The Zone of Interest and Perpetrator Fiction

The idea is to put ourselves in a villain's shoes and realize how terrible we can all really be. But then what?

As a teenager, my mom used to treat me to a manicure if I promised to stop biting my nails. I bit them as soon as I could fit a sliver of nail under my teeth. I bit them even with the polish meant to taste like gasoline. I bit them until they bled.

When I could manage to restrain myself for a short while, my mom would take me to see the Hungarian lady w…