In 1939, as the world prepared to plunge into the chaos of World War II, a small, frozen country withstood the onslaught of the Soviet Union. Three million Finns against 171 million Russians. One hundred and five days of combat at -50ºC (-58ºF). This forgotten story is what Olivier Norek, 50, a former police officer and author of crime novels, brings to light in The Winter Warriors, which has already sold more than 300,000 copies in France. His new work not only revives the so-called Winter War, but also mirrors the present with Vladimir Putin’s current aggression. “I didn’t want to write about the war in Ukraine,” says the author, visiting Madrid. “But I did want to understand it. And to understand it, I thought I had to tell the story of a war from a century earlier. Because forgotten history is doomed to repeat itself.”
It all began, he recounts, one morning in 2022, while listening to the radio. “I heard Vladimir Putin threatening us with a nuclear winter. In 2022, no one was prepared for that. Not me either. And when I’m afraid, I investigate. I wanted to understand a century of relations between Russia and the rest of the world, to discover if the past could give me the intellectual tools to understand tomorrow.” On that journey through history, Norek stumbled upon an almost mythical episode: the war that pitted the Soviet Union against Finland between 1939 and 1940. “I encountered 105 days at -51ºC (-59.8ºF), and a gigantic army trying to subdue a tiny country… and failing. And at the center of it all, a man: Simo Häyhä, a five-foot-two (1.57 meters) farmer with an angelic face and deadly aim, who became Russia’s worst nightmare. An unlikely hero. When you come across a story like that, you know you have to tell it.”
The White Death
Simo Häyhä, known as “The White Death,” is a figure as legendary as he is elusive. His exploits — more than 500 confirmed kills as a sniper — made him a living legend, but he never spoke of it. “Simo was a man of few words,” Norek explains. “He gave only one interview, to a German newspaper. So I decided to respect his silence: in my novel, he doesn’t speak. You only hear him when he describes his rifle. Everything else is related through the eyes of those around him: his comrades, his superiors, the soldiers who feared him. That was my way of preserving the mystery.”
In times of ostentation and noise, isn’t a silent hero almost revolutionary? “Simo didn’t want to be a hero. He was a peasant who just wanted to take care of his farm. But when he was told that Russia was going to attack his country, he gave up his life and took up a rifle. Before, he hunted wolves; then he had to face men. And in that transformation, he became something greater. That’s what we writers look for in our characters: someone who wasn’t prepared, who doesn’t have the right weapons, but who takes on the mission because his cause is just. You don’t choose to be a hero; you become one through the eyes of others.”
Image from the Winter War, in 1939.Sovfoto (Universal Images Group via Getty Images)
When the war ended, Häyhä returned to his farm. “He bought a cow, a horse, and an old yellow beetle. He turned away journalists. He lived in silence. He only agreed, once a year, to let a man knock on his door to go hunting with him. That man was the president of Finland.”
The sublimation of a country
For Norek, the valor of The Winter Warriors lies not only in its protagonist, but in the collective. “It wasn’t just Simo who was elevated. An entire country was elevated: the women sewing uniforms, the young men going to the front, the elderly defending their villages. When you have a just cause, everything else ceases to matter.” This idea permeates the book and Norek’s thinking. “During World War II, when Germany attacked Russia, the Soviets resisted because they had a just cause. But when they attacked Finland, they failed, because their cause was unjust. The justice or injustice of a cause determines the inner strength of those who defend it. When you fight for love, for your land, for your people, you are almost indestructible.”
Norek’s novel, however, devotes considerable space to the Russians. “For me, it was essential not to dehumanize the enemy. At the beginning of the book, I speak of the blood spilled: not Finnish blood, but that of both sides. At one point, a soldier falls, wants to turn around, but knows that if he does, his own comrades will shoot him. He kneels, looks to the sky, and prays. In that instant, it doesn’t matter which side the bullet comes from. If the reader doesn’t know whether he’s Russian or Finnish, then I’ve done well. Because deep down, they were all young men, brothers, cousins, boys who didn’t choose that war. Those in command never send their sons to the front. That’s the universal tragedy.”
The bitter cold is not just a backdrop, but the very spirit of the story. “I wanted to tell the story of war, violence, and death in a poetic way. Winter, because it is white, because the snow is a movie screen or a blank page, allows me to tell everything. The snow absorbs the blood and turns red. It is another character, a mirror of the soul. And, moreover, its whiteness inspires poetry. Horror can only be told with beauty, or it is unbearable.”
Reality and fiction
Although The Winter Warriors is based on real events, Norek insists that his perspective is that of a storyteller, not a historian. “I’ve written a history book with the soul of my crime novels. I didn’t invent anything, I didn’t add heroic acts; everything I recount is true. I only changed the way I told it. Because for a novelist, what’s essential is the human element: the characters, the emotions. You can have the best plot twists, but without emotions, there’s no story.” One of the discoveries that most impacted him during his research had to do with the human side and concerned an unusual strategy designed by General Mannerheim, the Finnish commander-in-chief during the war. “He decided that each village would form a combat unit. It seems simple, but it was decisive. To your left was your brother, to your right your best friend, in front your cousin. That way, no one ran away. They weren’t fighting for an abstract concept, but for those they loved. It was the first war won thanks to love.”
The Winter Warriors is not just a historical novel, but a moral mirror. “I want the reader to remember that wars repeat themselves when we forget. Today, in Ukraine, the same thing is happening. The first year we feel emotions, the second we send weapons, the third we begin to tire. And the fourth, when we hear ‘Ukraine,’ many people yawn. But it is not only Ukraine that is being defended, it is Europe. If Ukraine falls, if Finland is attacked, we all have a problem.” That is why the author insists that diplomacy must go all the way: “When words disappear, violence arrives. We still have time to debate, to talk. But if that spark ignites, it will set us all ablaze. We have never been so close to a Third World War.”
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