The Wall

Starred review from November 1, 2022

Austrian writer Haushofer's 1963 cult classic enters the mind of a nameless woman staying in a remote hunting lodge when an invisible wall inexplicably closes her off from a world that seems to have suddenly ended. Two and a half years later she decides to document her experiences, in hopes that someone might someday read it. Her detailed reportage feels utterly plausible, reminiscent of great memoirs of solitude, albeit a far more radical solitude than that of Thoreau or May Sarton. The mystery of her situation and the practical demands of survival gradually give place to the more profound challenge of grasping her selfhood, suddenly loosed from the roles, norms, and expectations of the patriarchy, capitalism, and all society whatsoever save that of a dog, a cow, a cat, and their offspring. Vivid and searching contemplations on the world around and within her draw readers to consider their own existence. This new edition features a perceptive afterword by Claire-Louise Bennett, author of the similarly ruminative Pond. VERDICT Haushofer's thought-provoking masterpiece stands as a touchstone for popular literary post-apocalypses by such authors as Emily St. John Mandel and Ling Ma and is certain to be a life-changing read for many.

Copyright 2022 Library Journal, LLC Used with permission.

Starred review from May 1, 2022
A woman finds herself alone at a hunting cabin, cut off from the world by an invisible, impenetrable wall. In this translation of a 1963 German novel, an unnamed narrator is suddenly forced to fend for herself at a hunting lodge deep in the Austrian woods. She's isolated from all human contact by an invisible wall that appears overnight. "I shall set everything down as precisely as I can," she writes, recording her life for posterity, if there is one. She also writes to stay sane. "I'm not writing for the sheer joy of writing; so many things have happened to me that I must write if I am not to lose my reason." The wall, "this terrible, invisible thing," hems her in and forces her to rethink everything about her existence. Everyone beyond the wall appears to be dead. The woman begins by limiting her space and establishing a garden. Her story is a study in survival but also a study of being human. The woman is left with a cat, a cow, and a dog for companionship; these creatures create meaning by giving her something to do. Caregiving fills the days and makes them bearable. So do manual labor and the completion of tasks, which comfort her and "[bring] a bit of order into the huge, terrible disorder that had invaded [her] life." What is the wall? An allusion to the Cold War? An allegory for the Berlin Wall? Yes. But it also serves as a metaphorical stand-in for so many restrictions. It creates a situation that allows the main character and the reader to examine our ontology and what we think makes us real. Similarly, the main character has a sense that being read would give meaning to her words and, thus, her life: "I still hope someone will read this report..." she says, "my heart beats faster when I imagine human eyes resting on these lines, and human hands turning the pages." She isn't coy about the toll that the isolation and hard work take on her body, nor about her own inevitable demise. She considers the world before, but she doesn't mourn it. All that matters is the present. "I may be in a position," she says prophetically, "to murder time." Strangely relevant as we begin to reflect on our own experiences during the pandemic shutdown.

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