Salt to the Sea by Ruta Sepetys is a heartbreaking, unforgettable World War II story that still haunts me

Rating:  ⭐⭐⭐½

Synopsis

Salt to the Sea is a World War II novel unlike most I’ve read. It doesn’t focus on the generals, the battles, the politics. Instead, it narrows in on four young refugees—Joana, Emilia, Florian, and Alfred. Each one fleeing. Each one hiding something. Each one carrying loss.

Their stories collide on the Wilhelm Gustloff, a ship meant to carry them to safety. But history has other plans. The ship is torpedoed. Thousands die. It becomes one of the deadliest maritime disasters in history, and yet, so few people even know about it.

This is a book about survival. About sacrifice. About the cost of war that rarely makes it into textbooks.

My Thoughts

I’ve always been drawn to World War II history. Not the war itself, but the smaller, human stories. Families torn apart. Individuals just trying to survive. That’s why I picked this book up. I wanted to feel it through their eyes.

The story is told from four perspectives. That choice fascinated me. Normally, you get one voice, one lens. Here, you get four. And they’re not just narrators. They’re puzzle pieces. Each holding something back. Each revealing fragments of their lives before and after. It’s almost poetic, the way the author moves from one perspective to the next.

The beginning hooked me.

Quick chapters, quick voices.

It felt like a chase, like I was running beside them.

Survival in motion.

Then the story slows down about 20% of the way in.

A lot of the middle is just memories. Secrets.

Past selves unraveling.

And I’ll admit, it tested my patience. But at the same time, it made me care. I got to see what haunted them. Why they carried themselves the way they did. That slower pacing gave them weight. They weren’t just survivors. They were broken. Human. Trying to piece themselves back together.

And then the last part of the book...swiftly goes under fire.

Like a torpedo.

The Wilhelm Gustloff.

The moment that’s been slowly building from the first page.

It’s devastating.

Chaotic.

Tragic.

One of those moments in history that’s almost too big to imagine, and yet, it’s real. It happened. And it was forgotten.

That’s when the book hit me the hardest. Because it wasn’t just about these characters. It was about everyone that lost their lives that night. People erased from history. People who should have been remembered.

I loved that the author added her research at the end. Real survivor stories. Interviews that gave the novel its foundation. Those voices live inside the book. And because of that, it doesn’t just read like fiction, it feels like a memory passed down.

I gave this book three and a half stars. The secrets each character held felt overhyped. I expected darker, more unthinkable truths, but they ended up being smaller threads. Almost distractions compared to the weight of the ending. And Alfred—my least favorite character—felt disconnected for most of the story.

Honestly, I wish the author had chosen to tell the story through other voices. Like the six-year-old boy who lost his grandmother and walked the road alone, or the old shoemaker who chose to be his guardian. Their voices stayed with me more than Alfred’s ever did.

Still, this book lingered.

It reminded me why I read historical fiction in the first place.

To feel the weight of the stories that are almost lost.

To see survival through the eyes of people who lived it.

To be reminded that even in devastation, there can still be love.

Still be hope.

Still be life.

hildabear 🐻🎀