Surreal ecofeminist fiction plants roots in explorations of womankind, nature
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National oil company CEO Anna Frenza seems to have it all together — a high-earning career, living with her paraplegic husband and no children in a mansion in Podkowa Lesna, an air-purified garden city in present-day Poland — until she loses her job after being caught on video completely naked amidst a lithium-induced deadwood forest sleepwalk, deeply engrossed in the erotic act of dendrophilia.
After this exposure, Anna discovers what her husband has been hiding from her, pushing her over the edge and entirely into the woods, embracing the ways of many women before her who worship the “Primeval Virgin.”
But Hexes of the Deadwood Forest is more than just an ode to Mother Earth — it is Polish author and screenwriter Angnieszka Szpila’s first internationally translated novel, an imaginative work of literary fiction coming with front cover dust jacket accolades from 2018’s Nobel laureate and International Booker Prize winner and fellow compatriot Olga Tokarczuk.
Foremost, Hexes is also a triumphant prayer for “the radical demise of all that is stiff, all that is erect,” through the radical reimagining of a world where the pursuits of mankind are exclusively met with deflated fanfare and all efforts spoiled by a flaccidity of spirits and lack in results.
At its surface, Hexes is a love story between womankind and nature, although it may not be best suited for more puritanical readers or those seeking to avoid usage of genitalia-centric expletives. Oftentimes these expletives are censored, with sexual organs instead impishly rebranded as “clefts” and “bodkins,” but many times they are not.
Hexes reads as though it is the literary love child resulting from a fruitful marriage between an ecofeminist manifesto and a subversive Victorian-influenced narrative, guided by its silly yet plot-accurate chapter headings such as “A Slice of Ham and How It Led to Oil Wells in the Baltic Sea” and “Concerning Somnambulism and Tree-Mounting.”
As we dig deeper into the plot, the genealogical histories and sensual forest rituals of the Primeval Virgin and the Earthen Ones, led by Mathilde Spalt and her followers, are unveiled.
The plot, which is starkly divided into four sections, begins with Frenza’s, then moves onto an origin story of sorts as Spalt “visits” Anna bedside at the psychiatric hospital, telling a tale of the women from centuries ago who lived in a medieval society in the Duchy of Neisse.
This juxtaposition between Frenza, the oil executive CEO against “saving the earth,” and the all-knowing narrator is vast. The latter not-so-subtly suggests that men, religion and “big oil” are actually the root of the problem, while the former — who has clawed her way to the top from a poor upbringing — holds opinions such as these “cute furry animals that represent the female species usually stand no chance at all when competing with the predatory raptors that represent (corporate) men.”
As the plot progresses, Frenza “grows branches” and “blossoms” into another type of woman, causing a shift in tone and tempo, and plants within readers urges and desires, chiefly that there is hope for womankind — if, and only if, we can preserve nature.
Riel Lynch is a bookseller and book blogger in Winnipeg.