A Novel That Illuminates the Quiet Bravery of Ordinary Lives
In the wake of global conflicts, it is often the sweeping headlines and battlefield victories that remain in the public memory. But Anne Karin Elstad’s novel Connections, masterfully translated by Iain Robertson, shifts that perspective—bringing to light the inner world of civilians, families, and communities caught in the shadow of war. Set in Nazi-occupied Norway during the early days of World War II, Connections isn’t just a historical account—it’s a profoundly human story of resilience, loss, loyalty, and the strength it takes to keep going when the world you know begins to unravel.
A War Outside, A War Within
Through the experiences of Jørgen and Julie Storvik, the novel reveals how war infiltrates not only towns and borders but homes and relationships. As German bombers scorch the sky over Kristiansund and the terrifying sounds of Stuka sirens echo through the valley, Julie is more than a bystander—she is a mother, a wife, and a woman expecting a child in the middle of chaos. Her husband, Jørgen, stands stoically, trying to hold his family and farm together while wrestling with fears for his son Krister, who remains in the embattled city.
What sets Connections apart from traditional war narratives is its emotional honesty. This is not a tale of military heroism, but of domestic endurance. In a time when gathering water, making coffee, and preparing meals for evacuees becomes a quiet act of courage, Elstad shows that the battlefield is often closer than we think.
Family Fractures in a Time of Fear
One of the novel’s most gripping elements is the ideological rift between Jørgen and his brother Ivar. While Jørgen stands firm against fascist ideology, Ivar, married to a German woman, aligns himself with the Nazi party. Their estrangement symbolises a broader cultural and political division that tore through many European families in the 1940s. The emotional fallout is felt most keenly in the tension over Krister’s future—should he return home to help on the farm or pursue education in the city, under the same roof as his Nazi sympathiser uncle Ivar?
These conflicting visions for Krister’s path become a metaphor for a generational reckoning. The reader is left asking: in times of crisis, do we choose safety, duty, or personal destiny? And what does it cost to love someone who chooses differently?
Women Carry the Weight of Survival
Julie’s story is particularly resonant, especially for modern readers who have faced global upheaval in recent years. Pregnant, exhausted, and emotionally stretched thin, Julie represents the uncelebrated resilience of women in wartime. Her trauma, stemming from the loss of a previous child, is not sidelined but treated as central to her worldview. Her bond with her lifelong friend Randi—who escapes the burning city with her children—brings into focus the strength women draw from each other when institutions collapse.
Through scenes of crowded kitchens, makeshift sleeping arrangements, and hushed conversations by lamplight, Elstad paints an intimate portrait of sisterhood. It is not the bombs that define Julie’s world—but the people she chooses to care for, the meals she manages to prepare, and the moments she fights to hold onto despite the dread outside her window.
From Fiction to a Living History
Although Connections is fictional, its realism is piercing. The depiction of Kristiansund’s bombing, the failed phone lines, the desperate rumours, and the helplessness of rural communities in wartime evoke eerie parallels with today’s refugee crises, political extremism, and global displacement. Elstad doesn’t just tell a story—she documents a psychological history of survival.
What gives the novel its enduring power is the lack of melodrama. There are no grand speeches, no clear-cut endings. The story ends as life often does: with uncertainty, but also with a tentative reaching toward hope.
Translation That Bridges More Than Just Language
The translation by Iain Robertson deserves recognition. His careful rendering of Elstad’s prose retains the lyrical tone of the original Norwegian text while making it accessible to English-speaking audiences. This act of translation is itself a kind of “connection,” bringing forth voices from a time and place that still have much to teach us.
Robertson’s version does not polish over the rawness of grief or the bluntness of wartime dialogue. It allows the novel’s emotional complexity to shine through—a valuable contribution at a time when empathy and cross-cultural understanding are more essential than ever.
A Story That Echoes Across Generations
Connections is more than a novel; it’s a meditation on what it means to stay human when the world falls apart. Anne Karin Elstad reminds us that the most enduring connections aren’t built through ideology or power—but through love, courage, and the willingness to choose compassion in moments of darkness.
As war once again casts its shadow in parts of the world, Connections feels both timely and timeless. It reminds us that behind every conflict are families trying to survive, friends trying to find each other, and hearts still daring to hope. It’s a novel that doesn’t just ask us to remember history—it asks us to feel it.