The wax child entered this world in the early 1600’s and was christened on the Danish island of Funen. We know this because it tells us so; a beeswax doll with human hair and fingernail parings, it looks like a child, longs to be a child but will never be. Now that its mistress is dead and gone, it lies face up beneath the soil, dreaming and remembering. It has stories to tell us, of witchcraft and persecution, female solidarity and betrayal. Based on historical witch trials, The Wax Child by Olga Ravn is an eerie, unsettling and oddly beautiful novel.
The wax child’s creator is a noblewoman named Christenze Kruckow. At the age of thirty-six, she is, unusually and suspiciously, unwed, preferring instead to spend her time riding horses, drinking red wine and reading. Although of noble birth, she has no wealth to speak of, and lives with her friend, Anne Bille. Anne and her husband long to be parents, and as the years go by, Anne produces fifteen children, each one dying shortly after birth. Mad with grief, she suspects dark magic .
Meanwhile, Christenze bears witness to her friend’s trauma, while each night laying her own swaddled wax child in a basket next to her bed. She knows that rumours and whispers follow her but she is a strong woman, ‘as invincible as a star’.
Ravn evokes the reign of King Christian IV of Denmark, a man dedicated to delivering his kingdom from the evils of witchcraft, her story drawn from actual historical documents and letters, as well as Nordic folklore. Spells interlace chapters, many from handwritten grimoires housed at the Royal Danish Library and University of Oslo, and in an act of homage, she uses the real names of women who were tortured and killed during this brutal era.
The tale unfolds through the unseeing eyes of Christenze’s wax child, an omniscient presence who appears to be aware of everything around it, both in time and space. When Christenze flees accusations of sorcery, its ‘hardy wax’ is shaken by visions of the town they unwittingly seek refuge in:
‘I saw in a single vision the town’s fleas in all their thousands. I saw blood in small and large quantities….I saw funeral pyres and body parts displayed on the square as a deterrent.’
This is Aalborg, in 1616 a ‘city of hate’. The doll lays helplessly as Christenz, attempting to rebuild her life, is welcomed into a community of local women, given seasonal work and invited to break bread and share stories. A sisterhood of sorts envelops her.
And in his castle, the king’s lieutenant consults his books on demonology and reads:
‘The woman is a wicked and imperfect animal…Where there are many women, there are many witches.’
Later, he will ponder the potential costs of an execution, ale for the executioner, a ladder for the girl, an essential public service he feels.
Ravn’s historical tale of power, misogyny, and the supernatural is an utterly compelling read; lyrical, foreboding, and blessed with a supple translation by Martin Aitken.
The Wax Child by Olga Ravn is translated by Martin Aitken and published by New Directions, 176 pages.
