The name "the Northwest Passage" is not written on world maps: it is an idea rather than a place. I'd long felt the power of that idea pull me in a way I couldn't fully understand.Author Kathleen Winter found herself at the intersection of a nice bit of synchronicity: friends had just advised her to always have a bag packed in case someone suggests a spur-of-the-moment adventure, and then an adventure did indeed land in her lap. Noah Richler offered Winter his spot as writer-in-residence aboard the Clipper Adventurer; a luxurious icebreaker that would be carrying a mix of tourists and scientists along the same route that the doomed Franklin Expedition once took in search of the fabled Northwest Passage. Knowing that you should always listen when a man named Noah tells you to get on a boat, Winter was able to honestly reply, "My bags are already packed."
Having emigrated from England when she was eight -- and never understanding the joy that her father found in the harsh landscape of their rural Newfoundland home -- Winter has a unique perspective on this voyage. Identifying with the British motivations behind the 19th century rush to the poles and the search for the Northwest Passage, Winter has an especial sympathy for Franklin's widow (someone who isn't really a figure in my own mental narrative of the Franklin Expedition). Ideas of belonging and colonialism and land ownership colour much of this memoir, and as a result, elevate Boundless above mere travelogue.
There were things that I did not know as we looked at the place we call the Northwest Passage but whose real name is known only to itself. Before I walked onshore, the land lay like a dreaming body whose dream emanated, brushed against me, and infused my body. Its eloquence and message remained quiet and mysterious as our ship approached. I couldn't believe we were really about to walk upon the blue, white, and gold vision itself. It seemed impossible but was not impossible. I'd been given the key to enter, to lie down and listen, to breathe its exhalations and hear it speak, and nobody does this without being changed.There is much beautiful writing here about the landscape, interesting anecdotes about life aboard ship, and Winter uses this opportunity as a memoir. Remembering her parents and life in Newfoundland, the connection to the land that she experienced in the north gives Winter insight into how her father must have felt upon arriving in Canada. This is all very, very interesting stuff, and through interactions with the two Inuit women who served as guides and resources for the passengers, Winter gained perspective on how life is changing in the arctic; especially urgent now as the Northwest Passage is becoming navigable and all of the circumpolar nations are rushing to establish sovereignty over the unfreezing land and its resources.
In one of my favourite scenes, the group is exploring an uninhabited island and a polar bear is spotted in the distance. The call is made to evacuate back to the ship and it takes three circuits of the Zodiacs for everyone to be brought to safety, all while the hungry-looking polar bear makes his steady way towards the people still on land. Although some people have guns, and the bear is a very real danger, Winter is horrified at the thought of killing it:
I felt the weight and enormity of his life, the power of his aliveness welling out and intersecting with my own. His dignity filled me with an emotion I had not experienced and could not name.Winter formed a remarkable connection with the land as well:
I felt a new relationship with the ground: I looked close, and the ground sent a line of energy through my eyes and strung it through me so my body and the ground were held in tension together.I'm envious of Winter's voyage here and the transformations that she experienced; I believe that she returned a changed person. The only misstep in this book is the ending where it becomes political. And I understand that having explored the past and the present, Winter would become concerned with the future of the arctic -- I'm concerned about it myself -- but the long section about visiting Chief Theresa Spence and her hunger strike in the shadow of the Parliament Buildings felt partisan and condescending: just because a woman is a Native doesn't automatically grant her moral authority. I think Chief Spence is a self-serving fraud, and even though Winter couldn't even determine the point of the protest, she was pleased to include the story of her own pilgrimage as though it proved her transcendence of colonialism. There is redemption in my eyes, however, when Winter ultimately concludes on her own continuing spiritual quest.
Like Kathleen Winter -- and our Prime Minister Harper, whom she oddly refused to refer to by name in this book -- my Dad has a fascination with the Northwest Passage and the Franklin Expedition: I've sat with him and watched a couple of documentaries on the icebound ships, the lead-poisoned canned food, the cannibalism. Yet, I have never really considered wanting to make a trip like this. I have often thought that I would like to go up to Churchill, Manitoba and go on a polar bear safari in one of those bear-proof buses:
Even in a recent writing exercise (way at the bottom of this entry) I considered my dream trip, including a cruise to Antarctica to see the penguins. After reading Boundless, I am of two minds: Recreating her voyage sounds like a more authentic experience than chasing penguins -- I would love to share in Winter's transformation -- but I fear I will always feel disconnected from the land around me; and I like the idea of that big bus between me and the polar bears; I don't think it's a metaphorical stretch to say I need barriers between myself and the natural world.
And to comment further on the political: As there really is a rush to make landclaims in the north, can't the case be made that the land and the people who live there would be better treated if they're kept out of Russian (by which I mean Putin's) hands? Isn't there a moral good to these claims; a chance for the Inuit to share in the land's riches? I was really intrigued in this book about the contrast between Inuit communities in Greenland and Canada. In Greenland, there is a huge Finnish influence and people live in brightly painted houses and there are fresh meat markets that sell everything from seal to gull. Winter also notes that these villages have retained the custom of using sled dogs, and everything is clean and orderly. By contrast, in Canada, the Inuit live in substandard prefab buildings and their stores sell overpriced convenience foods. But according to the Inuit guide, the Canadian system is preferable because the lack of a fresh meat market proves that the people are sharing their kills -- the notion of selling hunted meat was distasteful to this woman. I don't look at the living conditions in the north and think there's much admirable about it, but I also don't know what the alternative is. Do the Inuit want better southern-style housing or support to return to the traditional? Are they forced to participate in the consumer culture because they need gas for their skidoos? Would they rather be supported to return to large packs of sled dogs? I understand that it's outrageous that fresh fruits and vegetables aren't affordable to transport way up there, but the Inuit survived for millennia before ever seeing an orange; how can they be supported in a healthy and sustainable traditional diet? I agree totally that there are adverse results of colonialism in the north, but how do we fix it? And how do we anticipate future needs of the people living there when their environment is changing so quickly?
And a final note: One of Franklin's lost ships was found in October of 2014, after release of this book. I know people think of PM Harper as a calculating political animal, but I believe his joy at this discovery transcends what it might mean for land claims; he's a Canadian like the rest of us; likely as long-intrigued by Franklin as my own father.
