It was pure luck that I chose this book at the library, or more exactly, I’ve mixed up the author with another Dutch one I’d liked. During summer, I’ve read Anna Enquist’s Homecoming (Le Retour in French) and I was looking for another novel of hers, but somehow, by association, I came up with another female Dutch writer, Hella Haasse (b. 1918).

Haasse isn’t completely unknown to me, as I’d read a short novel of hers a few years ago, A dangerous liaison, a kind of continuation of the 18C classics by Choderlos de Laclos: at the very end of the 18C novel, Madame de Merteuil is exiled in the Dutch countryside after losing her reputation and being disfigured by pox. Haasse imagined her letters to a Dutch woman, explaining her past and motivation. 

This time, her short novel was rather disappointing, or at least very confusing. The action is centered around a famous pianist, Edith Waldschade, who has a private passion of wolves. She keeps three, semi wild ones in her remote property, deep in the dark Belgian pine forest. Around her, there are many different characters, most of them mysterious or threatening. Edith’ father was a German ethnologist and historian, who exiled himself in Belgium when the Nazis came to power. He too was obsessed with wolves and wolf mythology, but his theories seem tainted with racist undercurrents. Edith’s sister also lives on the property, and she’s somehow linked to suspicious far-right groups. Another member of the family, a dark man who pretends to be their half-brother, shows up in the woods and seems to know a great deal of family secrets. 

I read it through, but I never managed to really get to the core of any of the characters, even Edith who is supposed to the main positive one. It was going in so many directions at the same time, and the ending was, well… not an end at all. It rather looked like the novel had remained unfinished. I feel as if I missed the point. Alright, maybe I’ll try another Haasse novel, or maybe I’ll go back to my initial plan, which was a novel by Enquist.  

By the way, my brain must have something against poor Anna Enquist. Not only did I confuse her with Hella Haasse (I don’t know that many Dutch female writers, but that’s no valid excuse), but I did also confuse her with Anne Enright, the Irish Booker Prize winner of this year. May I say, as an excuse, that I’m a bit tired? 

Phew, I’m through with work for the rest of the year! I now can concentrate on the really important stuff: celebrating, sleeping, reading… and counting all the books I’ve read this year!