Book Review:  The Future by Naomi Alderman

Posted on November 30, 2024 by John Walters

Don’t let the generic title of this novel fool you. It is a stylish, multifaceted, fast-paced, and well-written near-future fable that reveals itself as even more prescient due to recent political events in the United States. It concerns three billionaires, the owners of the three largest tech companies in the world, three of the richest people on the planet. One company controls a social media network, one company dominates worldwide internet sales, and one company creates cutting-edge tech equipment. Sound familiar? These three wealthy and powerful people couldn’t care less about the rest of the human race; they are concerned only with increasing their own fortunes at any cost and with ensuring their own survival even if everyone else faces a catastrophe and perishes. This is uncomfortably close to present-day realities. In fact, as I read The Future I was frequently reminded of wealthy billionaires of whom the characters in the book seem to be doppelgangers, those who buy up vast properties and construct bunkers and fortresses on them, presumably to save themselves from whatever ill fortune comes upon the rest of the human race.

So the selfish billionaires function as the villains, but in great stories villains need foils, and in The Future we have several, including a survivalist influencer who as a child lost her family in the decimation of Hong Kong, a personal advisor to one of the tech overlords who escaped a fanatical religious cult in Oregon as a teen, a former tech CEO who was ousted in a hostile takeover, the empathetic son of one of the tech moguls, and one of the tech mogul’s wives who is also a genius programmer. Together these people plot to relieve the self-centered billionaires of their fortunes and their power and use these for the betterment of humanity… But I don’t want to give away too much of the story. This novel is something that I find too rarely nowadays: a real page-turner. I generally keep quite a strict schedule during the week, and in the middle of the day I allot a period of rest that I usually spend reading. When I need to get back to the computer and my work, I put down whatever book I am absorbed in and get to it. However, while reading The Future, I often yielded to the urge to read just one more chapter before I got up.

One thing I found interesting about The Future is that it is divided into a complex array of sections and chapters but there is no table of contents. This is because the various divisions, titles, and subtitles throughout the text form a pattern integral to the story. Early on I also found it a bit disconcerting that Alderman does not tell the tale sequentially but uses frequent flashbacks and flash-forwards. As the story progresses, though, it becomes apparent that there is a rhythm to all of this and it enhances the novel’s overall impact. As a final deviation from standard publishing procedure, at the story’s penultimate point Alderman inserts an acknowledgments section, and after this appears the book’s last chapter. As I said, the novel is stylish. Sometimes, in some books, stylistic flourishes can be annoying, but in The Future, they are great fun and add to the book’s appeal.

In conclusion, this book was a pleasing discovery for me, and reading it was an enjoyable and gratifying experience. Highly recommended.

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Nordic Celebration

Posted on November 27, 2024 by John Walters

Seattle has a multitude of fascinating museums, and since I haven’t been able to accomplish long-distance physical travel lately, I have been taking advantage of a museum pass to mentally travel not only to distant locales but to other times by visiting venues such as the Seattle Art Museum, the Wing Luke Museum in Chinatown, the Klondike Museum in downtown’s Pioneer Square, the Museum of Flight, the Museum of Popular Culture, formerly known as the Experience Music Project and Science Fiction Museum and Hall of Fame, and others. Last weekend I decided to venture into the Ballard district to check out the National Nordic Museum.

In the past, Seattle has welcomed a large number of immigrants from the Nordic lands of Sweden, Norway, Finland, Denmark, Iceland, the Faroe Islands, and Greenland. In particular, these newcomers brought their skills into burgeoning Pacific Northwest industries such as logging and fishing. In fact, the ancestors on my father’s side are mainly Danish, so I have a personal stake in this heritage.

As usual, I planned my Saturday morning bus trip so that I would arrive when the museum opened. That way, I supposed, as in other museums, I would have the place almost to myself. I was astonished, therefore, as the bus passed by the museum to pull up to its stop, to see a blocks-long line of hundreds of people waiting to get in. I guess I hadn’t studied its website closely enough, for it turns out that every year on the weekend before Thanksgiving, the museum hosts its Christmas celebration known as Julefest. I almost gave up and decided to leave and return on another day, but an attendant at the gate assured me that once the admissions desk opened, the line would clear rapidly. So I walked and walked and walked and walked to the end of the line of cheery people, most of them looking quite Nordic, and waited my turn.

It was as the man had said: the line moved quickly. Most people had purchased their tickets online and after a swift scan walked right in. However, when I reached the pay-on-the-spot table, the cashier informed me that my museum pass wasn’t valid for the festival. I explained that I hadn’t come for the celebration but only to peruse the museum’s exhibits, and that I would come back another time. She then, with a wave of her hand, said, “Oh, just go in! Go in!”

So there I was in the vast interior of the National Nordic Museum. The Julefest celebration’s offerings of food, drink, entertainment, and high-priced handicrafts were all on the ground floor. When I ascended the stairs to the permanent exhibits, I found that they were sparsely populated; most people had remained downstairs to enjoy the festivities. One corner of the upstairs was set up as Santa’s toyshop for the kids, and I gave that a pass. As for the rest, I was able to contemplate the historic Pacific Northwest Nordic experience at my leisure. The items on display depicted regional Nordic history from thousands of years ago up to the present. As usual on my museum visits, I became fatigued before I was able to absorb everything.

Back downstairs, I discovered that an abundance of merchants had set up stalls in the alley behind the building and were selling their wares to an eager crowd. Available munchies included seafood, hot dogs, meatballs, popcorn, candy, and chocolates. Other stalls sold artwork, glasswork, clothing, candles, wine, hard liquor, and many other items. I hadn’t come there to shop, of course, but it was fascinating to watch the festival attendees crowding into the various makeshift shops.

All in all, during my visit to the National Nordic Museum I got much more than I had expected. You never know what you might come across when you venture forth into the unknown.

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Book Review:  Hits, Flops, and Other Illusions: My Fortysomething Years in Hollywood by Ed Zwick

Posted on November 23, 2024 by John Walters

I have read several books on filmmaking from top directors and screenwriters, including Chasing the Light by Oliver Stone, Cinema Speculation by Quentin Tarantino, and Adventures in the Screen Trade and Which Lie Did I Tell? by William Goldman, but even among these fascinating books by such accomplished authors, Hits, Flops, and Other Illusions stands out. For one thing, Zwick is an excellent writer. He is also adept at focusing on lessons to be learned in the midst of the innumerable outrageous situations in which people working in Hollywood find themselves. And his examples come from accounts of the filming of some truly outstanding films he has been the producer, director, and/or writer of, including The Last Samurai, Blood Diamond, Defiance, Glory, Shakespeare in Love, Legends of the Fall, and others. In addition, he shares the triumphs and tragedies of working with actors such as Denzel Washington, Julia Roberts, Brad Pitt, Leonardo DiCaprio, Morgan Freeman, Daniel Craig, and Anthony Hopkins. In between the chapters, each of which highlights one or more TV series or movies, Zwick compiles summaries of tips and lessons to be derived from the examples; some of these are written tongue-in-cheek, while others provide profound yet practical wisdom for anyone aspiring to success in film land.

I want to emphasize, though, that this book is much more than a Hollywood expose. As I said, Zwick is a very talented writer, and this is above all a personal memoir. He credits the COVID lockdown, when film production shut down, with providing the impetus to put his past into words. As he says: “For the first time in my life, having been stripped of the work addiction that’s defined me since second grade, I decided to sit down and take a hard look at what I’d made over the years.” And his motivation comes in the form of an image: “It is of a young filmmaker, bent over a copy of my book, scribbling something I’ve written into a notebook of her own.”

However, all is not brilliance and dazzle in the world of movies. Besides telling the success stories of award-winning films, he recounts many tales of when things went wrong: the movies that were developed but never made, studio executives stalking sets of films whose production costs have exploded, grapples with stars who don’t see eye-to-eye with him, locations that proved intensely difficult to work in, accidents on set, and the difficulties of making his latest films while being treated for the cancer he was diagnosed with. It’s fun to read the success stories of film shoots that culminate in critical acclaim and the winning of Emmys and Oscars, but it is also illuminating to read about the setbacks and failures – of which there are inevitably many. It is obvious from this book that you have to have a thick skin and an unending supply of persistence and sheer courage if you want to make movies. It is also obvious, though, that the journey can be fulfilling and rewarding. Whether your chosen means of expression is film or some other artistic medium, I recommend this book not only for its absorbing stories of what it’s like in film land, also for its insightful portrayal of the artistic experience.

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Book Review:  Knife: Meditations After an Attempted Murder by Salman Rushdie

Posted on November 16, 2024 by John Walters

I’m about halfway through this book but I have some thoughts that can’t wait. Knife is a memoir of Rushdie’s recovery after a near-fatal attack by a knife-wielding assailant. It is deeply ironic that this happened at the opening of a conference devoted to safe spaces for writers at the Chautauqua Institute in New York. A twenty-four-year-old man rushed the stage and stabbed Rushdie fifteen times, leaving him near death. This occurred in response to a decades-old fatwa issued by Iranian leaders after the publication of Rushdie’s novel The Satanic Verses. Rushdie, who had long lived under the protection of security forces, had finally begun to feel safer and so was unprepared for this attack. (It is also ironic that after the attack, sales of The Satanic Verses skyrocketed.)

Rushdie was put aboard a helicopter and taken to Hamot Medical Center in Pennsylvania. He spent the following months in the hospital and in rehab. Eventually he recovered, but lost his right eye and bears deep scars.

Knife opens with the assassination attempt and goes on to describe the traumatic medical procedures Rushdie went through. He credits his loved ones, particularly his wife Eliza, his sons, and numerous friends and supporters, with keeping his spirits up and helping him to pull through.

The book raises deep moral questions about freedom, honesty, and the role of a writer in society. Rushdie is more well-know than most authors, of course; even President Biden condemned the attack and sent wishes for his recovery. But regardless of status or popularity, writers should not fear physical assaults due to the words they share.

But besides the lessons on freedom of expression, there is another message in Knife – one that touched me personally with great intensity. It has to do with recovery from traumatic experiences. Rushdie almost died and went through numerous prolonged painful procedures to stay alive. It took a great deal of grit, perseverance, fortitude, and foresight to reclaim his life. I reacted to the account of the stabbing attack in another way; somehow I related it to an emotionally traumatizing experience I went through several years ago and still have not got over. Sometimes it seems as if I am past it, but something reminds me of it and I realize that the wounds have not healed. Sometimes I wonder if they will ever heal. As I read some of the more traumatic parts of this book, I could easily picture my psychic injuries as metaphorical knife wounds that seem to be closing, but then something jogs my consciousness and they open up again. As I considered Rushdie’s fight for life, though, I thought that if he could recover, then maybe so can I – eventually, at least. The difference is that he is relatively wealthy and has an extensive network of people around him, while I often feel as if I am fighting my battles all alone, especially since my sons have all grown and gone off to other parts of the country. Still, the point is that regardless of individual circumstances, when we are wounded it is important that we fight for life.

*     *     *

After many weeks, Rushdie was finally able to return to his own home. He credits being in familiar surroundings with hastening his recovery. And eventually, after a lengthy hiatus, he was able to start writing again. But before he felt able to resume writing fiction, he felt that he had to confront the book that became Knife.

One of the strangest and most discordant sections of the book is a series of conversations he imagines with his assailant. He really did want to meet his attacker, but that would have been impossible. Instead, he imagines several question-and-answer sessions and fantasizes about what his would-be murderer might have said. This is jarring, after the calm, thoughtful memoir tone of the rest of the book, but I think I understand where it is coming from. It is likely that during the traumatic circumstances of his recovery he might have played scenarios such as this over and over in his mind. But at the end of this section he comes to some pertinent conclusions about art: “The most important of these things is that art challenges orthodoxy. To reject or vilify art because it does that is to fail to understand its nature. Art sets the artist’s passionate personal vision against the received ideas of its time.” He goes on to say that art “accepts argument, criticism, even rejection. It does not accept violence.”

At the time of the attack, Rushdie was seventy-five years old. Near the end of the book, as he is recovering, he chronicles the deaths of numerous of his friends. Although he is an atheist, he admits that his recovery against such great odds was nothing short of miraculous. The conclusion he comes to is that he has been given a second chance at life, and he determines to make the most of it by continuing his writing work and seeking joy in each moment. I found this to be a wise conclusion. After all, life is a gift, and regardless of our circumstances, we can choose to wallow in our sorrows or try to make the best of it. In the end, for closure, Rushdie and his wife return to the scene of the attack. It is hard for them to be there, but it is a reminder that they have been able to overcome the experience and can get on with the rest of their lives.

Although this memoir is about a traumatic experience, it is also inspirational. After all, adversities are a part of life. They don’t always take the form of a physical assailant like they did in this case, but they are always there. This makes it imperative that we face them, deal with them, and overcome them, no matter what form they take. I am reminded of a memoir I read not long ago called Between Two Kingdoms: A Memoir of a Life Interrupted by Suleika Jaouad, in which, at the age of twenty-two, the author finds out she has leukemia and only a small chance of survival. Her life is upended, of course, and much of the story takes place in hospitals; but she perseveres and fights for her life. At the end she is finally released once again into the outside world, where she celebrates by taking a road trip in a camper van. A wonderful story. Rushdie’s is similar. The experience has changed him, but it has also given him a new, intense perspective of life.

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“Sink or Swim” Is Now Available!

Posted on November 13, 2024 by John Walters

My novelette “Sink or Swim: A Near-Future Tale” is available as an e-book from various online bookstores or in print as part of my short story collection Road Signs: Tales of the Surreal and Fantastic. It is especially prescient in the light of contemporary political realities.

In the aftermath of the official cancellation of Medicare, Social Security, and other government welfare programs, a destitute senior is relegated to an internment camp for old folks. There he discovers that all is not as it seems, and the recalcitrant elders have some tricks up their sleeves that they can use to deal with the pitiless system that has banished them from its midst.

Available at these and other bookstores:

Trade Paperback

Amazon Kindle

Barnes and Noble

Kobo

Smashwords

Apple

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Book Review:  The Message by Ta-Nehisi Coates

Posted on November 9, 2024 by John Walters

In the introduction, Ta-Nehisi Coates clarifies that he is addressing his latest book The Message specifically to his students and more generally to “young writers everywhere whose task is nothing less than doing their part to save the world.” I’m far from being a young writer, but Coates’s words resonate with me. He writes thoughtfully, precisely, and honestly, with courage and a commitment to truth, and he inspires me to want to do the same.

Ostensibly, the book is an account of his travels to three different locations: Senegal, South Carolina, and Palestine. However, it is far from being a travelogue. Instead, Coates uses the fresh perspective he obtains from journeying to these places to offer incisive commentary on the horrors of slavery, the lingering perils of white supremacy, colonialism, inequalities in modern American society, the importance of teaching, the power of language, the value of writing, and other topics.

His trip to Senegal is his first journey to Africa, and he writes of the inversion of awareness caused by being on the opposite side of the Atlantic Ocean. His description of the visit is moody and contemplative, and he draws conclusions that are difficult to summarize and must be read directly. He presents his thoughts with such precision that a summary cannot do them justice. Throughout his narrative he takes pains to clarify to his readers, the writers he is addressing, that it is their responsibility to do the same, that is, to write with honesty and integrity.

Part two opens with a long treatise on teaching and on the importance of “safe spaces” where students can feel secure as they conduct their investigations into the nature of truth. This security is jeopardized when politicians pass laws to ban books that would threaten the status quo and cause white students to feel guilty or remorseful about their ancestors’ cruel treatment of their fellow humans. This introduction leads into the reason that Coates went to South Carolina. A teacher named Mary Wood had been using his book Between the World and Me in her advanced placement lessons, and the school board was trying to get the book banned because it might make some students “feel uncomfortable” and “ashamed of being Caucasian.” This was a result of the executive branch of the government at that time coming out against “critical race theory.” The school board argued that Coates’s appraisal of “systemic racism” in the book was illegal. Coates got in touch with Woods and offered to join her at the school board meeting on this subject. When word got out about the meeting, a multitude of people turned up to support Woods. In fact, everyone who spoke there was against banning the book. Coates clarifies that “this is not about me or any writer of the moment. It is about writers to come – the boundaries of their imagination, the angle of their thinking, the depth of their questions.” Inquiring minds need the freedom to explore fresh and unique ideas in books. He offers a personal example: “I was saved by the books in my house, by the implicit message that learning does not belong exclusively in schools.” The rewriting of history and the banning of books, according to Coates, can kill the future.

In the third and longest section of The Message, Coates writes of his journey to Palestine. It begins with an account of his visit to Yad Vashem, the World Holocaust Remembrance Center, which he actually made on the last day of his trip. From this he launches into a description of the impressions he formed during his visit, when he was alternately led from place to place by Jewish and Palestinian guides. He explains that in his essay “The Case for Reparations” he had used Germany’s reparations to Israel as a model, but the more he explored the land and got to know its people and its history, he realized that comparison might have been a mistake. He writes: “I was there for ten days, ten days in this Holy Land of barbed wire, settlers, and outrageous guns. And every day I was there, I had a moment of profound despair.” But his mandate as a writer – to seek the truth – caused him to keep going.

As with Coates’s account of his trip to Senegal, his observations are complex, layer upon layer of arguments, and it is difficult to summarize them. Read the book. He concludes the book by emphasizing the importance of writing, which “is transformed into a ‘spiritual advantage,’ putting in the hands of the oppressed ‘the conditions of a classical art,’ which is to say the power to haunt people, to move people, and expand the brackets of humanity.” He points out the lack of work published by Palestinian writers, and adds that “if Palestinians are to be truly seen, it will be through stories woven by their own hands.” This applies, of course, to any person or group who needs to have their voices heard.

All in all, as with other books by Coates I have read such as Between the World and Me and We Were Eight Years in Power, The Message is thoughtful, well-written, and important. Highly recommended.

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Getting to Know SAM

Posted on November 6, 2024 by John Walters

Poverty has its advantages, among them the ability to snag a free ticket to the Seattle Art Museum through the national Museums for All program. So it was that I ventured forth into the chill morning fog to take a bus and then a light rail downtown.

I arrived without any preconceptions. After all, I have never formally studied art – at least not the art composed with paints, inks, clay, rocks, ceramics, wood, and so on. I have devoted my life to creating art with words. In a way writing is a more malleable, diverse, and elegant art form than these others, because if you are not pleased with your first result, you can try again by erasing, recreating, and rearranging your words, while if you create a painting or sculpture and you blow it, you generally have to start from scratch. Be that as it may, I was not there to criticize but to learn what I could from what I saw. In many cases, observing what could be done with other materials inspired me with what might be able to be done with words.

Regardless of the mediums they use, artists are attempting to transmit a message. How precisely they are able to render their messages, whether specific or abstract, is the measure of the success of the piece. Observing the beauty and heart-stirring quality of some abstract works, in fact, caused me to wonder why more such work is not being done in the literary world. There is some, of course; for example, when I first read Henry Miller’s Tropic of Cancer I was in awe of the frequent surrealistic passages, some of which would go on for several pages. But there is not much abstraction in literature, at least not much that’s done well. The most obvious excuse is that many readers would not put up with extended passages that they might initially perceive as nonsense. Still, when it is done right, abstract writing is very effective.

Several rooms at SAM are devoted to indigenous artwork or artwork from particular nations. This caused me to muse on an artist’s background and roots as sources of inspiration. In this, artists from cultures with deep ancestral mythologies have an advantage over others, such as many Americans, who might be confused about their genealogical pasts. Of course, that confusion can itself be a source of inspiration. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter where an artist comes from; what matters is how effectively that artist is able to use whatever tools he chooses to depict his inner visions.

The majority of the art at SAM is amazing, but there were also some pieces that gave me real what the hell moments. For instance, a so-called artist took a photo of a shopping receipt from a local market; that photo, enclosed in a wide plain border, is framed and placed in a gallery with other real works of art. What the hell? There are other paintings that are simple one color – nothing else – in a frame. What the hell? And these people somehow manage to get paid a lot of money and even receive adulation for this stuff. Sigh.

In contrast, there is a room full of Rembrandt etchings. Most of them are very small; I had to take off my glasses and lean in so I was inches away to be able to discern the fine details. But oh my God what details! I was astonished that anyone could compose with such complex loveliness in so small a space. Nearby were other traditional oil paintings that astounded me with their beauty.

All in all, the few hours I spent wandering around SAM were well rewarded with sublime inspiration. And I fully concede, as my old mentor Harlan Ellison put it, that “one man’s nightmare is another man’s wet dream.” I can’t really envision anyone getting inspired by an old shopping receipt, but I suppose there are people who might find a single vast field of color elegant. Who knows? In the meantime, there was plenty to please me and even encourage a return visit sometime in the future.

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Book Review:  The Years by Annie Ernaux

Posted on November 3, 2024 by John Walters

Before I came across a description of The Years in a library listing, I had never heard of Annie Ernaux, or that she had won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 2022. I suppose I should keep closer track of these things. What drew me to the book, though, was not the critical acclaim accorded to its author, but rather the unusual nature of the work itself. And it did not disappoint.

The Years is ostensibly a memoir – at least it is classified as one. However, it is not a memoir in the traditional style, but rather in the sense that Henry Miller’s works might be labeled memoirs. They are about the writer and even use the writer’s real name as the main character, but in fact their intention goes far beyond merely giving an account of the author’s life. In these works there is an ill-defined border between memoir, novel, and something wholly different, wholly unique.

In The Years, Ernaux tells the story of her life from around 1941 to 2006, but in the telling, she does not use the first person. Instead, she sometimes uses the collective “we,” as if she is speaking for her entire generation, and sometimes uses the third person “she,” as if she is taking the perspective of another character observed from outside. In this way, she detaches herself from the events and causes them to become much larger and more profound than they would be if they only concerned one life. Time becomes a river that flows forward, inexorably, through generations. First she is a child, then a teen discovering her sexuality, then a young mother, then a middle-aged woman, an empty-nester whose children have gone off to live lives of their own, and so on.

Throughout the personal history, Ernaux also reflects upon national history and world history and how major events impact her life and the lives of those around her. I have to admit that many of the references, especially those having to do with French politicians, writers, and entertainers, were unfamiliar to me. Most of the larger outside events, though, I understood and have even lived through myself: the Cold War; the wars in Vietnam and in Algeria; the influx of undocumented immigrant refugees; the overwhelming influence of the Beatles and other musical groups; the rise in popularity of various types of technology such as black and white TVs, color TVs, transistor radios, computers, and cell phones; the devastation and resultant paranoia of the 9/11 destruction of the Twin Towers and other terrorist attacks.

As the decades-long story progresses, Ernaux sometimes refers to the book she hopes to someday write about her life (or the life of the third-person character who represents her) – but then emphasizes that she is not yet ready. In other words, she references the point when the book, The Years, begins to grow as an idea, and then brings it to mind again through the course of the narrative. All in all, this is that incredibly rare thing in literature: a truly original work of art. It does not fit into any genre or category except its own, and as such, it must be taken on its own terms. It devastated me with its brilliance in its English translation; how wonderful it must be in the original French! Highly recommended.

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Write Better Stories

Posted on October 30, 2024 by John Walters

In a recent Facebook post, a well-known author posed the question, “What is the best writing advice you have ever received?” There were many excellent answers, most having to do with not listening to criticism, persevering in the face of rejection, staying true to your own vision, and so on. By the time I got to it, most of the straightforward advice had already been given, so I shared a quote from my old mentor Harlan Ellison, intending it as a bit of humor: “If they are not buying your stories, write better stories.” I didn’t actually hear this directly from Harlan; instead, I read it in a blog post by Dean Wesley Smith, and he presented it as a Harlan quote. However, it sounds like something like HE would say and so I feel comfortable attributing it to him. Anyway, it got a few likes and I thought that would be the end of it.

But it was not the end. That quote came back to haunt me – in a good sort of way. You see, I have been going through some difficult times emotionally now that I am an empty-nester, sometimes feeling isolated and forgotten, and sometimes even questioning whether my best days as a writer might be behind me. Not feeling up to writing fiction, I have been focusing mainly on essays and book reviews. Once in a while a story would burst through, and that would be a cause for rejoicing, but for the most part a personal trauma I went through a few years ago has limited the fiction output. I was content with that, as long as I was able to keep writing at least something. (If I stop writing completely, you’d better check my pulse.)

The quote kept coming back to me again and again, especially the last few words. Write better stories! Write better stories! It was like a challenge that lifted my mood and got my creative juices flowing again. Don’t get me wrong: I love writing memoirs and essays and book reviews and other works. But the core of my output as a writer has always been my fiction, especially my short stories. Over thirty have appeared in magazines and anthologies, and well over a hundred have been published in my collections. Yes, I thought. I can continue to publish my essays and reviews, but my primary focus should be on creating the best short stories I’ve ever written. As soon as I set my sights on this goal, my mood lifted. It was as if I was giving myself permission to prioritize fiction writing again. I became so enamored of the idea that I composed and printed out a large sign: “WRITE BETTER STORIES” and I taped it to one of my kitchen cabinets where it will always be clearly visible. This has lifted a great burden from my heart. I don’t have to mope around anymore. Instead, I can get off my ass and write better stories. And instead of exploring Seattle’s museums and historical sites for their own sakes and merely to go out and do something different, as I have recently been doing, I can peruse them more intently – and mine them for the gold of story ideas. It is a matter of perspective, of course, and of reaching for the highest goals possible.

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Book Review:  Icebound: Shipwrecked at the Edge of the World by Andrea Pitzer

Posted on October 26, 2024 by John Walters

Not long ago I read and reviewed Empire of Ice and Stone: The Disastrous and Heroic Voyage of the Karluk by Buddy Levy. It takes place in the early 1900s and tells of a ship caught in polar ice off the north coast of Alaska and the crew’s efforts to survive when the ship breaks up near Siberia. It is a harrowing story of survival, but as I read Icebound, I reflected upon all the advantages that the crew of the Karluk had that William Barents’s crew in Icebound lacked. In the 1900s most of the world had been explored and mapped, so polar travelers at least knew where they were going; they had rifles that reliably fired; they had better methods of preserving food; they knew what scurvy was and how to prevent it. Barents and his men, on the other hand, had none of these advantages.

Icebound takes place in the late sixteenth century. It tells of the three polar voyages of William Barents, after whom the Barents Sea in the Arctic is named, focusing especially on the third voyage, when Barents and his men became trapped at the northern end of the island of Nova Zembla, north of Russia, and had to spend the winter. They managed to build a cabin, but they were cold, filthy, malnourished, sick with scurvy, and under frequent attack by marauding polar bears. Their ship became hopelessly frozen into the ice, so the survivors finally, in spring when the ice broke up and they found open water, had to make their way down the island’s coast in two small open boats.

The expedition’s purpose was to find a trade route to China by sailing north and east from the Netherlands. It was believed that beyond the icebound northern latitudes was a warm open sea. However, even in summer, the way was impassable due to the proliferation of icebergs and sheet ice.

The sailors must have been miserable indeed as they lay sick in their small cabin, struggling to stay warm, while outside polar bears stalked them and storms raged, sometimes completely covering their shelter in snow. Pitzer compares this expedition with others that were trapped in the Arctic and points out that the harmony and cooperation the castaways displayed throughout their ordeal was extraordinary. No matter how difficult conditions became, they never ceased to look out for each other and to tend to the needs of the weakest among them. Their unity was one of the key factors in the eventual survival of many of the crewmembers, although Barents himself died during the homeward journey.

In a coda, the author describes her voyage from the Russian port of Murmansk to visit the site of Barents’s cabin in an Arctic reserve on Nova Zembla. Nowadays the sea is open and the passage is fairly easy. She explains that there is even the possibility that a tourist cruise might open to the cabin and other nearby locations. The difference between the icebound sea in Barents’s day and the open waters in the present is a stark reminder that the world indeed has been warming up.

This is a gripping adventure story set in the time when, in European eyes, much of the world was still unknown and swathed in mystery. The motivation to finance expeditions to discover new lands and new routes to them was mainly commercial, but this allowed visionary explorers such as Barents to, as Captain Kirk would say, “boldly go where no one has gone before.” In this case the expedition failed, but the men displayed much courage and cooperation in their struggle to survive.

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