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 generals or battles or 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 had other plans. The ship was torpedoed, and thousands died. It became one of the deadliest maritime disasters in history...and yet, so few people even know it happened.

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 see 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 one holding something back. Each one revealing fragments of their lives before and after. It felt almost poetic, the way the author shifted from one voice to the next.

The beginning hooked me right away.

Quick chapters. Quick voices.

It felt like a chase...like I was running beside them. Survival in motion.

Then the pace slowed about a quarter of the way in. Much of the middle was retold memories and hidden secrets. Past selves unraveling.

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

The characters stood out to me in different ways.

Joana, the Lithuanian nurse, carried guilt and compassion in equal measure. She was resilient but vulnerable, a character I rooted for.

Florian, the Prussian boy, was secretive and skilled. He carried his past like a weapon, sharp but hidden.

Alfred, the German sailor, was my least favorite. Detached. Delusional. More like an observer than a participant. He felt disconnected from the heart of the story, and I often wished his chapters belonged to someone else.

Emilia, the young Polish girl, was fragile and determined all at once. Her chapters carried a different kind of sorrow, a voice that lingered with me.

And then...the last part of the book hit like a torpedo.

The Wilhelm Gustloff.

The moment that had been building from the very first page.

It was devastating. Chaotic. Tragic.

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

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

I gave this book three and a half stars. The secrets each character held were built up to feel darker, more unimaginable, but they ended up being smaller threads. Almost distractions compared to the weight of the ending. And Alfred’s perspective...I could have done without it. I would have rather heard from the little boy who lost his grandmother and walked the road alone, or the old shoemaker who chose to protect him. 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 stories 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 🐻🎀