The Wax Child

by Olga Ravn, Martin Aitken (Translator)

From the internationally celebrated author of The Employees and My Work comesan extraordinary, haunting tale of witchcraft and persecution.

In seventeenth-century Denmark, unmarried noblewoman Christenze Kruckow and several other women are accused of witchcraft. They are rumoured to be possessed by the Devil, who comes to them in the form of a tall, headless man and gives them dark powers. It is said they perform unchristian acts and can steal people's happiness, cause pestilence, illness, or even death. And once the rumour of witchcraft takes hold, they are all in danger of the stake.

Narrated by a wax doll created by Christenze one dark night in 1620, The Wax Child is an unsettling, dizzying horror story about brutality and power, nature and witchcraft, set in the fragile communities of pre-modern Europe.

Deeply researched and steeped in visceral, atmospheric detail, The Wax Child is based on a series of infamous witchcraft trials that took place in Northern Jutland. Full of lush, vivid storytelling and alarmingly rich imagination, Olga Ravn weaves in quotes from original sources, such as letters, court documents, magic spells, and Scandinavian grimoires.




 

Genres: Horror, Historical Fiction, Fiction, Historical, Witches, Fantasy, Denmark

213 pages, Kindle Edition

First published September 20, 2023

About the author

Olga Sofia Ravn is a Danish poet and novelist. Initially she published poetry which was acclaimed by the critics, as was her first novel Celestine. She is also a translator and has worked as a literary critic for Politiken and several other Danish publications.

Reviews

[Alwynne · Rating 4 out of 5]

An arresting act of remembrance, Olga Ravn’s demanding novel builds on a lifelong fascination with witches; and developed out of a collaborative, theatrical work Hex. Ravn’s idiosyncratic piece highlights too her background as a poet. The setting’s Denmark in the early 1600s during the transition to a more austere Lutheran, Protestant society. A place in which the ‘old ways’ of the ‘cunning folk’ centred on folk magic and popular superstition are being systematically eradicated. A process concretised through the legislation and policies of Christian IV then king of Denmark and Norway. Seen from this perspective, the Danish witch hunts of the era were a particularly brutal method of modernisation through social and cultural cleansing. Although her central characters are actual women who were executed for the crime of witchcraft, Ravn jettisons the frameworks of standard historical fiction. Her story-telling is closer to a resurrection, a reclamation of lost traditions: systems of thought that represented particular ways of connecting to the world, to the very earth itself. In keeping with this approach, extracts from spells taken from grimoires and Nordic folklore - tracked down over five years of background research - are scattered throughout.

Ravn’s narrative draws on concepts of image magic, specifically the creation of waxen effigies sometimes known as voodoo dolls – or in England poppets. Her narrator is one of these figures, a child moulded from wax by Danish noblewoman Christenze Krukow. Krukow is now long dead but the wax child has endured, buried in the soil, somehow all-seeing, related to everything around it. The child’s mannered, near-archaic voice reflects its origins; its curious view of events its existence as part object, part organism. This hybrid status has enabled it to commune both with objects and with living things from birds to flowers and trees, its recreation of the past blends the archaeological with the organic. It’s a breathless, driven creature, sometimes restrained, sometimes feverishly spewing out words. All of which are intended to bear witness to Christenze’s fate.

Ravn’s sinuous sentences, her rhythmic prose sometimes border on abstraction, projecting a kind of mythic quality, as if stemming from sacred texts. Yet there are stretches of relative lucidity, in which the wax child recounts the known facts of Christenze’s everyday life. A life which tied her to a community of women in Aalborg, labouring women who wove, baked and sewed. Women who also performed ‘white magic’ rituals as a means of celebration and of control. The women explore their sexuality; they confront their dissatisfactions with their gendered roles. Issues particularly pertinent for Christenze who finds femininity constricting to the point of suffocation. She’s refused to marry, and loves only women. All of which makes her, and her companions, a threat to heteronormative conventions, notions of the centrality of church and the nuclear family.

Ravn’s hypnotic narrative’s grounded in Nordic history – she made extensive use of historical consultants. But she’s also intent on addressing various lacunae. Tellingly, there’s no archive of known witch burnings, details of the women involved are scant and scattered: though there are extensive lists of expenses from the carpenters employed to make the ladders to which women were tied before being dropped into bonfires to the wages paid to the men who fanned the flames. But the historical is intermingled with dense, intensely-lyrical passages featuring visceral images of nature. References to poems from writers like Gillian Clarke and Anne Carson underline Ravn’s interest in divisions being carved out between nature and culture. Admittedly that’s a tried-and-tested binary but Ravn makes effective use of it to comment not just on Christenze’s time but our own. In detailing Christenze’s experiences and the wax child’s entangled embodiment, Ravn goes beyond the history of the witch hunts, the role of Protestantism and the rise of capitalism, to mount a critique of the present. The scapegoating, the damaging cultural expectations that, albeit mutated, have persisted. She’s also clearly invested in highlighting how these divides, certain institutions and ideologies, have contributed to the ecological devastation that’s taken place in the centuries since the wax child was first sculpted. Translated by Martin Aitken.

Thanks to Netgalley and publisher Penguin/Viking for an ARC

[Marcus (Lit_Laugh_Luv) · Rating 3 out of 5]

Read #1 of the 2026 International Booker Prize

A very solid read! This was more abstract than I anticipated, but well written. I never quite acclimated to Ravn's prose, and some imagery was beyond me, but this makes sense as several passages incorporate historic spells and theological texts from centuries ago.

The Wax Child is told by an omniscient wax child created by Christenze Kruckow, who was accused of witchcraft and later killed. The story is based on real events (with some creative liberties taken) and follows Christenze and her 'coven' in the years leading up to her execution. I wasn't familiar with the historical context for the book, but it was accessible and interesting! Ravn recounts the circumstances that led to the accusation that these women were witches, notably their independence and refusal to submit to men in the ways expected of them.

I found it interesting how Ravn deliberately obfuscates reality and time, and leaves the reader at a loss as to what these women were truly up to. Their accusations are, of course, rooted in control and power, but explored with more nuance and complexity than just that. Ravn touches upon religion, class, and sexuality that don't justify their accusations by any means, but help rationalize the historical context the book takes place. The final chapters where the women are sentenced to death are powerful and haunting.

Ravn clearly did a lot of research in writing this book, and it shows. The abstraction and prose get away from itself a bit too much for my tastes as a reader, but when the mist clears and we are privy to the facts, it makes for a compelling read.

Thank you to Book*Hug Press for the advanced reader copy - one of my favourite independent presses!
---
trying desperately to salvage this dreadful month of reading :)

[Brooke · Rating 5 out of 5]

Riveting and Jaw-dropping
I love prose that comes alive and takes on a life of its own, providing more meaning and context to the story than mere words alone can do. The prose itself here takes on a form, and it brings my mind great pleasure to discern meaning from the atmosphere that is being skillfully created. In this story, Olga Ravn is using a lot of symbols of the earth as flesh ("the tongue of the sky"), mouths opening and consuming, mouths not able to speak, and Night as a savior and a comfort. This imagery is all richly in tune with native folklore and witchery.

The prose itself pulsates like a mouth opening and closing, each pulsation gaping a little wider into madness. Repetition is used very intentionally, lightly and first, and increasingly powerful at the end. It's brilliant and I would read again! It really weaves a lot of history and witchy themes very powerfully. There was more than one moment at the end that just made my jaw drop with surprise at how the author crafted this and put it together. Really amazing. Recommend!

"I was an instrument."
"My wax mouth cannot be opened."
"I am an internal event."

"I was a wax child. I was the servant of my mistress. I was a dragon doll, I was a walnut dropped by a magpie from a great height, the shell split into two as I struck the ground, exposing the kernel."

Earth as flesh. Night as saviour. Mouths consuming

⚫️"There is pleasure in the hollow of the night, where a person may be inside the navel of the world."

I had written a lot more and it disappeared somehow. I'm sad about it. I'm going to have to revisit this one ❤️

[casey neko · Rating 5 out of 5]

god forbid a girl has interests

[Henk · Rating 4 out of 5]

Longlisted for the International Booker Prize 2026!
In her classical style, animating inanimate objects and questioning what living means, Olga Ravn brings the horrors of the witch trials in north Jutland to live
Time turns sleepily with corpses in its coat.

Witchcraft accusations and trials in Denmark of 1615, narrated by a wax voodoo doll; this is an as unique take as International Booker nominated The Employees, but diving into the past instead of the future.

Time too has a shadow a character notes and using the wax doll the years of prosecution are tied together in a lyrical manner.
The manner of narration, at times full of “someone said” and “and they read” feels like a recitation.

North Jutland is a deeply conformist and patriarchal society and single or widowed women are denied agency even by married women through witchcraft accusations.
Torture and burning of witches is harrowingly described while spells from historical books and records intersperse the narrative. I was excited to see how Ravn retains an unique voice while showing a real societal engagement and questioning attitude to class, gender and power.

Quotes::
I love life. It belongs to me.

She has been utterly alone in this world and to a certain point this was a delight

And they read: where their are women there are many witches

Do you think I am stupid? When there are so many women together it can only be in devilish pursuits.

We is us.

Even nobility doesn’t protect against jealous accusations and assertion of royal power and signalling of religious piety and fever.

[emily · Rating 4 out of 5]

‘How do I know this? The dead fly in the window-sill told me, the grass-pollen as it puffed into the air told me, a brass candlestick told me, a speck of grit. Everything remembers and speaks to those who will listen.’

Might have rounded this off to a full five if I had read something else by the writer before this. To put simply, if I was made familiar with Ravn's writing style (before reading this), I feel I would be able to 'like' this even more than I do. Not to say that it was hard to read, but it takes a bit of extra effort and perhaps a bit of 'getting used to'. (For a desperate/dire lack of better descriptions) Rambunctiously poetic, unforgivingly sharp, every line cuts like glass, beautiful. In every way an extremely well-written piece. Might add a bit more thoughts later, maybe.

‘Were I not a wax child, I think I could have been a wound. But preferably I would be a root vegetable in warm soil, a wild carrot or an onion without eyes. Why should a wax child be kept alive—By strength of Aalborg's colours and smells. I might almost become a daisy of blood—dissolved into a fabric of woven moiré—hen soaked with blood, headless. Someone's saying the same prayer over and over. I am a dull knife.’

‘It is in the depths of her vessels, in that which we call horn and hair. In the smallest sequences it resides there still. I don't need to tell so much, I am merely a reminder, a down that settles upon your brow, and I am with you.’

The play with 'fire' (analogies, imagery, etc.) strangely reminds me of Dicken's Hard Times — that bit with Louisa gazing into the fire and then more (if you know, you know). And the witchy context/historical references (and/or inspiration) in Ravn's work reminds me of the essays (and thoughts) of Ugrešić's A Muzzle for Witches. In any case, reading this makes me very curious and keen to read her other work, in particular My Work and The Employees .

‘The reason is behind us. All reasons are behind us. The fire has its own reason. The future is already visible. It is over there by the exits. I want you to look directly into the fire—You will hear me in the night under the breath—You will hear me when spring turns to summer, and there in the light an opening occurs, Elisabeth, will you come with us to the Lucia fest, Elisabeth? Magic is possible. Laughter is possible. There is a way out, Elisabeth, there is a way out…’

[Georgina · Rating 1 out of 5]

whilst an interesting enough concept, the wax child fell rather short for me. lyrical prose entwined with abstract vignettes inspires a lot of difficulty when trying to lose oneself inside a novel’s pages. based on specific cases of the early 17th-century witch trials, this novel is told from the perspective of a wax doll that is buried underground, recounting day after day the tale of the innocent women who were kiIIed for their supposed black magic. it felt totally impersonal, and for that reason suffered in its ability to be compelling. the ending itself deserves a single star, but as for the rest of the book, i am left feeling rather uninspired.
i am begging current authors to stop the trend of throwing out quotation marks when their characters are speaking. there is no depth to the writing; monotone and incredibly one-dimensional. although littered with paragraphs, each page was like trying to read storyline and meaning through a thick smog of flowery language. i really hoped that this would be better.

[Gumble's Yard - Golden Reviewer · Rating 4 out of 5]

Longlisted for the International Booker Prize

No one listens to a thing I say. Although I speak all the time. I am a lump of beeswax shaped in the image of a newborn child. I am no more than what may melt and stiffen again in the night. No one comes to me here. I lie and speak with my eyes. My family no longer exists, or rather: my kind of family, a very large one, no longer exists. And still I speak. A steady stream of words that slip from me without cessation, and I too am inclined to think it is often an embarrassment. But I cannot stop it, my mouth will not desist, though I don't know how the words get out - I have no larynx, no vocal band, no tongue. But who does it interest? Children should be seen and not heard, as they say. But then I've already told you, I am not a child, only something that looks like one. Something that longs to be one. I'm an internal event. By nature unfinished, or condemned to anticipation, awaiting my mistress, who since she is dead comes no more. Now I speak again to the soil that covers my face. Now I speak again to the semi-carbonised, the soon composted apple someone tossed, in the place where I lay.

Olga Ravn, a Danish poet and novelist, came to first Anglophone and then international (with translations into 23 languages) attention after seemingly sui generis part science-fiction, part art-exhibition companion piece “The Employees” (originally published 2018 and translated to English by Martin Aitken and published by Lolli Editions in 2021) was shortlisted for the 2021 International Booker Prize.

Her reputation in her native Denmark was more based on her hybrid, meta and autofictional Lessing-inspired multi-notebook “My Work” (originally published in 2020, translated into English by Sophia Hersi Smith and Jennifer Russell and published by Lolli Editions in 2023) which even lead to her meeting with the Health Minister as part of a campaign for better treatment for postpartum depression.

This is her third novel (originally published 2023 and translated to English by Martin Aitken where it is to be published by Viking Books in November 2025) – originally a theatre production/performance art piece “Hex” (continuing the rather mutti-form inspiration for her novels).

Inspired by detailed research into Danish witchcraft trials of the early 17th century in the midst of the near 60 year rule of Christian IV, it tells a fictionalised account of the activities of the real life noblewoman Christenze Kruckow – starting with her escape from witchcraft allegations in the Nakkebølle Affair (bought by a woman who had a series of stillbirths), and then her involvement with a group of non-Nobel women who were collectively accused in the Alborg witch trials over a number of years (a time period condensed here), this time at the urging of the King – the others in the book ending up being burnt and Christenze beheaded.

Two aspects make this tale (which otherwise would perhaps only be unusual for its Danish setting – novels on US and UK witchcraft trials fairly common) distinctive.

The first is the titular narrator of the novel – fashioned in the novel’s opening pages and for much of the novel buried – but able both to sense what is going on not just nearby but further afield (drawing on animals and objects as a source – for example in one passage – a dead fly, gross pollen, a candlestick and a speck of grit) and to tell it to us.

The language in the novel at times takes on an almost physical and earthy (sometimes literally) quality and is made more effective by the use of repetition of section starting phrases such as “I was a wax child.”, “And I was in the kings ear, and I was in the king's mouth” and “How do I know this? The X told me”

One other aspect I liked was the way the novel captures a point in history as the old folkloric world clashes with the newly modern world, the Danish King grows and expands his Kingdom – but both give rise to misogynistic suspicion cloaked in a fake garment of religiosity.

Now and then, I turned my back on progress. Everything throws, when entering the path of the sun, a shadow. Time too has its shadow, the ages of man and what the poets call the spirit of the age have shadows, and I saw them hurry across Aalborg, in the great perspective of things a large and a small town all at once, a pearlescent kitchen midden. The passage of the spirit of the age is long and laborious, some four hundred years I have seen, and now it turns onto its opposite side, the great serpent in its corridor-shaped nest, the times are changing. The wheel revolves, old ideas are swept away and trampled underfoot, soon you shall all be crushed.

The second and I have to say not to either my liking or engagement – and rather marring the novel for me - is the insertion of a series of spells the author gathered in her research over a longer period (1400-1900).

Perhaps the most impressive element of this novel is how Ravn has written a third memorably distinctive (from other authors) novel but with each being very different from each other. I would not be surprised to see this as a contender for translated fiction prizes in 2026.

My thanks to Viking, Penguin Random House for a paper ARC.

I am a wax child, secreted from the scaly glands of the honeybee's abdomen, of rose hip, propolis, pollen, dread, quince, longing, yeast dough, age, and ever young, with infinity's secret in my folds.

[Isa · Rating 4 out of 5]

What an odd little book!!!! Obssessed!!!! When it comes to witches and women performing any sort of ritual I am reading it, and this was such an interesting book exploring the real life events of witch trials in Denmark. The language and perspective of the books draws you in and cultivates the most dark and uneasy atmosphere, blending aspects of witchcraft and religion in the most perfect way. Would love to read more from Ravn, and just weird books like this as the seasons change <3

[Paul Fulcher · Rating 4 out of 5]

Longlisted for the 2026 International Booker Prize

Finalist for the Barrios Book in Translation Prize.

And I, I am a wax child, secreted from the scaly glands of the honeybee's abdomen, of rose hip, propolis, pollen, dread, quince, longing, yeast dough, age, and ever young, with infinity's secret in my folds.

The Wax Child (2025) is Martin Aitken's translation of Voksbarnet (2023) by Olga Ravn, itself building on the theatre production Hex for which she wrote the script.

The novel is based on the real-life figure of Christenze Kruckow who was executed in 1621, having been twice accused of witchcraft, first in Nakkebølle in the late 16th century and later at Aalborg around 1620. As a nobelwoman, Kruckow's sentence was for decapitation by sword, but the other women involved in the two incidents - Olga Ravn records at least 8 in her afterword - were burned to death. Ravn, as she explains, condenses the events into a short period in the novel.

Kruckow and the other women were caught up more in inter-family rivalries and witchcraft hysteria created by the new King Christian IV of Denmark than anything else, although Ravn has Christenze engaging in practices that offend the local priest, the text including spells that Ravn has found from the archives dating from 1400 to 1900. Although the gathering together of independent women (Kruckow does not marry) causes as much consternation.

And the novel is rather less conventional than my description might imply, as it is navigated by the wax child, a figurine created by Christenze, which accompanies her and the women, but is also able to tell the story through its ability to perceive its wider surroundings and communicate with animals as well as other inanimate objects:

Occasionally, a girl would come too and lift the lid of the chest to peep inside when no one was looking. Are you a real live child? she whispered then. But I could not answer, could not even blink, and the chest would then be closed again, and because I could see nothing but the lid, I decided to perceive my surroundings with my back, and with my back I heard and saw the Limfjord, the quaysides and the market place. I saw the mound with its gallows dripping with rain. I saw a servant girl drown her newborn in secret. I saw the sand of the execution place absorb the blood from the beheading. I saw a breastbone at the bottom of a tub of ale. I saw a goldsmith melt down stolen goods. I saw two children freeze to death on the street. I saw the ships come in with oranges, marzipan and blue raisins. I saw resentments old and new, saw pearls as on a string be spilled upon the cobbles.

This is a sensous and vivid text filled with spells, sounds, sights and scents.

Ravn worked with perfumier Lisbeth Jacobsen to create a scent for the book ("I’m interested in exploring how my own artistic practice can liberate itself from specific genres such as literature or visual art. For example, at the moment I’m developing a scent for my forthcoming book with perfumer Lisbeth Jacobsen, and we’ve spoken a lot about chalk, beeswax and apples") - the resulting perfume, made in solid wax, was a finalist for the Premio Aromata.

A sample of the text:

The forest reached from Aalborg, northwards towards Ugilt, its fringes no more than scrub, a thickening denseness of lingonberry and juniper. The low-slung oakwoods ran east as far as to the sea, clambering across the moor and shaping shelters underneath its crowns, where a comb of horn was pushed up from the ground with an inscription concerning head lice; where apeared a jug, as round as a cabbage, pearls enough to fill a hand, of Roman glass, and further south-east not far from Gjerrild, in the dolmen there, numerous precious metals, small parts, coins and fragments of jewellery, silver and bronze. Jutland - the land itself a wax child, filled with horn and hair, with human remains, human tools, flutes and whistles carved in bone, and the wind became audible unto itself as it passed through them. In the dungeon Dorte whistled too. They took turns to sit by the door, where outside air might waft the face and be breathed, and Dorte whistled in reply to the howl of the wind. She thought about a marzipan mouth that had lain among others on a dish at the grocer's store, and smacked her lips to recall it, then turned to the others and said, I will get out of here, I have a plan, my son-in-law will come to my rescue, I cannot imagine otherwise.

Alwynne's brilliant review captures the novel far better than I've been able to do. A 2026 International Booker contender.

Thanks to the publisher via Netgalley for the ARC.

Booker judges' citation

‘Set during the witch trials of 17th-century Denmark, this unforgettable novel by Olga Ravn is compulsively readable yet anything but biddable – shadowy lives are revealed in shadowy prose, largely from the perspective of an object, a wax doll belonging to a group of women who exploit magic as a means of survival. Martin Aitken has leant his pitch-perfect ear to the period language and poetry of the Danish original. Every word in The Wax Child feels spontaneous, every scene alive, as if Ravn and Aitken had lived and breathed its mysterious atmospheres in order to deliver them to us. It is hardly an exaggeration to say that this haunting, gripping and singular historical novel cast a spell on us.’

[Alan · Rating 1 out of 5]

A work that goes on and on and on. Form without much content.

About 80-85% into this book, I had a thought. This experience happening to me, right now, as I am reading these words… this must be the helpless, frustrating dull ache that 16 and 17 year-olds feel when forced to read a book without soul that does little to grab them, hook them. This must be what it feels like to watch words flow in front of you down a page, as your attention jumps to five different locations and three different time periods. Words are crashing over you, happening to you. You are not in the story. It’s not even a story. There is no point of view to cherish, no fable, certainly no place to land. It’s just words. And it’s just another chunk of your life gone.

[Maxwell]

Strange, poetic. A bit difficult to fully understand at times but intriguing nonetheless. I liked the historical setting and the conversations between the women. It had unsettling moments, but overall was a bit same-y throughout. I don't know that it added much to the 'witch hunt' literary sub-genre other than being told from a unique POV.

[Sadie Hartmann · Rating 4 out of 5]

Title/Author: The Wax Child by Olga Ravn
Format Read: Physical hardcover/owned/UK edition
Pub date: September 2025
Publisher: Viking/Penguin ltd
Page Count: 176 pages
Affiliate Link: https://bookshop.org/a/7576/978081123...
Synopsis: "In seventeenth-century Denmark, Christenze Kruckow, an unmarried noblewoman, is accused of witchcraft. She and several other women are rumored to be possessed by the Devil, who has come to them in the form of a tall headless man and gives them dark powers: they can steal people's happiness, they have performed unchristian acts, and they can cause pestilence or even death. They are all in danger of the stake. The Wax Child, narrated by a wax doll created by Christenze, is an unsettling horror story about brutality and power, nature and witchcraft, set in the fragile communities of premodern Europe."--NoveList
Recommended for readers who enjoy:
- 17th Century/Historical Fiction/Denmark/Translated
- Creepy Dolls/Magic/Folklore
-Childrearing/Birth/Midwives/Stillborn
- Witches/Witchcraft/Accusations
- Queer/Sapphic/Female Friendships
- Revenge/Feminist
- Religion/Sin/Misogyny
-Noble birth vs. Poor/Indentured Servants
__
Minor complaints:
- The prose is sparse and somewhat lyrical but it grew on me
- It's not exactly linear and a bit meandering--very abstract but again, this grew on me and I did not resent it. I just love historical horror and fictionalizations of harrowing, real events.

Final recommendation: ”Where there are many women, there are many witches.”
How many stories must be told about what happens when our patriarchal systems begin to feel threatened by women who are exercising their power or their gifts or enjoying life too much (or not enough) or demanding agency and autonomy? It seems like the lessons are never learned. Oh, how horrible that men cannot merely allow women to exist if they aren't centering men in all things. How dare women come together and help each other give birth. How suspect it is that they enjoy any kind of community with other women. Patriarchal systems hate to see women getting too much out of this world--they must be kept low, they must be trapped under the thumb of oppression, they must be kept in a state of dependency OTHERWISE, they might realize they don't have a need for man. They are perfectly capable of independence and if THAT happens, how will man fulfill all their needs. Who will watch the children or clean the house or prepare meals and then serve their men in bed? This book is another reminder of how men live in a state of perpetual fear of losing their power over women and becoming equal to or less than--and we could never have that. Rather, we should accuse women of something punishable by death--better a dead woman than one too full of her own choices.


Comps: The Last Witch by C. J. Cooke, Something in the Walls by Daisy Pearce, The Witch of Willow Sound by Vanessa F. Penney

[Doug · Rating 3 out of 5]

In some ways this was a minor disappointment - Ravn is primarily a poet and some of her prose here was difficult to follow and a bit diffuse/abstract for my taste. While the story was interesting and at times compelling - it's essentially also one we have heard many times before, and the only really unusual aspect is that it takes place in Denmark in the late 17th/early 18th century (based on factual events and incorporating some historical documents), and that the narrator is the titular figure, a doll fashioned by the MC, who is accused of witchcraft.

One thing I COULD have done without is an entire section in which Ravn apes the repetitive structure popularized by Ducks, Newburyport - there with the phase 'The fact is...'; here with 'Somebody said...'.

Had it been any longer, I probably would have gotten bored, but it can be read in only a couple hours - the book is printed with a LOT of white space, so is in actuality a novella of little more than 100 pages.

One thing that I, in particular, found interesting, is that the novel sprang from a production Ravn wrote for the Royal Danish Theatre called HEX, upon the same subject - and the pictures from same are really fascinating: https://freyasifhestnes.com/Hex-The-R...

[pelekas · Rating 4 out of 5]

Skaičiau antrą kartą, tai nesiplėsiu, bet šį sykį nustebino, kaip knyga gerėja! Paprastai būna stipri pradžia ar du trečdaliai, o paskui autorius išsikvepia, pavargsta ar pasimeta. Čia atvirkščiai – stipriausias paskutinis trečdalis. Žavi autorės vaizduotė, knygos chtoniškumas, optiniai triukai, pavyzdžiui, gintariniame rupūžės vyzdyje atsispindinti mėlyna jūra ir gudobelių žiedai. Kartais trupučiuką pabosdavo vaško lėlės „džiazas“, bet nieko tokio: labai skalsus tekstas. Šaunus Aurelijos vertimas. :)

[Emmeline · Rating 4 out of 5]

This feels like a sort of companion to two other books I read this year, I Gave You Eyes and You Looked Toward Darkness, and We Are Green and Trembling. All by women authors who seem to hover in a not-entirely literary state, crossing over a little into art and poetry, and presenting lyrical and sometimes grotesque accounts of their countries’ pasts.

The Wax Child was the most successful of the three. It’s historical setting felt the most accurate, although none of the books aspires to the accuracy of historical fiction. But my favourite element in Ravn’s novel was the use of the thoroughly uncanny narrator, a wax baby, or doll, or totem of some sort, who speaks in a gentle, repetitive sing-song. We never learn exactly what the wax child is for or what happens to it after, but in a book about the historic injustices of executing women for witchcraft, I appreciated this otherworldly narrator who hints that witchcraft may be real.

[Stacia · Rating 5 out of 5]

Euphonious. Intoxicating. Breathtaking. It's a cascade, a torrent, a crash of words & sounds & feelings & smells & senses. It might not be for everyone but it was definitely for me. Loved it.

[Tijana]

Voštano dete je stvarno sjajno napisano i bogato začudnim slikama - ne iznenađuje podatak da je Olga Ravn prvenstveno pesnikinja; to da je roman (sic!) nastao na osnovu teksta za pozorišnu predstavu ne prepoznaje se po strukturi već po specifičnoj usmenosti pojedinih delova.

Sižejno, međutim... neću reći da podbacuje jer su sižei svih iole realističnih istorijskih pripovesti o suđenjima vešticama tužno isti (uapse ih, muče ih pa ih spale) ALI zaista je jako teško sačuvati i jare i pare i prikazati svoje likove kao žene > s izraženom moći delovanja (agency) >> s natprirodnim moćima koje koriste da bi naškodile drugima i upropastile im život >>> samosvesne lezbejke >>>> članice srećne male tajne prijateljske zajednice (sve to odjednom) i onda samo preći na program hapšenje-mučenje-spaljivanje. Naročito jer se onda - pogotovu ako pokušamo da postavimo stvar u društvene i moralne okvire toga doba - dolazi do zaključka da su osuđene s pravom?... Hoću reći, prvi segment nam opisuje da veštica (putem ovog voštanog deteta iz naslova) namerno i efikasno baci urok na drugu ženu tako da ona u sledećih desetak godina rodi petnaestoro dece koja su sva ili mrtvorođena ili umru odmah po rođenju?...

Priča se u tom slučaju, naime, pretvara u sasvim drugi narativ koji se više ne bavi kolektivnom psihozom niti sindromom žrtvenog jarca u društvima u krizi nego suđenjem (surovim, štaviše varvarskim, ali) pravom krivcu za realan zločin. Ponavljam ovo već drugi put za tri pasusa jer stvarno nisam sigurna kako se autorka prema tome određuje i da li je uopšte svesna implikacija - ako je hipotetički argument da nema tog zločina koji bi zasluživao takav proces i tu kaznu, to je postavka s kojom bih (odavde iz 2026. godine) mogla da se složim, ali onda MOŽDA za njega ne treba koristiti primer istorijskih osoba koje - da se pretpostaviti, takođe odavde iz 2026. godine - nisu zaista bile veštice niti sejale smrt i bolest oko sebe već su na lomaču otišle nevine.

(Pravi zaključak je svakako da sam ja ovom tekstu pristupila s pogrešne strane - ne kao lirskoj evokaciji veštičje i ne-ljudske, homunkulske svesti nego kao moralnoj raspravi, da pismeni zadatak iz srpskog ocenjujem kao kontrolni iz istorije. Povuklo me.)

[Jonas · Rating 4.25 out of 5]

I listened and read simultaneously. A truly immersive experience. I was transfixed and taken to another time and place. The expected themes of men/women, nature/religion, King/country, those with power/those without, and superstition/knowledge are explored. The Wax Child is a haunting account of events spanning ten years of Danish history. It unfolds as an old country witch story with gorgeous prose and a melodic cadence. It reads like an incantation.

[Lee Klein · Rating 3.5 out of 5]

Generally I was intrigued, liked the look and feel of the book itself (cool cover etc), thought things picked up a bit when centered around the trial, and the execution scenes were vivid and affective. I watched an interview with the author in which she said she tries to write as far from the core or the essence of things as possible, to circumscribe the edge of understanding in a way, and it was helpful to have that in mind while reading this. Expected it to be a little more seasonally appropriate/spooky (read it in late Sept/early Oct) but felt like I didn't engage with it enough to really activate my imagination that way, in that it felt semi-academic or my reading experience seemed semi-anesthetized by historical aestheticization. Felt like I held it at a distance, in part because of the conceit of the title's fantastic narrator, in part because of the structure (short texts with plentiful white space, some scenes, mostly summary, interspersed with spells), in part because of the semi-precious particularity of the details, in part because of the near total lack of characterization beyond the names, in part because of humorlessness too. About a quarter through the book I was counting the number of pages I had left -- seemed longer than 172 pages, despite white space. I imagine this would appeal to readers who savor the details and get steamed about witch trials more than I might -- not that I'm in favor of burning women suspected of witchcraft ha ha ha but the subject seems like an obvious target for sympathetic re-imagining. Definitely want to try out some of these spells but not sure I can get my hands on a stone from the stomach of a swallow to cure eyesight issues etc.

[Darryl Suite · Rating 4 out of 5]

“I am a child shaped in beeswax. I am made like a doll the size of a human forearm. They have given me hair and fingernail parings from the person who is to suffer.”


So opens this strange tale. This is Ravn’s fictionalization of a very real historical event: the witch trials in Denmark during the seventeenth century. It is written in a lyrical style, sometimes abstract, sometimes detailed, always poetic. Told through the eyes of an unusual narrator: a wax doll created by a noblewoman named Christenze. Very early on, we are told that Christenze will eventually be put on trial for witchcraft, along with other women she holds company with.


Yes, this story is about witchcraft, mob mentality, and mass-hysteria, but it’s also a clever way of addressing universal (and sadly still contemporary) issues: society feeling threatened when women obtain agency & the patriarchy’s continuous paranoia towards women gathering in large groups. “When there are so many women together it can only be in devilish pursuits.”


This story portrays various shades of hypocrisy, not only between genders but class as well. The two most compelling characters are Christenze (the noblewoman) and Klyne (the local priest). It’s fascinating watching how they navigate through the world due to their societal positions, how they view themselves, how their actions are shaped just because of the status they feel they have; how there’s a sense of superiority and self-importance. Both glide around as untouchables and view themselves as almost Christ-like figures; probably why Ravn gave our noblewoman that name and gave Klyne the occupation that he has.


This is quite an engrossing read. I could see some readers not getting on with the fractured style. It takes some time to get used to the pacing, but once it gets to the witch trials themselves, it takes on an extra-hypnotic rhythm. There is a part of me that thinks the gimmick of the wax doll’s narration could’ve been done away with entirely. Jury’s still out on that one.


I didn’t love this as much as THE EMPLOYEES, but I enjoyed it nonetheless. An exciting writer.


“I love life. It belongs to me.”

[Viktorija| Laisvalaikis su knyga · Rating 3 out of 5]

"Jei būčiau turėjusi akis, galinčias verkti, būčiau verkusi. Bet esu tik lėlė, vaško vaikelis. Nepajudinu rankų. Mano vaško burna neprasižioja. Bet aš vis tiek kalbu. Kaip tai įmanoma? Puikiai moku giedoti, lyg paukštis beržo viršūnėje. Aš visai nerūpiu mirusiesiems. Beveik nerūpėjau ir jiems gyviems esant. Savo poniai tebuvau įrankis. Sukurtas stiprinti, sukurtas kenkti. Aš tokia kvaila. Kiekvieną vakarą pasakoju žemei tą pačią istoriją."

Dar nebuvo tekę sutikti tokio pasakotojo, kuris knygoje prabiltų lėlės lūpomis. Ji viską pasakojo ką matė, ką jautė, kaip jai atrodė. Veiksmas vyko gūdžiais 1620 metais Danijoje, kai taip buvo lengva apkaltinti žmones nebūtais dalykais. Rašymo stilius neįprastas, kurį po truputį pavyko prisijaukinti. Autorė atliko didelį darbą - nemažai laiko rinko informaciją apie tuos laikus, skaitė tautosaką, o tai buvo panaudota kūrinyje. Man pritrūko tik šiek tiek iki gerumo.

Vertinu: 3,5⭐️/ iš 5⭐️

[Mel || melodrama_musings · Rating 4 out of 5]

Equal parts a haunting testament to bearing witness and a defiant act of remembrance. Ravn is playing with form and convention here in a way I greatly admired even when I wasn’t entirely sure what was happening.

The term “novel” feels like an inadequate and very loose approximation of what The Wax Child is. It is a diary, a grimoire, a scathing condemnation of history’s cycle of powerful men who punish and destroy, all told through the otherworldly lens of Danish folklore. I feel spellbound and devastated, mourning the loss of women so violently taken over 400 years ago.

Christenze and her child of wax will be sure to linger with me for some time.

Many thanks to book*hug press for providing me with an advanced copy in exchange for an honest review.

[kaz.brekkers.future.wife · Rating 2 out of 5]

go girl give us nothing

[Sara Brygger · Rating 5 out of 5]

Olga Ravns sprog rammer altid ude i randområderne af, hvad jeg egentlig tror er muligt at sanse. Det er en virkelig svær historie at fortælle, for den findes allerede og vi kender den alle sammen. Men vi kender ikke til disse sanser og dette sprog i denne dukke og på den måde skaber hun sine egne universer.

[Brandy Leigh · Rating 2.5 out of 5]

The premise is compelling: a wax child, tied to a woman accused of witchcraft, silently enduring the passage of time.

The story weaves themes of the harsh realities of being a woman who doesn’t conform and society’s obsession with control.

Unfortunately, the execution this didn’t fully land for me.

If you like poetic prose and speculative slants on history then this might work better for you.

[Jenni · Rating 4 out of 5]

Jenni… The Wax Child is a 4‑star, fog‑drenched, witch‑trial fever dream that feels like someone bottled seventeenth‑century paranoia, lit it on fire, and let the smoke curl into your lungs. It’s historical fiction, yes — but it reads with the creeping dread of folk horror, the kind that settles in your bones and whispers, “This could happen to anyone unlucky enough to be a woman in the wrong century.”

Christenze Kruckow is the perfect tragic center: noble, educated, composed… and absolutely doomed the second someone decides her existence is inconvenient. The book doesn’t sensationalize her — it studies her, the way fear studies a target. Everywhere she goes, rumors cling to her like damp wool. Illness. Death. Animals behaving strangely. A wax child — the kind of accusation that sounds ridiculous until you remember people were executed for less.

The atmosphere is immaculate. Aalborg is rendered in saltwater, mist, and suspicion — a place where the air itself feels like it’s watching you. Ravn’s prose is sharp and eerie, the kind that makes you feel like you’re reading by candlelight even if you’re sitting in full sun. It’s not loud horror; it’s the quiet, suffocating kind where society itself is the monster.

And the book understands something essential:
witch trials weren’t about magic — they were about power, fear, and the terrifying ease with which a community can turn on a woman.

If there’s a reason it lands at 4 stars instead of higher, it’s that the narrative sometimes feels intentionally distant — like you’re watching Christenze through a veil rather than standing beside her. It fits the theme, but it keeps you at arm’s length emotionally.

Still, it’s haunting, elegant, and unsettling in that “history is the real horror” way.

[Giedrė Ir Viskas · Rating 5 out of 5]

Štai antroji į pačių geriausių 2025-ais skaitytų knygų gretas. Nuostabus stilius, vertėja pasidarbavo meistriškai. Skaitydama jaučiau skausmą, nepamenu, kad kūrinys būtų sukėlęs tiek emocijų- liūdesį dėl beprasmiškai nutrauktų moterų gyvenimų, šlykščioje praėjusių amžių tamsumoje.

[Ivana Nešić]

Paušalna izjava:
Kad god čitam/gledam nešto na temu progona veštica imam osećaj da neka dimenzija nedostaje.

Zato to ni ne radim, ovde sam se zaletela jer me zanimalo šta je voštano dete, zvučalo mi je kul, čuj voštano dete! A voštano dete jeste kul, kao magijska i magična lutka od voska i kose/noktiju osobe kojoj se želi zlo, ali ovde nama vrši funkciju sveznajućeg i potpuno nemoćnog pripovedača i to mu ga je to.
Ali ništa mi to nije dovoljno. Ostatak je kao žene se okupljaju, žene rade stvari, žene završe u zatvoru žene bivaju pogubljene, a pošto je istorijski događaj u pitanju nije baš ni pitanje. Autorka je mnogo lepo istražila i istoriju i antropologiju i sve, i baš imam osećaj da je samu sebe zarobila u okvir koji je tako konstruisala i da priča nije uspela da prodiše, a opet kažem, jako često imam taj utisak kad su veštice u pitanju.
Tako da je stvar verovatno u stilu ali tu ne mogu da sudim, kao i uvek u prevodu na engleski sve postaje nekako zaravnjeno. Ali brate mili šta moderna književnost više ima protiv navodnika, prže mi se oči ko mekike, ta interpunkcija je ipak izmišljena da nam bude lakše da se razumemo. (Čitala sam mnogo knjiga kojima nekorišćenje intepunkcije nisam zamerila jer ima neku funkciju, ovde je samo ne vidim, možda je do mene.)

[Carl (Hiatus. IBB in Jan) · Rating 4 out of 5]

"I am a child shaped in beeswax. I am made like a doll the size of human forearm. They have given me hair and fingernail parings from the person who is to suffer."

The Wax Child takes the form of an amorphous, eerie, haunting narrative, summoning the hazy testament from a figurine, a poppet made of beeswax, a silent witness to her mistress’s beheading, evoking the witch-craze hive-mind that consumed far too many women on the pyres of Denmark and leaving their stories to smolder in memory.

Olga Ravn’s novel unfolds through the fragmentary recollections of the wax child, an interesting choice for a narrator, recounting the accounts of her mistress and maker, Christenze Krukow, and her persecution for witchcraft alongside her companions in this outstanding historical novel. Christenze is a noble woman, sent to Nakkebølle on the Isle of Funen as Anne Bille’s lady-in-waiting. She is forward-thinking and strong, with a masculine attitude. Still a virgin and unwed, Christenze remains for many years as Anne’s companion, witnessing her mistress’s dozens of natural abortions and stillborn babies, each contraction draining her life’s essence. Under cover of darkness, Christenze makes a wax doll, our narrator, having many secret ingredients; one of which is a lock of hair from the lord of the house, Eile.

The making of wax dolls was common practice, and they were usually used for play or to find love. In Ravn’s hands, this child's toy transforms into a ritual of torture. Many cultures made their dolls from parts of their bodies woven into them, then pierced, sliced, and dismembered them, believing the effects would be passed on to the cursed person. In The Wax Child, the poppet feels otherworldly and a vessel for evil intent. Christenze’s scheme soon becomes clear as she offers her mistress goat milk laced with a spider, causing her soon-to-be stillborn child to regurgitate some foul devilry. Anne had no doubt she had been cursed and that someone had ushered the devil into their house. What follows is the persecution and sentencing of Osse, a servant girl, and Christenze, followed by Christenze’s flight to Aalborg, where she finds love and friendship, until it ends.

This novel draws inspiration from Nordic folklore and an extensive collection of historical documents concerning European witch trials, specifically in Funen, Aalborg, and North Jutland between 1556 and 1621. The depth of research and care that Ravn brings is reflected throughout the novel. What sets The Wax Child apart from other witch-trial narratives is its structure, presented as snippets and fragments interwoven with spells extracted from grimoires, creating hazy, gothic prose. She is not interested in describing the torture scenes in great detail, and instead focus on the mindset, poverty and social status. Ravn is a skilled writer, and her use of repetition creates a sense of cacophony, bewilderment, and unison. This deliberate omniscience deepens the novel’s dreamlike quality but occasionally disconnected me from the narrative. From blossoms to fish and even birds, her imagery is both lush and evocative.

The Wax Child is a bold historical account of the Danish witch trials in Funen, Aalborg, and Jutland between 1556 and 1621 that highlights female solidarity and communal resilience in the face of injustice. Through its fragmentary, lyrical prose and the poppet’s haunting testimony, Ravn evokes nature and collective defiance that sustained women under threat. In its eerie elegance, this novel affirms that bearing witness is the most potent form of remembrance.

My thanks to the publisher, Penguin General UK, for this eARC in exchange for my honest review. All thoughts and opinions expressed are my own.