Wachskind

by Olga Ravn, Alexander Sitzmann (Translator)

Mit ihrem neuen Roman ›Wachskind‹ liefert Ravn eine ungeahnte literarische Perspektive auf die Zeit der europäischen Hexenverbrennungen.
Christence Kruckow, eine unverheiratete Adlige, wird im Dänemark des 17. Jahrhunderts der Hexerei beschuldigt. Ihr und mehreren anderen Frauen wird nachgesagt, sie seien vom Teufel besessen. Dieser sei in Gestalt eines großen kopflosen Mannes zu ihnen gekommen und habe ihnen dunkle Kräfte Sie könnten Menschen ihr Glück rauben, unchristliche Taten begehen und Pest oder Tod verursachen. Dadurch droht ihnen allen der Scheiterhaufen.
Olga Ravn erzählt in ›Wachskind‹ eine beunruhigende Horrorgeschichte über Brutalität und Macht, Natur und Hexerei, die in den fragilen Gemeinschaften des vormodernen Europas spielt. Dabei greift sie neben üppiger Erzählkunst und reicher Fantasie auch auf Originalquellen wie Briefe, Zaubersprüche, Handbücher und Gerichtsdokumente zurück.

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

190 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

[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…’

[Henk · Rating 4 out of 5]

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.

[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. :)

[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⭐️

[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.

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

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 :)

[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.

[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.

[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.

[Paul Fulcher · Rating 4 out of 5]

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.

[Mel || mel.the.mood.reader · 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.

[Eglė Frank · Rating 3 out of 5]

Ką daryti, kai esi poetė, bet nori rašyti ir prozą?

Ką daryti, kai surinkai medžiagą romanui, bet tingi rašyti romaną ar jis tiesiog „nesirašo“?

Ką daryti, kai iki romano tau trūksta mažiausiai spaudos lanko?

Išleisti tokį kūrinį kaip „Vaško lėlė“.

Nei romaną, nei poeziją, fragmentišką, veikėjus ištraukiant, išdaiginant iš nieko, po to, lygiai taip pat be sąžinės graužaties pradanginant, nesistengiant jungti fragmentų istorine gija, žaidžiant prietarais, užkalbėjimais. Iš esmės – žavingas kūrinys, bet perskaičius pusę ir suvokus, kad  viskas ir toliau taip banguos,
linguos, fragmentuosis, o vaško lėlė „nežinos“ to, kuo galbūt nenorėjo ar nematė reikalo pasidomėti kūrinio autorė, kūrinį ramiai grąžini į
biblioteką.

Stipriausia Ravn gebėjimas – kalba išreikšti menkiausius pusniuansius, kurpti sudėtingiausius poetinius mezginius. Autorė tiesiog skonisi kalba, tik kažkuriuo momentu skonėtis lieka viena.

Mąstau, kad su tokia istorine medžiaga mūsų Rasa Aškinytė būtų parašiusi gerą romaną.

P. S. labai gražus lietuviškas viršelis ir maketas.

[Sofie Bech · Rating 4 out of 5]

Et værk til alle med en iboende edgelord tumblr-girl som ikke vil dø. Arthur Miller eat your heart out

[Eglė Davidavičė · Rating 5 out of 5]

Pirmą kartą gyvenime užmezgiau santykį su knyga, tokį, kad net apgalvodavau aplinkybes, kuriomis noriu ją skaityti. Be galo įdomus, gražus, baisus, stiprus tekstas.

‘Nuo atokiausios pastato gegnės kapteli lašas tyliai žolėje tupinčiai kūmutei ant nugaros.’

‘Tebūnie prakeiktas jūsų miestas, jūsų dvarai ir žemės, jūsų laukai ir pievos, tebūnie prakeikti jūsų liežuviai, rankos ir kojos, tebūnie prakeikti jūsų kūnai ir sielos, kol nesuprasite, ką savo artimoms padarėte.’

[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...

[Kulvinskaitė Virginija · Rating 3 out of 5]

Gal labai jau dideli lūkesčiai buvo... Raganos dabar trendas, tai faktas. Labai labai patiko stilius: minimalistinis, bet jusliškas, vizualus, toks kruopštus. Patiko, kad akcentuojami skoniai, vaizdai, mikro detalės, visokios žolelės, šviesos blyksniai, plieninės bangos ir taip toliau. Priminė Vermejerio paveikslus, gal ir ne atsitiktinai, juk tas pats amžius. Tas švytėjimas, bet ir kažkoks atšiaurumas, skurdas. Žinoma, patiko pasakotojos perspektyva: istoriją pasakoja vaškinė lėlė, kuri net iš po žemių ilgisi savo šeimininkės, savo mamos, kuriai tebuvo įrankis. Taip pat autentiški užkalbėjimai. Buvo baisių fragmentų: voras iš kūdikio burnos. Bet pati istorija tarsi neužbaigta ar neišbaigta. Labai norėjau sužinoti daugiau apie tas moteris, apie jų santykius, galų gale apie tai, kodėl jos tapo tuo, kuo tapo. Tačiau vis neapleido jausmas, kad autorė ir pati to nežino, kad jos santykis su veikėjomis, jų išgyvenimais yra tarsi žmogaus, kuris bibliotekoje skaito archyvinę medžiagą, metraščius, bet tarsi ir nelabai supranta, kas ir kodėl ten vyksta. Per didelis atstumas, laiko, mentaliteto distancija.

[Aurelija · Rating 5 out of 5]

Iš vaškinės lėlės (šiauriečių voodoo lėlės atitikmuo) (o kartais ir kitų daiktų ar gyvūnų) perspektyvos papasakota Danijos raganų persekiojimo istorija, paremta tikrais faktais ir tikrais burtais, bet išliekanti smarkia doku-fikcija. Poetiška, bet kartu brutali, šiurpinanti knyga.

Žinoma, kad 85% raganų medžioklių aukų Danijoje buvo moterys, pagrinde netekėjusios, arba susenusios, bevaikės, "funkcijos" gyvenime nebeatliekančios.


O čia tokia nekalta laisvai greituku paversta ištraukėlė:

"Jau tuoj birželis, iš jų vienutės girdėti šūksniai ir kirvio pokšėjimas. Tai stalius, bebaigiantis Maren kopėčias. Jau dvi savaitęs kaip jos nematė. Tada užuodžia dūmus ir pamato Oto Skeelį, skaitantį Maren prisipažinimą. Tada riksmai. Ne. Nenoriu to girdėti. Žmogienos tvaikas. Priešais laužą stovi Karen, laiko mane rankose. Maren pririšta prie kopėčių, o kopėčios įverčiamos į laužą. Bekrisdamos pasisuka taip, kad Maren nukrenta ant nugaros. Karen ant pečių uždėta tėvo ranka. Vasarą jai sueis dešimt. Jos mama kosti. Tada kūnas suglemba, nors ji ir lieka atsimerkusi. Karen stebi, kaip mamos akis tampa keistai oranžinė. O tada nuo karščio susprogsta. Tėvas aikteli. Karen glaudžia mane prie savęs, žiūrėdama į laužą. Ji sako: šūdai myžalai šikna šėtonas šūdai myžalai šikna šėtonas velniava pragaras pragaras pragaras."

[Ann (Inky Labyrinth) · Rating 4 out of 5]

A group of women in 1600s Denmark are accused of being a coven of witches. An omniscient wax doll made by one of the women watches over all and tells their story.

I unexpectedly loved this so much. The prose is some of my favorite out of all 99 books I've read so far this year. "...and the pain I felt was a place, a room I never knew existed" is a line I think about every day.

I will now be reading everything I can from Olga Ravn!

[Guro · Rating 5 out of 5]

Nokre bøker veit du berre frå fyrste side at er bra greier, dei held deg fast som ei skrustikke, som var du sjølv ei heks – presumptivt – i avhøyr i ein dansk kjellar på 1600-talet.

Voksbarnet heldt meg fast frå fyrste svartebokinstruks. Gamal folketru møter kristne, pietistiske ideal og maktkåte embetsmenn, krydra med godt, gamalt kvinnehat. Maren Uthaug møter Tore Renberg møter gamal overtru og trolldom.

Det er rart, det er okkult, det er feministisk og slagkraftig. Det er som om Jon Magne Moi skulle ha fortald historia om Anna Voigt – det hadde sett ut omlag som dette (berre med fleire fotnoter).

Og så språket – SPRÅKET! Ei nynorsk omsetjing som sparkar ifrå seg, som ein smakar på, let rulle på tunga, som ein ordentleg god, mørk kvalitetssjokolade, med eit hint av lakris eller havsalt. Olga Ravn er kan hende eit geni, men det er forsyne meg omsetjar Inger Bråtveit òg.

[Adelė · Rating 5 out of 5]

tikėjausi, kad bus gera, bet vis tiek savo gerumu nustebino. šiurpi brutali istorija ir įstabiai graži kalba. dėkui vertėjai ir leidyklai!

[Asta Sara · Rating 4 out of 5]

Striuka, tačiau labai jau talpi.

16-ojo – raganų, kirvių, liepsnų amžiaus – Danija. Užkariaujamos naujos žemės, mezgami nauji prekybos keliai, kyla kultūros, švietimo pastatai, tačiau kartu – užkariaujamos ir plėšiamos žemės. Toks pat tamsus, priešų ir kaltųjų (ypač dėl savo bėdų) ieškantis, tamsus žmogus. Kaip visada linkęs pyktį nukreipti į silpnesnius, erzinančius kitokius. Išsiskiriančius iš nuolankios, galvas nuleidusios minios. Šiuo atveju – „raganas". Laisvesnės dvasios, tam tikrose situacijose labiau išmanačias moteris. Kurių kaltės įrodymas – vien jau tai, kad susirenka grupėmis (ir visai nesvarbu, kad tiesiog dirbti).

Nes, anot „išmintingosios" demonologijos, moteris – tik piktas gyvūnas, nesugebantis atsispirti velniui ir nuodėmei, likusi viena narstanti tik blogas mintis, o suėjusios į grupę gali tik krėsti blogį – raganauti.

Dar viena skaudi, nusikalstamai žiauri raganų istorija, papasakota nebylios dilbio dydžio vaško lėlės akimis. Panaudojant rečitatyvą, senuosius tikėjimus ir mitologiją. Kraujuojant dėl to, kas vis dar skauda.

Nevalingai lygini su „Slanimo raganomis", nors ir gretinti nėra ko – čia istorija papasakota puikiai – visiškai panardinant į sudėtingą laikmetį ir nesukeliant jokių abejonių nei charakteriais, nei literatūrine, menine verte.

Dar vienas įrodymas, kad gerai knygai nebūtinas nei sudėtingas skaitymas, nei tūkstantis puslapių.

[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.

[Kate O'Shea · Rating 4 out of 5]

3.5

The Wax Child is a historical fiction short novel based on the Aalborg witch trials in Denmark.

The story is told from the point of view of a wax child, fashioned by Christenze (one of the convicted women, who died by beheading due to her noble birth).

Typically there is a lot of obfuscation around what the women were purported to have done. No doubt it was merely because they were women who did not conform to the way men thought they should behave.

The narrative is extremely compacted but the epilogue explains the reasons behind this and gives us the facts behind the story.

An interesting books, which woukd have benefitted (from my point of view) from being a little less compacted in its setting out. It felt very dense and, whilst the story being told from the point of view of the wax child, there was nothing really different between these women's stories and other horrific tales of women being burned for being "witches". More of man's inhumanity to man, as it were.

I would recommend this book as I think it is important for all such stories to be told.

Thankyou to Netgalley and Penguin for the advance review copy.

[Brandy Leigh · Rating 3 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.

[Mina Widding · Rating 4 out of 5]

En bok att läsa i blåkulletider. Det här är så påtagligt här, där häxprocesserna tog så många kvinnors liv (jag bor i Prästmon, Torsåker, finns ett Häxmuseum på Hola folkhögskola om man är intresserad, och en avrättningsplats - Bålberget - att besöka). Jag kan fortfarande inte riktigt greppa det, galenskapen.

Vaxbarnet är berättat genom denna talismans perspektiv. Här skulle det väl ha varit en bjära. Det ger en poetisk, lite surrealistisk ton till det hela, och möjliggör skapandet av en speciell stämning som inte skulle ha varit densamma om det var ett "vanligt" narrativ. Det är berättat som i brottstycken, lite hackvis, kan man säga.
David nämnde Strega i sin recension, och stämningen påminner verkligen om varandra, även om storyn är en annan. Det jag minns av Strega så var det "häxliga" bara en mindre del, men jag kan ju ha läst den med ett annat fokus. Har liksom inte sorterat in den som en "häxbok", kanske för att den också utspelas i mer modern tid (väl?).

[Nina The Wandering Reader · Rating 4 out of 5]

"When you are so many women together, it can only be in devilish pursuits."

[ria · Rating 3 out of 5]

moody and haunting, "the wax child" focuses on the witch trials in denmark at the beginning of the 17th century, told entirely from the perspective of the titular wax child, a sort of doll made of beeswax that's been breathed life into. overall, this sparked my curiosity, and i enjoyed it all the way through. it's very obvious how much care and research olga ravn has put into this small book. i think those who enjoy books that play around with form and narration styles will probably enjoy this.

however, while the choice to tell this story from the perspective of a wax doll is certainly unique, it's also what holds it back. overall, it does read like a sort of folk tale, but everything is retrospective and thus devoid of feeling; the story is being told to us as it has happened, but there's a disconnect from the characters and their circumstances. everything is sort of sacrificed in favour of style over substance. i'm sure this works for some people, but i had wanted something more, especially since this is a setting and context i can't say i get to read much about (maybe by my own fault). i'm not sure if this is a problem of the english translation, or simply the way it's written, but overall it's the main reason why i can't rate this any higher.

again, i think it's a good book overall, and olga ravn is a masterful writer. i'm sure this will find its target audience, and i think it's a perfect read for this time of year especially. i just wanted a little bit more from it.

thank you netgalley and penguin UK/viking books for this eARC in exchange for an honest review.

[Nailya · Rating 2 out of 5]

The Wax Child is a literary interpretation of the early 17th century Danish witch trials. I am always cautious about novels engaging with early modern witchcraft. Witchcraft was an obsession then, and it is an obsession now, for all the wrong reasons. The range of interpretations and representations of early modern witchcraft in modern fiction is very narrow and boring. It is either going to be some sort of a 'we are the daughters of the witches you did not manage to burn' pseudo-feminist nonsense, or a variation of 'Puritans are BAD', with few authors attempting to actually engage with early modern minds, or create anything structurally or narratively innovative.

Olga Ravn succeeded at creating a suffocating atmosphere of brown-grey 17th century Denmark - reading this book feels like watching one of those American movies set in Mexico with a dark yellow filter, but of the 'grim olden times' variety. Ravn combined real historical figures, the women who were executed during the witch craze, into a chronologically condensed narrative, squishing about 30 years of history into mere months. All the witches are archetypes, and they don't come across as real people. Ironically, the only distinctive character in the whole novel is the King who ordered their executions - feminism much. I guess the narration by a wax doll (which sort of implies that the women WERE, in fact, witches, and poses a question of whether they deserved their fates) is sort of original, but we are grasping at straws here.

Remind me not to read 'witch' books again.

If you liked the fable-like atmosphere of something like I Gave You Eyes and You Looked Toward Darkness by Irene Solà or Boy with a Black Rooster by Stefanie vor Schulte, you might like this.

[Monika Baltrušaitytė · Rating 3 out of 5]

Jei patiko Lauren Groff "Matrix", tai patiks ir "Vaško lėlė". Seserija, moteriškasis ryšys, atšiaurus išorinis pasaulis ir aplinkinių žmonių tamsybė - bendri abiejų knygų vardikliai. Panaši ir kūrinių atmosfera bei pasakojimo laikas.
Šis tekstas poetiškas, juslingas ir tirštas. Įdomu, jog istoriją pasakoja vaško lėlė, labai patiko tie trumpi intarpai, kuriuose lėlė atskleidžia, iš kur sužinojo tam tikrą informaciją - tai voratinkliai pakuždėjo, tai kokia nors bluselė ar sugedęs karaliaus dantis.
Knygos veikėjos, raganavimu apkaltintos moterys, irgi priminė lėles, scenos dekoracijas. Netgi pagrindinės veikėjos nepavyko pažinti, ji plaukė poetiško teksto srovėje kaip šapaliukas ir nuplaukė nesukėlusi jokių emocijų.