I picked up the wall (second hand, of course) knowing nothing about it, other than it featured a humanity-ending catastrophe and potato propagation. Which in hindsight is an accurate, if not underselling, summary.
I’m finding my mind fixated on adaptation lately. The earth is heating, the oceans are rising, the rain is refusing to fall. My environmental preoccupations, which I’ve struggled to push to the back of my mind since first learning of the hole in the ozone layer as a child, are no longer easily quashed and distracted. I’m doing everything I reasonably can to avert the continuing decline of our planet. Yet without knowing precisely when, things have switched from ‘possible’ to ‘inevitable’ in my mind. I’ve well and truly fallen down the rabbit hole of minimalism, zero-waste, homesteading, and tiny houses. I seriously spent my Saturday this weekend looking at a vacant plot of land which could withstand the rising tides and temperatures…
And I can guarantee that on the tiny off-grid house that lies in my not-too-distant future, Marlen Haushofer’s The Wall will reside sandwiched between my growing library of home remedy manuals and guides to edible flora. It’s the most realistic representation I’ve found of what life beyond society could be. And the fact that it is told from a female point of view has only added to my ability to relate to the novel.
The things you must know about The Wall going in are: there are no chapters, the woman telling her story has no name and almost no backstory, and the novel is translated to English from the original 1962 German publication. This may sound off-putting to some, but I was captured by every page to follow the plight of this quiet, practical, self-deprecating survivor.
The ‘humanity-ending catastrophe’ that kicks off the novel is the titular invisible Wall that appears one day while our leading lady is holidaying in a hunting cottage in the mountains. She falls asleep waiting for her companions to return from a ‘quick trip’ to the village to get supplies and, when she awakes the next day, finds them to be absent. Accompanied by Lynx, a loyal dog who lives at the cottage, she sets out on foot towards the village only to run into an invisible and impenetrable wall. Over time, the woman takes in a friendly cow (conveniently yet painfully engorged with milk), a cat, and the animals’ various offspring. She traverses her new prison to find the wall extends all around. She can see wildlife and people on the other side of the wall who appear to have been petrified. Other than her rag-tag collection of animals, she seems to be utterly alone.
I found The Wall’s focus on femininity and motherhood to be particularly moving. This was further underscored by the ending. The woman is hardened to her own suffering, but unspeakably moved by the suffering on her animals/charges. Their daily needs tether her to the world in a way with which many women will intimately relate. I was drawn to this woman’s strength. I can only hope I’d adapt in such circumstances in a similarly selfless and structured way.
I’m disheartened to see that the 2013 movie that was made of this novel was directed by none other than Roman Polanski. That seems to be the ultimate insult to this story, which deserved so much better. I will not seek out the on-screen adaptation, and am content to have spent two weeks traversing the end of the world in print instead.
5 potato harvests out of 5.