lønningspils

Review by Ursula Carroll.

The Wax Child by Olga Ravn, translated by Martin Aitken.
New Directions Publishing.
77/100

Olga Ravn is a master of sensory literature. My Work, 2020, is claustrophobic and visceral. The Employees, 2018, is a book full of odors, it is hot and cold. The Wax Child is no exception, it is textural, lubricated with beeswax and soiled with fingernail gouges and lichen pressing into skin. It is like a hair caught tightly around your finger. It is fragrant with sweat and secretions, herbs and soil, like linden trees blooming in the summer. Can’t you smell the pyre burning now? It tastes like sheep’s milk, butter, blood, bread, and wine.  From the watchful eye of a baby made of wax, I was taken — shoved — into murky 17th century Danish witch trials. 

The book is narrated by an almost-omniscient wax child, a Nordic voodoo doll of sorts. This baby was “birthed” by the noble “witch” Christenze Kruckow, cooked up on the stove and crafted in a mold, pressed full of little bits of personhood, hair, teeth, nails, and replaceable scraps of the human form. It’s not really clear what the purpose of this proxy child is, but the child is a constant watchful eye as never-married Christenze becomes close to other women. Christenze and her cohort of women; Maren, Apelone, Dorte, Ousse; are up to all sorts of the traditional “witch” activities. Naturally, this is not acceptable to the townsfolk, the religious leaders, the royalty, so a trial must be had. But of course, everyone knows a witch has made a deal with the devil. 

The narration of the wax child itself is an unusual and refreshing play on what could have been a fairly straightforward witch trial novel. The  wax child is not all seeing, not all knowing, but it has access to much more information than the human characters. It cannot speak to the humans but it can speak to the birds. It hears news before it reaches anyone’s ear. The wax child is slightly detached, it has feelings but isn’t human, it has a slight distance that is compelling and engaging. Ravn intersperses “real” spells from alleged witchery books of the time throughout the chapters, like remedies for unrequited love involving drinking from a shoe, hiccup treatments, and cures for pain. Ravn does not stray from her usual penchant for short chapters, rapid fire subject changes that kept me on my toes and lent a headiness to this swirling and chaotic story. 

Like all (good) books about witchcraft, this book is primarily about women being punished. Punished for being different from how men expect them to be, punished for being too independent, punished for being gay, punished for being “frigid”, punished for being undesirable. Any woman reading this will find it relatable, we have all been punished at some point for some transgression in the eyes of men. However, Ravn is adding a layer of nuance often forgotten: class. Christenze is of noble birth while the rest of the women are commonfolk. Christenze has privileges that the common woman does not, afforded simply by the station of her birth. When I read feminist literature, I often want more discussion of class, and when I read class-conscious literature, I often find it to be sorely lacking in women. It is nice to have both in a novel that does not feel like a lecture. 

Ravn put serious research into this book. The Wax Child is based on the records of real witch trials in Denmark, the real executions of real women. Ravn is very thoughtful in her approach to this, not treating this like a grisly true crime novel or a cheap novelty, but rather a nuanced and layered part of the history of her country. She consulted experts, visited museums, read logs and trial reports, she looked for graves,  and that care is clear in her work. But most importantly, she eulogizes the women killed in the witch hysteria that was so prevalent at the time. 

I read most of  this book in the company of some strange candles. I recommend you do the same. The Wax Child  is an adaptation of a play, HEX, that Ravn wrote and premiered at the Royal Danish Theatre in 2023; adding an additional layer of texture felt right. While not quite as compelling as The Employees, or disturbing as My Work, The Wax Child is an incredibly thoughtful and fresh engagement with the familiar. It is incredibly well paced, immersive, smart, and much better than a trip to Salem, Massachusetts. 

FFO: The Crucible, Burt’s Bees, Emma Goldman and/or Rosa Luxemburg, Roald Dahl’s The Witches

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