My thanks to Pushkin Press for a review copy of this book via Edelweiss.
A harrowing tale of the Second World War, of a time when Finland was allied with Nazi Germany but one that covers issues of identity, nationhood, and belonging which remain tenuous, unresolved and relevant even unto the present, Land of Snow and Ashes (2022) by Petra Rautiainen was published in Finnish in 2020 and in this translation by David Hackston in 2022 by Pushkin Press.
Land of Snow and Ashes is a story told in two timelines, separated by a few years—one in the midst of the war in 1944 and the other beginning just a few years later in 1947—the first spreads out over the course of that year while the second progresses over a few years. The 1944 timeline is told in the first-person voice of a young Finnish interpreter and guard, whose name we gradually learn (Väinö Remes) posted at a Nazi camp near Lake Inari, in the form of entries in his diary. In these we trace his everyday duties—from escorting prisoners to different worksites to interviews and much else, as also his interest in and relationship with a bloodletter Saara working at the camp. This is a time when Finland was not only allied with Germany but the aim to create a Greater Finland dominated.
In the second timeline, in 1947 Inkeri Linqvist, a photographer and journalist, arrives at a Samí village, ostensibly to report on the rebuilding of a land that has been all but destroyed by war. But she has another motive—to find her husband, Kaarlo who disappeared during the war. In the village she soon befriends a Samí elder Piera and his granddaughter Bigga Marja, the latter developing an interest in photography and over time becoming a sort of assistant to Inkeri, learning to take pictures and the various elements that go into it.
As the two narratives proceed, gradually small bits and pieces of information are revealed—indicating links between the two, but not really connecting all together till the end—in that sense following a ‘mystery’ pattern. But more importantly in the events of the two storylines, slowly also come to light the horrors of the camps, both activities that are occurring on the surface and those beneath, in the service of eugenics and racial profiling studies carried out as much in Finland as by the Nazis. And while the camps may have been disbanded (rather almost destroyed) after the war, the goals (creating a Finnish identity) and accompanying exploitation of the Samí people continue as Inkeri (and us readers) shockingly discover. Though the novel unfolds entirely in the historical context, the translator David Hackston’s enlightening afterword helps understand how these themes continue to hold relevance in the present.
Land of Snow and Ashes is not an easy to read novel but certainly a very relevant one. The book touches on aspects of the Second World War—as it unfolded in Finland (again Hackston’s helpful afterwords helps us understand the three broad phases it can be classed in)—and the complex relationship between the dominant Finnish and Samí peoples/cultures with attempts at assimilation in both seemingly benign as well as more shocking ways. These were topics I was ignorant of (a key reason why I chose to read the book), and reading this book has made me want to learn more (also of Finnish history generally). In both narratives, alongside what is occurring before our eyes, we are also aware of something just beneath the surface, hints of which we get off and on, all of them together making up the full picture. There are some graphic scenes, a couple of which were especially upsetting but things which need to be known all the same. (On a personal note, for some reason when I downloaded this book, while I knew and chose the book because of its subject matter, I had it in my mind that this was a Pushkin Children’s imprint and would thus be a YA book. When I started reading, therefore, I was taken aback by its darkness, and only then thought to check again).
Among the books around World War II that I have read so far, this is probably the only one (so far as I can remember) which touches on the impact of the camps on those in-charge. They may have been those who revelled in the atrocities they meted out, but there were also those who had to cope with and come to terms with what they had to do—substance abuse was one of the ways out, writing (even if they couldn’t really write) another. Remes for instance seems to at least in a vague way support or at least not oppose the Greater Finland agenda, but he is uncomfortable with a lot of what he sees at the camp, much of this having its impact on him as well.
By bringing to light the exploitation of the Samí peoples and attempts at imposition of Finnish language and culture, the book also highlights questions of culture, language and identity and their place in the conception of nationhood. Aspects significant not only in the Finnish context but equally in other parts of the world.
The landscape likewise is snowy and stark, but amidst it is also some beauty—a leaf or flower peeping out, the majestic reindeer—but their beauty must exist alongside the realities of life in such a space.
While there is much that is bleak, heartbreaking and agonising, there is also some hope and light—light being relevant to Inkeri’s personal timeline too; vital for her photography and something that also causes her trouble as one sees—towards the end answers do emerge, though unlike a ‘mystery’ novel, everything does not neatly tie up. This is after all real life, with things one must accept never knowing and others which one must bear in mind and face so as to at least try to reach some semblance of the facades of civilisation and respect for life that we claim to live by.