The passage I’ve been bothered and stuck on this week is the brief clash between Fritz and Karoline. They almost never “argue”, but here, Fritz snaps: “No, Justen, you have not understood. The mining industry is not a violation of Nature’s secrets, but a release.” It’s unusually sharp for him. He’s irritated, not at Karoline herself, exactly, but at the idea that she cannot understand what he feels in his bones. It exposes the gap between them. He suddenly speaks like a poet-philosopher-mystic: the mines as “primal sons of Mother Earth,” ore as a being “struggling through hardships,” the “King of Metals” longing for light.
He longs to be released into meaning, into a vision of life that Sophie embodies for him. Karoline sees this but cannot follow him, and Fitzgerald gives her the smallest, saddest gesture: “Karoline shut her eyes for a moment… not being anxious to see the effect.” She cannot bear to witness how brightly he burns for a vision she knows she can never embody. Then comes the quiet heartbreak: “She meant to say, ‘I wonder if you have mentioned these ideas to the Direction Committee,’ but she could not bring herself to it.” She wants to help him, support him, be part of his world. But the sentence sticks. She is too emotionally entangled. Her silence is louder than anything she could have said. And Fritz simply returns to his writing.
This moment, seems to reveal how blind Fritz is, not only to Karoline but to the emotional reality around him. His Romantic inwardness cannot accommodate real human connection. Their worlds run alongside each other but never meet.
I keep thinking of something I once heard on the Backlisted podcast: that so many of Fitzgerald’s novels circle around human failure. People pursuing meaning, belief, love, but ultimately stumbling against their own limitations. This week’s section feels like the moment when that theme crystallizes. The brief clash between Fritz and Karoline (followed by another one with Mandelsloh) isn’t just a disagreement; it’s the point where Fitzgerald quietly confronts us with the emotional failure at the heart of the novel. Fritz cannot see what Karoline offers, and Karoline cannot say what she needs to. The gap between them (polite until now) finally becomes painful. It’s a tipping point, and Fitzgerald makes us feel its discomfort. We’re no longer simply observing Fritz’s vision; we’re now asked to reckon with the cost of it.
"The emotional failure at the heart of the novel." You're right, Fritz has these arguments, disagreements, with Karoline, Mandelsloh, and also the quarrel with Sophie. That gap between reality and imagination brought into focus. This week also feels like the moment it becomes clear that Karoline is the central figure of the book, "the exterminee", around which the story revolves.
I’ve been thinking so much about how this reading revealed that the novel really isn’t about Fritz/Novalis, but about women—or that Fitzgerald’s real interest seems to be the women around him, and their secret lives, and their depth of feeling, to which he and his world seem to be blinded: something about the ideal being not apart from but existing within the real, the divine being not transcendent but immanent. The blue flower might that — that beauty unseen?
I think that's right. And the idea of the blue flower is manifested throughout the novel, often in terms of unfulfilled desires of women (who Fitzgerald elsewhere calls life's exterminees).
I keep finding Karoline rather hard to write about. Characters like her resist interpretation. You feel compelled to understand them, to “help” them, but you also keep hitting a wall. There’s a kind of vacuum around her, a quiet pressure. I’ve been thinking about Karoline through a Lacanian lens (and this is my tangent here), especially through what he calls extimacy, the paradox of something that is both intimate and unbearably external. Karoline is one of those subjects for whom the presence of the Other becomes almost too much to sustain. Lacan argues that we relate to others not through fullness but through their gaps, absences, and desires. Being too close to someone else’s desire can feel like an intrusion into the self. She is not rejecting Fritz. She is overwhelmed by being too close to his desire. The presence of the desiring Other destabilises the subject who is structured around interiority, not reciprocity. Karoline is built inwardly.
Fritz’s visionary inner fire is too much.
It forces her into a Lacanian “extimité”: being both inside and outside herself at the same time. Karoline is not weak; she is structurally unable to bear proximity.
This is why she thrives in letters, not in presence.
“Thoughtfulness can be much more painful than neglect.”
I'm always impressed how Simon manages to pick the quotation that hit me. There's a lot of good stuff, but he always seem to land on the one I noticed. And this one is heartbreaking - and, of course, doesn't only apply to Fritz's mother.
Thinking about the relationships, I couldn't help thin king that there is a trope of the emotional triangle: A loves B (who is fine with it but, bluntly, would find moving on quite easy) but rejects C (who is besotted with A and might never move on). There's always the hope of a happy ending, but it usually gets dashed.
Women are certainly getting the fluffy end of the lolly this week. Fritz doesn't notice Sophie's illness; his mother is taken for granted; Karoline loses Erasmus as well as Fritz (and is also taken for granted; and the poor old Mandelsloh "was born to be always well". Can you think of a worse curse than that?
I'll be honest: I don't think Fritz has quite enough charm to prevent me seeing him as a self-centred, insensitive idiot. I really wish the Mandelsloh could get around with having an unfiltered word with him. It relates to the broader concept about people who are viewed as 'artists' being allowed to get away with bad behaviour because of their artistry. (Sadly, that hasn't changed.) The irony of Sophie wanting a quarrel - until it actually happens.
And the cherry on top was th shenanigans at the mine - refusing tangible improvements because... well, just because! (Sadly, that hasn't changed either!)
As someone allergic to confrontations, I'm always dumbfounded by the relationship advice that quarrels are a necessary part of marriage! I get a cold sweat just thinking about it – and that chapter is so god awful I can barely think about it.
There was a rhyme on a radio programme which I’ve never managed to track down - and I can’t remember the name of the author, but it was a known name - about how some people hurt people first, then make amends. It just feels hideously manipulative.
I’m not sure Fritz is that bad, but you wouldn’t wish him as a partner on your worst enemy, would you?
I don't know. My opinion of Fritz is more generous than yours. He's no Anatole Kuragin! I think he has all the strengths and weaknesses of an idealist, but I don't think he is conceited. Thoughtlessly thoughtful, or thoughtfully thoughtless – a much more interesting human failing!
He’s definitely no Anatole, but he is a bit of a liability. He reminds me of someone about whom it was said “He wouldn’t hurt anyone. Well, not deliberately…”
Yes, I'm with you there on how frustrating Fritz is and the shades of art monster. But he's young, and part of me loves to see the hope of idealism in the young; also, we know he has his own tragedies coming. That poor bless.
A bit like the 27 club, we tend to indulge them and forgive their youthful monstrosities. It's the ones that do grow old but never up that we can't stand!
I recently read (listened to) John Green’s “Everything Is Tuberculosis” in which Green is passionate that humans could be beating this disease except for our greed and prejudice. It gives an excellent history of TB, as well. Recommend for the curious.
I know I called her an airhead in the past, but this week’s reading has made me love Sophie. Karoline and Fritz discuss courage. Well, another form of courage is to find a way to laugh even when we are suffering—and also to refuse to accept the blame for our own suffering, as Sophie does when she says “‘Things of the body aren’t our own doing . . . I have a pain in my left side, and that is not my own doing.’” You tell ‘em, Sophie!
I also have a tangent, in the form of a book recommendation. The main character in Andrew Miller’s brilliant novel Ingenious Pain, James Dyer, is, like the man in the Mandelsloh’s fable, congenitally unable to experience pain. This is a real, if extremely rare and dangerous condition. But in the world of the novel, 18th-century England, it is Dyer’s superpower. He is a surgeon, and because he has no experience of pain, he is able to perform surgeries quickly and emotionlessly. He becomes the greatest surgeon of his time; his lack of empathy ironically causes his patients less suffering. Anyway, I highly recommend this book!
I was really struck by the scene under the cherry tree and Freifrau’s silence - we have to remember this is a book about really young people, children practically, who apparently do not feel pain the way adults may do, with the reasonable Karoline being past youth in her late 20’s and the long suffering frail Freifrau being old at 45, barely going outside … same as cherries have a tiny celebrated season, people’s lives are compressed into not even two decades (?) - it seems unnecessary, cruel and bound to feel painful to constrain oneself from experiencing all stages of life. A quick search showed me that of course cherry trees also suffer from microbial disease, and their average life span is from 15 to 40 years. Not sure if this comparison is tenuous but it’s not unlike some of the protagonists in the book. And yes, apparently the 27 year club is not quite so modern a phenomenon. It is quite a dark place in the story, with quite a feverish pitch…
Oh I hadn't thought about that link between Freifrau and the cherry tree: producing so much fruit, and aging too young. It takes my breath away how Fitzgerald sketches out these "minor" characters and their silences, there is so much going on in the novel's negative space.
Also if anyone is interested, I just discovered that Kindle has free or low cost Novalis collections. I believe the English one is no more than 2.99 USD and German one is free and includes all his poems, prose and philosophy; and since my one outstanding reading goal for the year is a book in German - it fits the bill (even in classical German which I hope is still understandable and enjoyable to a sporadic German language reader like myself).
The passage that stuck out to me this week was: "In one of the top inside pockets of his winter coat, Just kept his minutely written diary for the last five years, and he began now to pat the outside of his pockets, as though expecting it to call out to him in response." A 2025 Just could command his smart phone to "scan my diary and tell me when Karoline last saw her cousin Carl August," and he would get his response.
This thought was truly unbidden, and I didn't appreciate the intrusion of the 21 century! If I had the power, I would decree that, in 2026, everyone put their smart phones away and keep a pocket diary instead - just for a week, to see how it feels.
I don't have anything much to contribute this week (although I have been reading a little about Dr Brown of Edinburgh who keeps being name-dropped and OH BOY. I'll maybe save my thoughts on that for now) but just wanted to say how much I'm enjoying this read. I fell by the wayside with APOGS - gave it a good go but just wasn't feeling it, much to my surprise. But this is *such* a gem of a book. There seems to be something new to look at whichever way I turn it. And it is so refreshing to read a book stuffed with great female characters.
Awesome. I'm enjoying it too. I couldn't really get a handle on it when I first read it, but now we have slowed down I am appreciating every little detail. Like you say, there is so much to look at in such a short novel.
I would never have made all these little connections and noticed all these details without this group, and it definitely adds to my understanding & appreciation of the book... thank you all!
I've always wanted to visit the Wieliczka Salt Mine and lick Copernicus (in salt sculpture form) (this is presumably not allowed) (said salty statue exists because Copernicus was the first known tourist who visited the mine, back in ~1493)
(if anyone ever wants to get me a perfect gift, a Copernicus salt lick would do nicely)
Probably not allowed, but there is a pillar of salt in the New York State Museum that older folks tell me they would visit after school to lick. I am not sure if it was allowed then either, but now the salt has a rope around it. Back in the day, Syracuse, New York produces much of the salt used in the US.
I am also from around Syracuse - and yes it’s the official Salt city! Its little cousin Rome 20 minutes from us is the Copper City. And the Adirondack mountains in the other side, harboring treasures that are decreed to never be mined. How’s that for a tangent - what Karoline had thought abhorrent got a true validation via state law leaving the sleeping giant within forever dormant and the mountains wild (for now it holds here in NY state). I have to look up the Salt curiosities around here - we have a lot of natural wonder in upstate NY.
My daughter and I visited that museum on our way back from the Rochester Teen Book Fest one year (We are in Albany). I didn't expect the location to be so lovely, and I would like to return.
I really love living here in large part because of the unbelievable nature and the history of our area - and of course, the lakes and the mountains are the crown jewel. There is something about the romanticism movement and the Novalis worldview about the universal connection that speaks to anyone who comes here to visit or live, winter or summer.
So close but I didn't know that. Being west of the Appalachian Mountains, near the Great Lakes, a huge freshwater basin, Western Pennsylvania lacks that particular mineral.
This is the huge salt mine in our general area, although a bit south of our exact location. it has a long history and is surrounded by environmental concerns in the southern tier which is the location of the precious Finger Lakes. Also known for layoffs etc and labor disputes (just as we read about in the book - the eternal pull of efficiency versus employment security, quite a timely aspect), it just got its operation license renewed this year. That is quite a tangent, folks, sure it is about Novalis, but I just serendipitously learned tons about my local lore!
Thank you for this slow read and this thread. There are so many connections that I would not have made reading this book solo. I particularly enjoyed the Ophelia link. The discussion on cherries reminded me of the song by Handel - I Rage...O Ruddier than the Cherry
I was all ready to comment about the parallel with Robert Macfarlane's mine chapter in Underland before I got to your mention of it! He definitely manages to bring out the numinous in the place.
Simon, what riches you’ve provided to us! Always, of course, but this week in particular I feel overwhelmed by how many of those links I wanted to follow into deep dark rabbit holes.
On a sort-of related note: I have used the expression “I’m off to the salt-mines” all my life when heading for work, without ever having given much thought to the phrase. Now I can see how inappropriate (or only very occasionally and approximately appropriate) it was.
I just want to say that this sentence, describing salt middle manager Heun from chapter 40, is a very good sentence:
> In his long coat of coarse
stuff, in which dust seemed to be incorporated, he suggested one of those elementals of the caves and passages of the inner earth, who emerge only reluctantly, and not with good omen, into daylight.
And of course at the end of this page the punchline that the ledgers would not dare disagree with old Heun.
Thank you for the footnotes and tangents, Simon. This place is a fantastic concept, well executed.
That's a great sentence. I'm glad you think the concept works, most days I feel like it just crosses the line – but I'm an idealist like our unfortunate Fritz.
I found it interesting that the book places the salt mine and tuberculosis in back-to-back chapters. It made me wonder whether this might be intentional on the author’s part — setting a serious illness next to a place that has long been associated (rightly or wrongly) with healing air.
I know that the Wieliczka Salt Mine in Poland has a long tradition of therapeutic stays, and I once had the chance to visit it myself — it was an absolutely fascinating experience.
The passage I’ve been bothered and stuck on this week is the brief clash between Fritz and Karoline. They almost never “argue”, but here, Fritz snaps: “No, Justen, you have not understood. The mining industry is not a violation of Nature’s secrets, but a release.” It’s unusually sharp for him. He’s irritated, not at Karoline herself, exactly, but at the idea that she cannot understand what he feels in his bones. It exposes the gap between them. He suddenly speaks like a poet-philosopher-mystic: the mines as “primal sons of Mother Earth,” ore as a being “struggling through hardships,” the “King of Metals” longing for light.
He longs to be released into meaning, into a vision of life that Sophie embodies for him. Karoline sees this but cannot follow him, and Fitzgerald gives her the smallest, saddest gesture: “Karoline shut her eyes for a moment… not being anxious to see the effect.” She cannot bear to witness how brightly he burns for a vision she knows she can never embody. Then comes the quiet heartbreak: “She meant to say, ‘I wonder if you have mentioned these ideas to the Direction Committee,’ but she could not bring herself to it.” She wants to help him, support him, be part of his world. But the sentence sticks. She is too emotionally entangled. Her silence is louder than anything she could have said. And Fritz simply returns to his writing.
This moment, seems to reveal how blind Fritz is, not only to Karoline but to the emotional reality around him. His Romantic inwardness cannot accommodate real human connection. Their worlds run alongside each other but never meet.
I keep thinking of something I once heard on the Backlisted podcast: that so many of Fitzgerald’s novels circle around human failure. People pursuing meaning, belief, love, but ultimately stumbling against their own limitations. This week’s section feels like the moment when that theme crystallizes. The brief clash between Fritz and Karoline (followed by another one with Mandelsloh) isn’t just a disagreement; it’s the point where Fitzgerald quietly confronts us with the emotional failure at the heart of the novel. Fritz cannot see what Karoline offers, and Karoline cannot say what she needs to. The gap between them (polite until now) finally becomes painful. It’s a tipping point, and Fitzgerald makes us feel its discomfort. We’re no longer simply observing Fritz’s vision; we’re now asked to reckon with the cost of it.
"The emotional failure at the heart of the novel." You're right, Fritz has these arguments, disagreements, with Karoline, Mandelsloh, and also the quarrel with Sophie. That gap between reality and imagination brought into focus. This week also feels like the moment it becomes clear that Karoline is the central figure of the book, "the exterminee", around which the story revolves.
I’ve been thinking so much about how this reading revealed that the novel really isn’t about Fritz/Novalis, but about women—or that Fitzgerald’s real interest seems to be the women around him, and their secret lives, and their depth of feeling, to which he and his world seem to be blinded: something about the ideal being not apart from but existing within the real, the divine being not transcendent but immanent. The blue flower might that — that beauty unseen?
I think that's right. And the idea of the blue flower is manifested throughout the novel, often in terms of unfulfilled desires of women (who Fitzgerald elsewhere calls life's exterminees).
I keep finding Karoline rather hard to write about. Characters like her resist interpretation. You feel compelled to understand them, to “help” them, but you also keep hitting a wall. There’s a kind of vacuum around her, a quiet pressure. I’ve been thinking about Karoline through a Lacanian lens (and this is my tangent here), especially through what he calls extimacy, the paradox of something that is both intimate and unbearably external. Karoline is one of those subjects for whom the presence of the Other becomes almost too much to sustain. Lacan argues that we relate to others not through fullness but through their gaps, absences, and desires. Being too close to someone else’s desire can feel like an intrusion into the self. She is not rejecting Fritz. She is overwhelmed by being too close to his desire. The presence of the desiring Other destabilises the subject who is structured around interiority, not reciprocity. Karoline is built inwardly.
Fritz’s visionary inner fire is too much.
It forces her into a Lacanian “extimité”: being both inside and outside herself at the same time. Karoline is not weak; she is structurally unable to bear proximity.
This is why she thrives in letters, not in presence.
“Thoughtfulness can be much more painful than neglect.”
I'm always impressed how Simon manages to pick the quotation that hit me. There's a lot of good stuff, but he always seem to land on the one I noticed. And this one is heartbreaking - and, of course, doesn't only apply to Fritz's mother.
Thinking about the relationships, I couldn't help thin king that there is a trope of the emotional triangle: A loves B (who is fine with it but, bluntly, would find moving on quite easy) but rejects C (who is besotted with A and might never move on). There's always the hope of a happy ending, but it usually gets dashed.
Women are certainly getting the fluffy end of the lolly this week. Fritz doesn't notice Sophie's illness; his mother is taken for granted; Karoline loses Erasmus as well as Fritz (and is also taken for granted; and the poor old Mandelsloh "was born to be always well". Can you think of a worse curse than that?
I'll be honest: I don't think Fritz has quite enough charm to prevent me seeing him as a self-centred, insensitive idiot. I really wish the Mandelsloh could get around with having an unfiltered word with him. It relates to the broader concept about people who are viewed as 'artists' being allowed to get away with bad behaviour because of their artistry. (Sadly, that hasn't changed.) The irony of Sophie wanting a quarrel - until it actually happens.
And the cherry on top was th shenanigans at the mine - refusing tangible improvements because... well, just because! (Sadly, that hasn't changed either!)
As someone allergic to confrontations, I'm always dumbfounded by the relationship advice that quarrels are a necessary part of marriage! I get a cold sweat just thinking about it – and that chapter is so god awful I can barely think about it.
There was a rhyme on a radio programme which I’ve never managed to track down - and I can’t remember the name of the author, but it was a known name - about how some people hurt people first, then make amends. It just feels hideously manipulative.
I’m not sure Fritz is that bad, but you wouldn’t wish him as a partner on your worst enemy, would you?
I don't know. My opinion of Fritz is more generous than yours. He's no Anatole Kuragin! I think he has all the strengths and weaknesses of an idealist, but I don't think he is conceited. Thoughtlessly thoughtful, or thoughtfully thoughtless – a much more interesting human failing!
He’s definitely no Anatole, but he is a bit of a liability. He reminds me of someone about whom it was said “He wouldn’t hurt anyone. Well, not deliberately…”
Yes, I'm with you there on how frustrating Fritz is and the shades of art monster. But he's young, and part of me loves to see the hope of idealism in the young; also, we know he has his own tragedies coming. That poor bless.
A bit like the 27 club, we tend to indulge them and forgive their youthful monstrosities. It's the ones that do grow old but never up that we can't stand!
"the fluffy end of the lolly". I haven't heard that before. That's hilarious :-D
It's a version of “the fuzzy end of the lollipop” (Marilyn Monroe in ‘Some Like It Hot’.
I recently read (listened to) John Green’s “Everything Is Tuberculosis” in which Green is passionate that humans could be beating this disease except for our greed and prejudice. It gives an excellent history of TB, as well. Recommend for the curious.
Thanks Judy! John Green is great isn't he?
I was astonished to learn how endemic TB is in the world population. I was tested for it a few years ago after living with someone with active TB.
I suspect that might be true for quite a few diseases.
One of my favourite movies!
Thank you.
I know I called her an airhead in the past, but this week’s reading has made me love Sophie. Karoline and Fritz discuss courage. Well, another form of courage is to find a way to laugh even when we are suffering—and also to refuse to accept the blame for our own suffering, as Sophie does when she says “‘Things of the body aren’t our own doing . . . I have a pain in my left side, and that is not my own doing.’” You tell ‘em, Sophie!
I also have a tangent, in the form of a book recommendation. The main character in Andrew Miller’s brilliant novel Ingenious Pain, James Dyer, is, like the man in the Mandelsloh’s fable, congenitally unable to experience pain. This is a real, if extremely rare and dangerous condition. But in the world of the novel, 18th-century England, it is Dyer’s superpower. He is a surgeon, and because he has no experience of pain, he is able to perform surgeries quickly and emotionlessly. He becomes the greatest surgeon of his time; his lack of empathy ironically causes his patients less suffering. Anyway, I highly recommend this book!
Oh, thanks for the book recommendation! And an Andrew Miller book, reminding me to read more of his.
I was really struck by the scene under the cherry tree and Freifrau’s silence - we have to remember this is a book about really young people, children practically, who apparently do not feel pain the way adults may do, with the reasonable Karoline being past youth in her late 20’s and the long suffering frail Freifrau being old at 45, barely going outside … same as cherries have a tiny celebrated season, people’s lives are compressed into not even two decades (?) - it seems unnecessary, cruel and bound to feel painful to constrain oneself from experiencing all stages of life. A quick search showed me that of course cherry trees also suffer from microbial disease, and their average life span is from 15 to 40 years. Not sure if this comparison is tenuous but it’s not unlike some of the protagonists in the book. And yes, apparently the 27 year club is not quite so modern a phenomenon. It is quite a dark place in the story, with quite a feverish pitch…
Oh I hadn't thought about that link between Freifrau and the cherry tree: producing so much fruit, and aging too young. It takes my breath away how Fitzgerald sketches out these "minor" characters and their silences, there is so much going on in the novel's negative space.
Also if anyone is interested, I just discovered that Kindle has free or low cost Novalis collections. I believe the English one is no more than 2.99 USD and German one is free and includes all his poems, prose and philosophy; and since my one outstanding reading goal for the year is a book in German - it fits the bill (even in classical German which I hope is still understandable and enjoyable to a sporadic German language reader like myself).
The passage that stuck out to me this week was: "In one of the top inside pockets of his winter coat, Just kept his minutely written diary for the last five years, and he began now to pat the outside of his pockets, as though expecting it to call out to him in response." A 2025 Just could command his smart phone to "scan my diary and tell me when Karoline last saw her cousin Carl August," and he would get his response.
This thought was truly unbidden, and I didn't appreciate the intrusion of the 21 century! If I had the power, I would decree that, in 2026, everyone put their smart phones away and keep a pocket diary instead - just for a week, to see how it feels.
So much of this week's reading was devastatingly sad. It's like a giant scythe hovering behind every character I've come to care about.
I don't have anything much to contribute this week (although I have been reading a little about Dr Brown of Edinburgh who keeps being name-dropped and OH BOY. I'll maybe save my thoughts on that for now) but just wanted to say how much I'm enjoying this read. I fell by the wayside with APOGS - gave it a good go but just wasn't feeling it, much to my surprise. But this is *such* a gem of a book. There seems to be something new to look at whichever way I turn it. And it is so refreshing to read a book stuffed with great female characters.
Awesome. I'm enjoying it too. I couldn't really get a handle on it when I first read it, but now we have slowed down I am appreciating every little detail. Like you say, there is so much to look at in such a short novel.
I would never have made all these little connections and noticed all these details without this group, and it definitely adds to my understanding & appreciation of the book... thank you all!
I've always wanted to visit the Wieliczka Salt Mine and lick Copernicus (in salt sculpture form) (this is presumably not allowed) (said salty statue exists because Copernicus was the first known tourist who visited the mine, back in ~1493)
(if anyone ever wants to get me a perfect gift, a Copernicus salt lick would do nicely)
Haha! You really want to lick Copernicus! 😅
Probably not allowed, but there is a pillar of salt in the New York State Museum that older folks tell me they would visit after school to lick. I am not sure if it was allowed then either, but now the salt has a rope around it. Back in the day, Syracuse, New York produces much of the salt used in the US.
I am also from around Syracuse - and yes it’s the official Salt city! Its little cousin Rome 20 minutes from us is the Copper City. And the Adirondack mountains in the other side, harboring treasures that are decreed to never be mined. How’s that for a tangent - what Karoline had thought abhorrent got a true validation via state law leaving the sleeping giant within forever dormant and the mountains wild (for now it holds here in NY state). I have to look up the Salt curiosities around here - we have a lot of natural wonder in upstate NY.
Here is the link to the salt museum in our area which I have to visit when weather allows - while not a mine in the area, there is a major salt production hub. There is a salt mine around Ithaca NY. https://onondagacountyparks.com/parks/onondaga-lake-park/salt-museum/
My daughter and I visited that museum on our way back from the Rochester Teen Book Fest one year (We are in Albany). I didn't expect the location to be so lovely, and I would like to return.
I really love living here in large part because of the unbelievable nature and the history of our area - and of course, the lakes and the mountains are the crown jewel. There is something about the romanticism movement and the Novalis worldview about the universal connection that speaks to anyone who comes here to visit or live, winter or summer.
So close but I didn't know that. Being west of the Appalachian Mountains, near the Great Lakes, a huge freshwater basin, Western Pennsylvania lacks that particular mineral.
https://ithacavoice.org/2025/08/state-approves-five-year-permit-for-cayuga-salt-mine-to-continue-operations-modify-storage-beneath-lake/
This is the huge salt mine in our general area, although a bit south of our exact location. it has a long history and is surrounded by environmental concerns in the southern tier which is the location of the precious Finger Lakes. Also known for layoffs etc and labor disputes (just as we read about in the book - the eternal pull of efficiency versus employment security, quite a timely aspect), it just got its operation license renewed this year. That is quite a tangent, folks, sure it is about Novalis, but I just serendipitously learned tons about my local lore!
Tangent or not, thanks so much for sharing. I had no idea that there was still a corporate sized salt mine in the area.
Thank you for this slow read and this thread. There are so many connections that I would not have made reading this book solo. I particularly enjoyed the Ophelia link. The discussion on cherries reminded me of the song by Handel - I Rage...O Ruddier than the Cherry
I was all ready to comment about the parallel with Robert Macfarlane's mine chapter in Underland before I got to your mention of it! He definitely manages to bring out the numinous in the place.
This looks like a must-read.
Simon, what riches you’ve provided to us! Always, of course, but this week in particular I feel overwhelmed by how many of those links I wanted to follow into deep dark rabbit holes.
On a sort-of related note: I have used the expression “I’m off to the salt-mines” all my life when heading for work, without ever having given much thought to the phrase. Now I can see how inappropriate (or only very occasionally and approximately appropriate) it was.
Love that!
I just want to say that this sentence, describing salt middle manager Heun from chapter 40, is a very good sentence:
> In his long coat of coarse
stuff, in which dust seemed to be incorporated, he suggested one of those elementals of the caves and passages of the inner earth, who emerge only reluctantly, and not with good omen, into daylight.
And of course at the end of this page the punchline that the ledgers would not dare disagree with old Heun.
Thank you for the footnotes and tangents, Simon. This place is a fantastic concept, well executed.
That's a great sentence. I'm glad you think the concept works, most days I feel like it just crosses the line – but I'm an idealist like our unfortunate Fritz.
your "Mountains Inside Out: The Sublime Mines of Novalis" link is broken
Thanks, Danielle! Fixed. I didn't realise it was a local download link. It should work now.
I found it interesting that the book places the salt mine and tuberculosis in back-to-back chapters. It made me wonder whether this might be intentional on the author’s part — setting a serious illness next to a place that has long been associated (rightly or wrongly) with healing air.
I know that the Wieliczka Salt Mine in Poland has a long tradition of therapeutic stays, and I once had the chance to visit it myself — it was an absolutely fascinating experience.