A Haunting Portrait of Everyday Life Under Occupation
What happens when war arrives not with a bang, but with a slow, creeping dread? In Connections, Anne Karin Elstad unspools a deeply affecting narrative that explores the psychological weight of wartime on a Norwegian family far from the front lines but dangerously close to its emotional core. Beautifully translated by Iain Robertson, this novel doesn’t depict generals or soldiers—it focuses instead on the ordinary people who become the silent witnesses and reluctant participants in war’s most enduring tragedy: its disruption of the human soul.
April 1940: When the Sky Stopped Being Blue
The novel opens in the pastoral calm of a Norwegian village, where the fields have begun to green and the sky still stretches high and clear. But that sky darkens as German warplanes tear across it, and the people of Storvik start to realise that their quiet lives are no longer sheltered. Kristiansund burns in the distance, and while bombs may not fall directly on their land, the fear falls heavily inside every home.
Elstad captures this shift with breathtaking nuance. Through soft conversations, muffled prayers, and long stares toward a horizon that no longer promises peace, the people of this story transform into wartime citizens. They don’t hold weapons—they have one another. And that’s precisely where the power of the novel lies.
A Family Torn Between Silence and Survival
At the heart of Connections is the Storvik family, led by Jørgen and Julie. Jørgen is a traditional farmer with strong convictions, a man tethered to the land and heritage. Julie is heavily pregnant and emotionally weathered from a past filled with loss. Their son Krister, the pride of the family, remains in the bombarded town, chasing an education while the war chases him.
Yet the more haunting division in this family lies between Jørgen and his brother Ivar—a man who has pledged allegiance to the Nazi party, married a German woman, and chosen ideology over kinship. Their broken relationship acts as the book’s emotional fault line, one that trembles under every conversation, every passing silence.
In portraying the political as deeply personal, Elstad forces readers to confront uncomfortable questions: What do we do when someone we love believes something we can’t support? And what are we willing to risk for moral clarity?
Women Who Bear the Brunt of War’s Quietest Battles
Julie is no caricature of wartime womanhood. She is flawed, conflicted, exhausted—and utterly authentic. Her fear for Krister, her worry over her pregnancy, and her unspoken grief from a stillborn child years earlier create a portrait of a woman carrying more than she ever asked for. Her friendship with Randi—an evacuee who arrives with her children after fleeing the burning city—adds a layer of solidarity and shared trauma to the narrative.
What emerges is not a story about women as victims, but as pillars. Whether it’s organising meals for twenty in a farmhouse meant for five, or keeping their families from fracturing under the pressure of constant fear, these women personify quiet resilience.
The Unseen Cost of Political Loyalty
Elstad does not villainise easily. Even Ivar, the brother whose political sympathies lie with the occupying Nazis, is not painted as a one-dimensional antagonist. Instead, Connections examines the slow erosion of trust in a community when ideology replaces empathy. A once-respected man like Hallgrim Ås, previously a harmless eccentric, now evokes fear simply by his support of Quisling and the Third Reich.
In that sense, the novel mirrors our contemporary reality. It reminds us how quickly discourse can become division, how political alignment can redefine personal relationships, and how the moral fabric of a community is often torn long before the first bullet is fired.
The Translator’s Touch: Preserving Grace in Language
Iain Robertson’s translation is worth noting. His sensitivity to tone, pacing, and emotional rhythm ensures that Elstad’s voice is preserved across cultures. The phrasing feels intimate and unforced, allowing the reader to inhabit the world of Storvik without linguistic distraction. Robertson captures the natural melancholy of Elstad’s prose, making this a work that resonates just as powerfully in English as it does in its native Norwegian.
When the War Isn’t Over, but You Still Set the Table
Connections is not about victory or defeat. It’s about what happens when people are forced to choose between comfort and conviction, silence and truth, despair and duty. It’s about setting the table, even when you can hear the bombs falling miles away. It’s about holding your child tightly—not just in love, but in fear that this moment might be your last together.
As readers in a modern world still grappling with political division, displacement, and war, Connections feels less like historical fiction and more like a mirror. One that shows us how fragile peace can be—and how essential our human connections are to preserving it.