07/26/2021
Schlink (The Reader ) returns with a nuanced portrait of an ordinary German woman who comes of age at the turn of the 20th century. Orphaned as a young girl, Olga Rinke is taken in reluctantly by her chilly paternal grandmother in Prussia. She becomes friends with Herbert Schroder, and by the time they’re in secondary school, she falls in love with him. Olga becomes a teacher and Herbert joins the army, serving in the Battle of Waterberg in 1904 Africa, and in 1914 he sets off to explore the Arctic. Olga continues teaching through both world wars, and in her 60s, at the end of WWII, she flees eastern Germany for Heidelberg, where she takes up work as a seamstress and befriends Ferdinand, the young son of the primary family for whom she works. In the 1950s, Olga supports Ferdinand’s teen rebellion—he reads Brecht and wears American-style blue jeans—and she tells him stories about Herbert’s adventures. The final section features passionate, undelivered letters Olga wrote to Herbert decades earlier, while he was off in the Arctic. While the two big reveals in the final section are strongly telegraphed, the more quotidien mysteries of Olga’s life will keep readers engaged. Readers who love rich character studies will want to pick this up. (Sept.)
"Two world wars and the passage of more than a century do not overshadow [Bernhard Schlink's] story of lovers who never fully belong to each other, just as they never fully belonged to the world." — Booklist
“Readers who love rich character studies will want to pick this up." — Publishers Weekly
"Olga is captivating. Bernhard Schlink tells the story in lucid, serene language... He is a master" — Stern
"One of Bernhard Schlink's secrets stems from his ability to craft stories from the generational schisms that occupied a single lifetime. Olga is another stellar example of it." — Le Monde
"A cleverly-constructed tale of cross-class romance... Olga's story draws us into a present-day reckoning with Germany's past." — Mail on Sunday
“A poignant portrait of a woman out of step with her time.” — The Guardian
"From the author of The Reader comes a brilliant new novel about history and the nature of memory." — Evening Standard (London)
"Schlink frames the novel as a search for meaning, which dances in Olga between a multitude of timeframes and territories. Throughout, Charlotte Collins's translation is careful and beautifully paced." — Financial Times
"A compelling tale of love and thwarted dreams... Schlink's lucid, no-frills prose lends his novel immediacy, and at times potency, and gives us a character to root for." — The Herald (UK)
"Schlink tells a gripping, true-to-life story which startles you with its unforeseen twists, and not only makes you think, but feel too." — NDR Kultur
"Olga is a searching examination of modern Germany and its scarred soul... there's a sophisticated precision to [Schlink's] writing, which is superbly translated by Charlotte Collins." — Sunday Telegraph
“Misdirection can be as useful a trick in storytelling as it is in magic. It may be tempting to follow the trail of a character who plunges into the thick of the action, but sometimes it’s better to stick with the one who has been left behind. That’s certainly the case in Bernhard Schlink’s Olga .” — New York Times Book Review
"One of Bernhard Schlink's secrets stems from his art of telling stories by interweaving the standpoints of different generations in the very same life story. Olga is another very well-done example of that."
"Schlink frames the novel as a search for meaning, which dances in Olga between a multitude of timeframes and territories. Throughout, Charlotte Collins's translation is careful and beautifully paced."
"Olga is captivating. Bernhard Schlink tells the story in lucid, serene language."
"Two world wars and the passage of more than a century do not overshadow [Bernhard Schlink's] story of lovers who never fully belong to each other, just as they never fully belonged to the world."
"Schlink tells a gripping, true-to-life story which startles you with its unforeseen twists, and not only makes you think, but feel too."
"A poignant portrait of a woman out of step with her time."
"A cleverly-constructed tale of cross-class romance... Olga's story draws us into a present-day reckoning with Germany's past."
"A compelling tale of love and thwarted dreams... Schlink's lucid, no-frills prose lends his novel immediacy, and at times potency, and gives us a character to root for."
"From the author of The Reader comes a brilliant new novel about history and the nature of memory."
Evening Standard (London)
"Two world wars and the passage of more than a century do not overshadow [Bernhard Schlink's] story of lovers who never fully belong to each other, just as they never fully belonged to the world."
"Schlink frames the novel as a search for meaning, which dances in Olga between a multitude of timeframes and territories. Throughout, Charlotte Collins's translation is careful and beautifully paced."
"Olga is a searching examination of modern Germany and its scarred soul... there's a sophisticated precision to [Schlink's] writing, which is superbly translated by Charlotte Collins."
Misdirection can be as useful a trick in storytelling as it is in magic. It may be tempting to follow the trail of a character who plunges into the thick of the action, but sometimes it’s better to stick with the one who has been left behind. That’s certainly the case in Bernhard Schlink’s Olga .
New York Times Book Review
2021-07-28
Born near the end of the 19th century in a small town in Poland, Olga Rinke endures a childhood marked by poverty and loneliness. After her parents’ deaths, she’s raised by her cold German grandmother in a village in Pomerania. A bright and curious student, Olga finds solace in school and in her friendship and, later, more with Herbert Schröder, son of the richest man in the village. When they fall in love, his family disapproves, so they pursue their affair in secret. Restless and self-centered (and none too bright), Herbert is colonialism on the hoof. As a soldier in South West Africa during Germany’s genocide against the Herero people, he feels an occasional twitch of empathy: “But they had perished with their cattle and like cattle; they had been lying on the ground, and he had been on horseback.” Herbert, obsessed with travel and exploration, is often gone for months or years, but Olga remains faithful to him. Her instincts for community and stability run counter to his—she becomes a teacher, forms friendships, joins unions and churches, and creates a comfortable home for herself. She waits uncomplainingly for Herbert’s visits and, even after he leaves her life for good, carries a torch. Later in life, working as a seamstress, she grows close to Ferdinand, the young son of an employer. He takes over the book’s narration, recounting Olga as a mother figure and an intellectual equal with whom he remains friends for the rest of her life. The novel covers more than a century, and its swathes of historical exposition take the reader away from Olga; it’s strongest when it pauses to explore the intimate texture of her life, but those pauses are too brief. She’s an intriguing character, but Herbert isn’t, making her devotion to him a puzzle. A couple of big reveals about Olga are telegraphed so early and so broadly that they lack punch when they come.
A historical novel about a mismatched couple spends too little time with its most interesting character.
