The Silent Forest
€19.99
About this Book
In the aftermath of World War II, a young woman returns to her family's estate near the Polish-Belarusian border, only to find it reclaimed by the forest and haunted by secrets of the past. As Ewa navigates the changed landscape of post-war Poland, she uncovers a series of letters that reveal her family's entanglement with the resistance movement and a forbidden love that transcended political divides.
Aleksandra Nowak's award-winning debut novel masterfully weaves historical drama with elements of magical realism, creating an atmospheric tale that explores themes of memory, guilt, and redemption. Through Ewa's journey, readers witness the complex legacy of war and occupation, as well as the healing power of confronting long-buried truths.
Awards & Recognition
- Winner, Polish Literary Award for Debut Novel, 2022
- Finalist, European Union Prize for Literature, 2023
- Selected for "Poland's Voices" Translation Program
Nowak's prose is breathtaking, almost poetic in its descriptions of the Polish countryside. The way she intertwines the personal story of Ewa with the broader historical context creates a rich tapestry that kept me engaged from beginning to end. The translation preserves the lyrical quality of what I imagine must be beautiful prose in the original Polish.
This novel offers a perspective on post-war Poland that I hadn't encountered before. The characters are complex and the atmosphere of the forest is almost a character itself. I found some passages a bit dense, but overall it's a rewarding read that provides insight into a chapter of European history often overlooked in English-language fiction.
I couldn't put this book down. The way Nowak balances the personal and the political, the historical and the magical, is truly masterful. Ewa's journey becomes a metaphor for Poland's own complicated relationship with its past. This is exactly the kind of literature in translation that enriches our understanding of other cultures and histories.
From Chapter One
The forest had reclaimed what once belonged to it. That was my first thought as the cart rounded the final bend in the road and I saw what remained of Białe Dwór. The white manor house that had given our estate its name was now barely visible behind a veil of young birch trees, their silver trunks gleaming in the late afternoon light.
"Is this it?" asked the driver, a weathered man who had reluctantly agreed to bring me this far from the village.
"Yes," I said, though I barely recognized it myself. "This is it."
He made the sign of the cross, muttering something I couldn't quite hear. I didn't need to. The locals had always been superstitious about the woods that surrounded our family home, even before the war, before the stories that now clung to this place like morning mist.
"You want I should wait?" he asked, clearly hoping I would say no.
"That won't be necessary. I'm staying."
His eyebrows rose slightly, but he said nothing as I paid him. Money still spoke, even here in this new Poland, where so much had changed. As he turned the cart around, eager to be back on the main road before dusk fell, I stood with my single suitcase and faced what had once been the drive leading to my childhood home...
