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This is Norman Ohler’s official Substack, the world’s historical detective. Bringing hidden information to the surface.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 12
- Latest publication
- Sep 26, 2026
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- Earliest in this view
- Jul 21, 2026
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The Only German in Vorpommern (opens the original)
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Today I wondered whether I was the only German in Vorpommern who is not afraid of the Left in Berlin. The thought occurred to me in a forest barn converted by a prince, which is precisely where historical materialism would want such a revelation to take place. I had been invited to read from Der totale Rausch—Blitzed in English—to a select audience, many of them aristocratic, or at least equipped with the posture, vocabulary and knitwear of people whose ancestors had never needed to apply for a
Drugs can be Ritual for the People (opens the original)
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Last week I left the British Museum with Karl Marx, whose been dead since 1883, but I had spent the previous hours looking at much older dead people anyway: gods, kings, ritual vessels, substances and objects hauled to London from every corner of the planet.But when I stepped out onto Great Russell Street, on my way back home to my beloved Lucy, Karl Marx seemed a particularly suitable ghost to take with me. For years he had come here to work in the Reading Room of the British Museum, filling no
Das schwarze Cafe (opens the original)
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I slept for about an hour last night. This was partly my own fault, partly history’s. I had been out late in the House of Visionaires of Berlin where I planned with my friend Gregor to form a new political party, and first take over Germany, then the world, and this morning, regardless of the state of world politics or my nervous system, I had to get my son to basketball. So there I was, after perhaps sixty or ninety minutes of sleep, walking into the Schwarzes Café on Charlottenburg’s Kantstraß
THE WRONG DRUGS (opens the original)
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During the pandemic - a perfect time indeed to visit a pharma giant -, I walked onto the deserted campus of Novartis in Basel, heading for the company’s archive, looking for a ghost. Its name was, and is LSD. It had been born there, or almost there, inside Sandoz, the legendary Swiss pharmaceutical firm that would eventually disappear into the corporate organism now called Novartis, and in 1943 one of its own chemists, Albert Hofmann, had discovered what this strange new substance he had synthes
PS: Fatherland (opens the original)
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I want to return once more to Fatherland, precisely because it was a good film in the most reliable sense of that word: I keep thinking about it. There is a scene in which Thomas Mann, at a press conference in Frankfurt after the war, is confronted with the accusation that he did not stay in Germany when things became difficult, that he left the country while others — most Germans, after all — remained. And the argument presented to him is that those who stayed had chosen another form of exile:
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