THE WALL – Marlen Haushofer (1963)

The Wall HaushoferI don’t know why, but it seems I am drawn to books about singular women that have a heightened contact with nature. I’ve just read The Forgotten Beasts of Eld by Patricia McKillip, about a female wizard that grew up in isolation, surrounded by fantastic beasts. I also have fond memories of Drive Your Plow over the Bones of the Dead by the Polish Olga Tokarczuk – who won the 2018 Nobel Prize. And don’t get me started on The Door by the Hungarian Magda Szabó: while my review of that 1987 book was just short, it is one of my favorite reads ever – if you haven’t read it, I urge you to give it a try.

25 years older than The Door and 46 years younger than Drive Your Plow…, The Wall also has a central European origin: Austria. Marlen Haushofer wrote it in German, and Die Wand was translated in English in 1990 by Shaun Whiteside.

The story has a clear speculative premise: the female protagonist gets trapped in the Austrian mountains, as a suddenly appearing giant transparent wall closes her in, encircling the hunting lodge and the surrounding landscape – mountains, woods, an alm, a valley. It seems all animal life outside the wall is dead, and the woman is left to her own devices to survive – together with a cow, a dog, and a cat.

Those expecting a full-fledged sci-fi romp will be disappointed if they can’t appreciate anything outside genre. The origin of the wall is never explained, nor explored. It is something of a paradox that the story’s only speculative element is at the same time very dominant, yet hardly present. Haushofer’s choices make for a novel that hasn’t dated at all.

The Wall takes the form of a first-person account of the woman, who writes about her ordeals to keep madness at bay. The book has no chapters, and its 224 pages are one long sequence describing chronologically what happened, with the occasional foreshadowing rumination. The story’s focus is rather monomaniacal, and what happens is more or less predictable: she turns to a farming life, one that might offer her better chances of self-realization than her old life.

In a way, it is a miracle Haushofer managed to write an utterly compelling novel, rather than a drab, boring tale about someone planting potatoes again and again. The Wall sucked me in after 30 pages, and if I could, I would have finished it in one sitting.

Two factors contribute to that. The fact that the main character writes only for herself makes for an honest voice, resulting in someone interesting, devoid of moral conventions, a woman that isn’t shy to admit she has grown disinterested in her two children.

Haushofer herself led something of a double life, living partly in small town Steyr, where she was the  quiet wife of a dentist and nobody knew she was a writer, and partly in Vienna, where “she moved in fashionable literary circles, discussed books and ideas, had affairs”. The Wall‘s protagonist easily convinces as a real character, not some naive concoction, and it seems to me this is the result of Haushofer being in touch with the full spectrum of human existence – and not some idealized moral version of it.

The second factor is that Haushofer – with very few narrative tricks – manages to convey a constant feeling of dread to the reader. Because of the specific nature of these tricks, it is best to limit your exposure to spoilers. If you have read the book already – and only if – Nicholas Spice wrote an excellent, long piece on Haushofer in the London Review of Books that is very much worth reading.

The effect is (…) also to make us feel on our pulses the reality of the ‘always already’ of death, the ineluctable truth that, as Larkin puts it, ‘most things may never happen: this one will.’

The novel is a pastoral science fiction story that is nothing but realist, but at the same time there are plenty of possible metaphorical interpretations – besides the obvious questions it raises about modern life. Another Spice quote points at a psychological layer too:

Asked about The Wall in an interview, Haushofer replied: ‘One sits around a table and is – so many people, so many walls – far, very far apart from others.’ Her work speaks of a conviction that our social selves may seem knowable and capable of connection but the inner self of consciousness – the self that says ‘I’ – is axiomatically alone. The personalities we are known by are constructed to appear stable; the ‘I’ that thinks to itself of itself has no personality and is unreachably immured within each individual mind.

I came across a paper on the novel in German, with “Ästhetik des Taktilen” in the title, and that rings true as well. Haushofer wrote about the body that feels – and not only the human body, but the bodies of the animals that populate the story too. She has a sharp insight in how material circumstances dictate lives, and while her outlook might seem nihilistic to some – no free will, no soul but in the body – it does speak for the value of emotions and thoughts. Haushofer firmly inscribes those in our biological lineage, and the protagonist forms a small community with her animals.

One final quote from Spice to seal the deal – why spend too much time writing a review when someone else has already said it better? One caveat: I think interpreting this as historical allegory is more than a stretch – that way of reading seems more determined by Austrian circumstances back then than by the book itself.

Purged of rhetorical flourish, her prose is a model of simplicity and concision; but the pictures which her sentences paint are enigmatic, overdetermined, elusive. We can claim her books for feminism, for eco-politics, for existentialism or psychoanalysis, or we can take them as thrillers or dreams. The first Austrian readers of The Wall and The Loft read them as powerful allegories of recent European history, but they would work equally well as elegiac essays in the nature of mind. Implicitly they remind us that we exist in multiple nested frames of reference: as pure consciousnesses without attribute, as psychological constructs, as social beings, as citizens of the polis, as products of historical circumstance, as members of our gender and our species. In Haushofer’s worlds, nothing is just one thing: the wall excludes but also contains, suffocates and liberates;

If there is a main lesson in The Wall, it might very well be the one described by Michel Faber, who puts the book next to Franz Kafka’s Metamorphosis and Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man.

The Wall‘s nameless protagonist and Haushofer are both forced to develop a different, more interesting relationship with solipsism: after all, there’s work to do, food to grow, animals to care for.


While comparisons to Robinson Crusoe and Walden are easily made, The Wall is very much its own thing, rich and rewarding, and hard to reduce to just its components.

Even though there was a bit of a frenzy about the book in France in 2019 after an Instagram post about it went viral, and such towering figures as Doris Lessing and Elfriede Jelinek are among the book’s admirers, I feel as is if I’ve just read one of literature’s best kept secrets. (The terrible cover art for all the English editions surely hasn’t helped to propel this book to a larger audience.)

It goes without saying I can recommend The Wall wholeheartedly to about any reader: both to readers of regular literary fiction, as to the speculative fiction fan that does not mind a slipstream last-women-on-earth dystopian utopia in a part of the wilderness that is still tamed.


Die Wand was also translated in French as Le mur invisible and in Russian as Стена. I read the Dutch translation by Ria Van Hengel, De Wand, which was first published in 1988 and again in 2010, as an updated and revised version by the same translator. In 2012 a German-Austrian movie adaptation was released.


Consult the author index for my other reviews, or my favorite lists.

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20 responses to “THE WALL – Marlen Haushofer (1963)

  1. Seems like one for me. I‘ve added the German version to my tbr. Never heard from it before, because I don’t follow the highbrow literature reviews.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Never heard of this before but it sounds interesting. The speculative element of the wall seems put in the novel just as a start off point for an exploration of the character?

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I knew this sounded familiar… I learned about it when I saw a trailer for the movie adaptation: https://www.imdb.com/title/tt1745686/

    Haven’t read the novel or seen the film. The trailer looks solid

    Liked by 1 person

    • I think it would be something you’d be interested in because of the psychological component, even if the speculative element is only an excuses for the rest of the book.

      Thanks for the link, I hadn’t thought of checking the trailer. Looks solid indeed. They changed it to a contemporary setting, but for the rest it looks as if it remains very close to the source material. I read it was German language film, but I guess since everything is voice over to mimic the internal monologue of the writing they could easily make/dub an English version too.

      I do wonder if they were able to transport the tension in the book to the medium of film – hard to tell from the trailer only.

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      • I never want to watch a dubbed version of a film (I learned this was a very French thing to do when I lived there — dub American films, etc.), I’m perfectly okay with subtitles. I rather hear (even if I don’t completely understand) the inflection and tone of the original actors.

        Liked by 1 person

        • Yeah dubbing is terrible. Apparently Netflix has opened things up a bit in the countries that don’t have a subtitle culture.

          I just checked and it’s in German originally. Mostly voiceover though.

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  4. Never heard of this, either – but it does sound fascinating. I’ll put it on my TBR and hope they have it in the library 😉

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  5. Given that isolation has somehow become the “new normal” these days, this novel might indeed speak loudly to our current times…
    Thanks for sharing!

    Liked by 1 person

  6. This had me thinking how an idea will get reused by different authors/creators at different times, perhaps sometimes even being unaware of those who came before. It reminded me of the book/series by Stephen King called Under the Dome, which I’ve not read or watched. And I remember when I heard about that, how it reminded me of something else that had come before with a very similar concept, though I don’t recall now what it was. This book pre-dates all that, which has me even more interested in trying it. I like looking back and finding earlier interations of ideas. I’d likely not have stumbled across this one if not for your review, so thanks for that. I’m going to look for it.

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    • Yes, your post reminds me of that theory that says there are only 7 basic plots. And now that you mention it, I think I´ve read Under The Dome as a teenager. The difference there is that it´s a trapped community, here it´s about how the protagonists deals with solitude among other things.

      Do let me know if you ever read The Wall!

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      • Not sure exactly why, but I immediately started looking for this one. Found there’s a new English printing coming out in June, but I didn’t want to wait so I bought the audiobook version and will start that as soon as I finish the one I’m currently listening to (The Return of Sherlock Holmes). Will let you know my thoughts when I finish it.

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        • I finished the book yesterday and I want to thank you for your review and recommendation. It was an absolutely fantastic read, my favorite so far this year (granted we’re not very far in yet).

          I see your meaning now when it comes to comparisons between this book and others, whether those dealing with living isoated lives like Robinson Crusoe, or those with similar speculative elements like Stephen King’s The Dome. None of the comparisons would do this book justice as they’re all focusing on a single small element and overlooking the bigger picture of the story, itself.

          This one had me throroughly engaged the entire time. And as I got closer and closer to the end I kept wondering how the author could possible finish the story and I could think of nothing that would bring it a satisfying close. And yet she managed to do exactly that. I thought the ending was perfectly suited to the story and left me with room to sit back and quietly think about what I’d just read.

          And speaking of “reading,” I did listen to the audiobook as that was what was most easily and quickly available to me. And I thought the narrator, Kathe Mazur, did a fantastic job. Her voice felt right for the character. Granted, I would like to track down a copy in print one day and reread the story that way. There were times when a word was used that sounded as if it had not been translated but left in from German or Austrian, and I wasn’t entirely sure what it was referring to. In print I would have had something to search for but in audio it was tough trying to determine what the word might have been. I think it might have been referring to rutting season or something similar.

          Anyway, this was a book well worth reading and I’m very glad to have read it. So thanks again!

          Liked by 1 person

          • That’s wonderful, thanks for letting me know, much appreciated. Agreed 100% that this book really is its own thing – comparing it only gets us so far.

            It’s a marvel how she manages to keep things engaging, even though the setting is small and not that much seems to happen if you just describe it to somebody who hasn’t read it. I liked the ending a lot, and the build up is great.

            I’ve never even tried an audio book. I don’t have a long commute, and tend to listen to music while reading. I’m sure it can work if it’s done right. On the other hand, the fact that this is a fictive written account kind of adds charm to actually reading this, even though if you hear it, it probably easily translates to hearing her thoughts, so in that respect this kind of book is perfect for an audio adaptation. (I can’t help you with that word as I read the Dutch translation, and they translated everything, except for the name of the dog, which was kept in German.)

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