Sometimes all it takes is a single night to throw an entire life off track – and a single encounter to ignite a story that won't let go. Das Mädchen aus den Träumen is the first volume of the Rhineland Saga by Günter Krieger – and it begins with a disquiet that seeps into the pages.
We are in the year 1278. Aachen is not a picturesque backdrop, but a turbulent place where power, pride, and violence intertwine. On Getrudis night, the conflict between locals and the troops of the Count of Jülich erupts, and in the midst of this mêlée, Martin Chorus, a young patrician who proves himself in battle and becomes a celebrated hero, finds himself caught. Thus begins a story that seemingly sounds like a classic medieval novel – yet Krieger turns expectations early and consistently: for heroism here is only a mask, behind which the real drama awaits.
Aachen and Jülich: When history devours people
"The Girl from the Dreams" tells its Middle Ages as a social order, not as folklore. The campaign against Jülich, the intricate alliances of the princes, the weakened monarchy – all of this is more than background noise. It acts as a pressure that weighs on characters until they make decisions they can no longer undo. Krieger anchors the novel in the Rhineland, in cities like Aachen and Jülich and in the rural area around Merode, and one senses: these places are not interchangeable. They are temperament, mentality, confinement, and opportunity all at once – and precisely from this, the Rhineland Saga gains its breath.
At its center is a love story – but not one that could be resolved with chivalrous gestures. Martin is engaged to Irene Punt, a connection long agreed upon between the families. And yet, the idea of another girl lives within him, a dream figure that haunts him without him ever truly being able to grasp her. This is not romantically playful, but dangerous: a longing that mixes with war and alcohol – and finally with violence.
The fateful deed: Guilt as a driving force, not decoration
When Jülich falls, the event that shapes the novel occurs in the "Zum Löwen" inn. Martin witnesses soldiers attempting to abuse Eva, the innkeeper's daughter. He recognizes in her the image of his dreams – and in a maelstrom of power, peer pressure, and disinhibition, he himself becomes the perpetrator. Krieger does not make this a "kiss of fate," but the raw core around which everything revolves: guilt and atonement become the impetus, not mere backdrop. Eva bears the consequences, Martin bears the guilt – and both are thus connected, without this bond ever being easy or "beautiful."
It is precisely here that readers decide whether to stay: because the novel does not shy away. Eva loses her father, security, reputation, and fiancé; she becomes a projection screen for rumors and societal harshness. And yet she is not a figure who is merely endured. She must act – and she does. Those who want to delve deeper into this character can find their own perspective on it in the article about a strong female character in a medieval novel.
A new beginning in Merode – and the breadth of a family saga
After Jülich, the novel opens its second grand stage: the countryside. Eva, pregnant and ostracized, initially tries to keep the inn – but the city turns away. She sells, gives birth to her child, barely survives, and leaves Jülich. On a farm near Weisweiler and later in Merode, a different life begins: harder, earthier, less public – and precisely for that reason full of existential truth. The widowed farmer Winand takes in Eva and her child. There is hope, but not cheap hope. There is affection, but also envy, lust, threat. Krieger here sets the signature of a great family saga: He shows how a single event shapes generations and how decisions are written into bodies and biographies.
And then Martin. He cannot forget what he has done – nor whom. When he learns that Eva has disappeared, he realizes that the child of his crime could also be his own. He fakes his death and leaves Aachen to go to Merode – hoping for a redemption that the novel does not promise him. The moment he arrives and Eva is marrying Winand is not just melodramatic. It is the logical consequence of a world where one cannot rewind mistakes.
Why you shouldn't be "satisfied" after the last chapter
In the author interview with the publisher, Günter Krieger very clearly states what should remain when closing this first volume: "Disquiet – a good word for it." This one word hits the core of the Rhineland Saga. For "The Girl from the Dreams" is not designed to reassure us. It wants us to think further: about responsibility, about the brutality of groups, about female self-assertion in a medieval society that knows few ways out. And it wants us to know: The story is not over – not historically, not psychologically, not narratively.
Precisely therein lies the captivating power of this beginning: It combines German medieval history and Rhenish settings with a tragic love story that does not "redeem" but binds. Those looking for historical novels from the Rhineland that are dark, serious, and epic – and at the same time close to their characters – will find a strong entry point here. And those who want to know what happens next will have to live with this disquiet – until the next volume of the Rhineland Saga by Günter Krieger.
The book is available in German as a printed, i.e. hardback edition (ISBN 978-3-910347-83-0) and as an EPUB (ISBN 978-3-910347-84-7) in bookstores or here in the publisher's shop.
