made visible, it becomes real, validated, and part of a larger narrative. Recognition is essential—it helps us understand ourselves and makes us feel both empowered and less alone.

HMM: There’s a section in your book called “The Family That Disappeared,” and it is, for the most part, a dialogue between you and your mother’s cousin, Azriela, about the people in your grandfather’s family, previously unknown to you, who were lost in the Holocaust. It’s a pivotal conversation in the book, because it allows your family’s past to feel very present and modern in a way it had not before.

This revelation, in turn, spurs you (and me, the reader) to wonder (and grieve) that it could be possible that the Holocaust could have happened in the twentieth century, not very long ago at all. Did writing this book change how you think about the past and its impact on the present and the future?

JRD: Before I began this journey, history — especially my own family’s history — felt somewhat distant, like something that had happened long ago and was already settled. But as I uncovered stories, spoke with relatives, and pieced together fragments of lives that had been lost, I began to understand how deeply the past lingers, shaping identities, relationships, and the way we perceive the world today.

My meeting with Azriela was a turning point. Before, I had only seen a few blurry old photographs of my grandfather’s family—people who had been referred to as “disappeared.” But now, seeing two full albums filled with photographs where they were very much alive, living modern life to the fullest, made the Holocaust feel frighteningly close. It was no longer just a historical event but something deeply personal, that had directly shaped my family.

The realization that entire branches of my family tree had been erased by the Nazis, and then forgotten by us, their own relatives, was overwhelming.

What struck me most was how the photographs captured them—happy, well dressed, modern, surrounded by colleagues, friends and family. Ice-skating. Skiing. Rowing boats with friends. Having picnics. It made me acutely aware that those who had been reduced to a word—”disappeared”—had once been as alive as I am today.

This research also deepened my awareness of how history repeats itself. The mechanisms that led to the Holocaust—othering, scapegoating, dehumanization, racism and antisemitism—did not vanish with the end of World War II. They are still at work today. That’s why remembering, telling these stories, and engaging with history is not just about honoring the past; it’s about understanding the present and safeguarding the future.

HMM: You mention briefly at the beginning of this book the concept of tikkun olam (repairing the world). Do you think a book like yours can be part of repairing the world?

JRD: Yes, I do believe books can play a role in repairing the world. Stories have the power to foster understanding, challenge prejudices, and shed light on histories that must not be forgotten. In writing Remember Us to Life, I wanted to bring both my family’s past and the broader history of Jewish life in Sweden and beyond to the forefront—not only as an act of remembrance but also as a way to spark reflection and conversation. If my book creates space for empathy and helps even one person see the past and present more clearly, question injustice, or feel less alone in their own story, then it has, in its own small way, contributed to tikkun olam.

HMM: Towards the end of the book, there’s an exchange between you and your husband about whether anyone will want or be able to read this book. Who do you hope reads it?

JRD: I hope everyone reads it. 🙂 Interestingly, the pages where I express my doubts about whether anyone would want to read this book had an unexpected and moving effect: readers felt compelled to respond. I have received countless letters, postcards, emails, and messages on social media from people sharing how profoundly the book affected them.

HMM: What advice do you have for other writers who are considering writing a book that fuses both history and memoir?

JRD: Writing a book that blends history and memoir is both a responsibility and a challenge. My main advice is to be rigorous in your research — fact-check everything, especially when dealing with sensitive historical events like the Holocaust. Accuracy is essential, not only to honor the truth but also because there will always be those who seek to distort or undermine it. I had the invaluable support of Sweden’s leading historian on the Holocaust, who reviewed the Swedish edition of Remember Us to Life. Having experts verify your work not only strengthens its credibility but also provides reassurance that you are presenting history as accurately as possible.

It’s also important to be mindful of the people whose stories you are telling. My family supported my research, which undoubtedly made the process easier.

I was struck by how my questions — and sometimes returning with new or different ones — brought back memories and led to new discoveries. Sometimes no one had simply ever asked the question before. Other times, a conversation would prompt someone to recall that old box tucked away for decades, waiting for the right moment to resurface.

Another aspects is balancing research with personal narrative—the emotional thread running through the book that makes the past present.

Writing about history, particularly painful history, can be emotionally overwhelming. To manage the emotional toll, I started running early every morning. I felt the weight of these stories and realized that carrying them required care.

HMM: Is there anything I haven’t asked about that you’d like to share?

JRD: One thing I’d like to share is how deeply personal this journey has been — not just in terms of my own family history, but in the way it has connected me with so many others. Since Ihågkom oss till liv (Remember Us to Life) was published, I’ve received messages from readers who have never spoken about their Jewish heritage before, or who have struggled with their own sense of “in-betweenness.” I never expected that my exploration of memory, loss, and identity would resonate so strongly with others, but it has made me realize how universal these themes are.