This has been sitting on my shelf, unread, for yearssssss. The sudden cold snap dumped me right into a Norwegian winter and witch trials kind of reading mood and the time was finally right to pick it up. 

 

I'm using Goodreads for this blurb, because I'm just not in the mood to get creative with it today: "Finnmark, Norway, 1617. Twenty-year-old Maren Magnusdatter stands on the craggy coast, watching the sea break into a sudden and reckless storm. Forty fishermen, including her brother and father, are drowned and left broken on the rocks below. With the menfolk wiped out, the women of the tiny Northern town of Vardø must fend for themselves. Three years later, a sinister figure arrives. Absalom Cornet comes from Scotland, where he burned witches in the northern isles. He brings with him his young Norwegian wife, Ursa, who is both heady with her husband's authority and terrified by it. In Vardø, and in Maren, Ursa sees something she has never seen before: independent women. But Absalom sees only a place untouched by God and flooded with a mighty evil. As Maren and Ursa are pushed together and are drawn to one another in ways that surprise them both, the island begins to close in on them with Absalom's iron rule threatening Vardø's very existence." 

 

I am not sure exactly what I was expecting from a historical fiction about witch hunts, but this both met and diverged from whatever I was internally ready for. There was an incredibly tragic and heavy air to the whole novel (which makes sense), and yet, the underpinning of feminist and indigenous resistance to external powers was also low-key inspiring. The vibes really seeped into one's bones in the same way cold does - quite apt under the circumstances. This was very much a novel of characters - internally and relationally - and setting. The sense of place that Millwood Hargrave brings forth is so strong. The focus on the quotidian details is impressive, and it's clear that the historical research was thoroughly done. And the character development, alongside the development of the conditions which make it possible for a community to act in this way, so superbly (if terrifyingly) communicated. There is just a slow steadiness to the storytelling cadence that is perfect for the story being told. It's reminiscent, in good ways, of The Wolf and the Woodsman, Book of the Little Axe, and Burial Rites. 

 

The story itself, of the spreading of Christianity and western philosophy onto indigenous/native populations (colonialism), is horribly familiar, of course. It's a tale as old as time, when a way of life/power structure is threatened (even existentially, or with false belief of the threat), suffering to “maintain” that way of life begins. And of course, historically, that usually means women and minorities suffering at the hands of cis white men in positions of power. On that note, I had a full on fiery anger at Absalom (and all the men, really), while reading this. Ooooooof. But back to this novel...this is a version of the story - a place and population - of it that is new to me in the details. So, I (of course) did some of my own research afterwards and learned more, which is something I always appreciate from literature. 

 

On a more hopeful note (and a bit bittersweet by the end, I suppose), what grows between Maren and Ursa, the connection they nurture and that gives them support and strength in return, is tender and precious. The ending, in general and as it relates to them, felt just right. It's not happy (how could it be?) and not *quite* hopeful, but there is a little spark of future possibility past this, a realistically small amount of (unfortunately not enough for what the reader would hope for, but how could that be possible, really?) satisfying retribution.  

 

This novel was not fast paced or twisty/surprising, but it was evocative AF. There is a simmering depth of emotion under the surface of the “action” in the story and it really leaves a strong impression on the reader. 

 

“They are a language […] Just because you do not speak it doesn’t make it devilry.” 

 

“It doesn’t matter what I am, only what they believe I am.” 

 

“How is this godly? […] How can they call their work holy?”