Reviews with content warning for Child death - The Witches of Vardø

‘The savage north held me captive. I was imprisoned in falling snow and blinded by glaring white light, empty of all shadows. I stood upon the ship’s deck and nothing was before me.’

Like Anna Rhodius, cast adrift upon a sea of ice by a pernicious king, I was held captive by The Witches of Vardø, imprisoned within Anya Bergman’s utterly compelling tale of patriarchal injustice, female power, and survival.

When an ill-advised affair leads to accusations that she has been fornicating with the devil, young widow Zigri is hauled off to the fortress of Vardøhus for trial. Ingeborg, Zigri’s eldest daughter, promises to rescue her mother – but when Zigri’s former lover abandons the family, Ingeborg has no choice but to seek the help from the enigmatic Maren, the daughter of the most famous – and most deadly – of Norway’s witches. Meanwhile, within the fortress of Vardøhus, physician’s daughter Anna Rhodius seeks to return to her privileged life by extracting the confessions of these supposed witches.

Inspired by the real events that took place on the island of Vardø between 1662 and 1663, The Witches of Vardø tells the story of these three women as their lives become entwined and they fight to survive in the face of terrible accusations. As the frantic hunt for witches continues – and more accused women are brought to Vardøhus – Zigri, Ingeborg, and Anna must navigate between the paranoia of the powerful men who control their destiny, the desperation of their own situations, and their own desires for freedom and justice.

Enrapturing from the off, The Witches of Vardø paints a moving portrait of an age weighted against women – and against poor women in particular. Whilst Zigri, Ingeborg, and Anna all refuse to be victims, their efforts to exercise their power are frequently thwarted by the deadly combination of patriarchal authority, religious mania, and deep-rooted superstition that has been consolidated against them. Add in each women’s desperation to save herself – and her willingness to betray others in order to do so – and you’ve got a wild ride of a book that simmers with oppressive tension.

Whilst I was immediately drawn into the world of the novel, the story itself does take a while to really develop as Anya Bergman spends the opening chapters drawing her reader into the everyday lives of these women and their communities. As such, the sudden descent of violence upon them in the form of the Baliff and his men has real force, upsetting the quiet order of the narrative as much as it does the lives of Ingeborg and her family.

I found all of the women to be interesting characters. Torn between her desire to help her mother and her anger at Zigri’s folly, Ingeborg is a sympathetic character who it is easy to empathise with. Zigri and Anna are more challenging to a reader’s sympathies: Zigri because her pursuit of individual pleasure, though somewhat understandable, has denounced her family in the eyes of both the church and the state, and Anna because, although justifiably proud of her intelligence, she uses it to manipulate and betray other women. The complexities of both women are bought across however and, whilst I did not always agree with their choices, I found myself understanding why they had made them.

The male characters were, admittedly, slightly less successful. Governor Orning and Baliff Lockhert didn’t really impress themselves upon me as more than a religious zealot and a sadist respectively. Anna’s former lover is similarly distanced from the narrative, both physically and emotionally, and acts at times as a cipher for patriarchal oppression. Zare, the Sámi leader who helps Ingeborg and Maren is more complex but I didn’t feel as if we really got to know him all that well during the course of the novel. This is, perhaps, Bergman’s point. As Maren frequently reminds Ingeborg, their menfolk cannot protect these women and, as such, they must help themselves.

Indeed, although Ingeborg and Anna act as the main narrators of the novel, I found Maren to be the most compelling and it is through her character – and those of the Sámi with whom she fosters forbidden friendships – that the magical realism elements of the novel are explored. Blending Nordic folktales, Norse mythology and Sámi mythology with historical fact could have been risky but Anya Bergman merges each element together into a seamless tale that effectively conveys the power of folklore and knowledge, as well as the dangers that being perceived to hold such power can have.

Whilst The Witches of Vardø does not shy away from the horrors endured by those accused of witchcraft – and fully explores the complexities of loyalty, and betrayal amidst such circumstances – it is a powerful testament to female power in the face of persecution and a captivating tale of the friendships and connections that can be forged in the face of adversity. Beautifully written and underpinned by thorough research of the subject and period, The Witches of Vardø is a must read for any historical fiction fan.

NB: This review also appears on my blog at https://theshelfofunreadbooks.wordpress.com as part of the Blog Tour for the book. My thanks go to the publisher for providing a copy of the book in return for an honest and unbiased review.

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