Books like A Woman in the Polar Night — picked by fans

It’s a richly lyrical, indeed Thoreauvian account of life in Labrador in the late 1920s. Among other things, the author and his life go on a long trek in the dead of winter and experience a remarkably different way of life – and mostly a rewarding one – from their previous way of life down south. I might add that the now-deceased author was a dear friend of mine.

I’m recommending this book because I think it’s the best book ever written about the Klondike Gold Rush. During his numerous adventures, the main character, George Mitchell, finds something far more valuable than gold. The book was so little known that I felt obliged to get it back into print as well as write an introduction to the reissue.

This is a book whose relationship with toxic chemicals in the Arctic is much the same as the relationship Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring has with toxic chemicals down south. Ms. Cone does an expert job of documenting how these chemicals have gotten into the Arctic’s food web and affected wildlife as well as the Arctic’s Native peoples.

Snow Man offers a portrait of John Hornby, an Arctic adventurer who had no interest in being the first person to visit the North Pole or traverse the Northwest Passage, but who simply wanted to hang out in the Arctic in order to experience both hardships and delight. The book’s story deals with Hornby’s overwintering in an esker in the Central Canadian Arctic with a total novice, an Englishman named Critchell-Bullock. This 1931 book had been neglected, so I got it back into print and I wrote an introduction to it.

This may be a surprise coming from a historical novelist, but near-future dystopian stories are among my favorites, and Migrations is a great example of why I love this genre.

The novel’s magic is in showing all we could lose if we don’t protect our planet’s biodiversity, including in the polar regions. It is a haunting page-turner about a troubled protagonist who sets off by boat from Greenland to follow what could be the very last migration of arctic terns – birds with the longest known migratory path in the world.

There’s no way around it: Migrations is bleak. But its finely drawn characters and emotional impact make it a masterful work of eco-fiction that has undoubtedly sparked action among its readers to help reduce the destructive forces the book depicts.

As a writer obsessed with folklore and magical realist fiction, I adore this book!

Based loosely on the Russian fairy tale of the same name, The Snow Child is set in 1920s Alaska and balances the ethereal arrival of a magical child with the harsh reality faced by homesteaders in an unforgiving landscape. My favorite elements in this book are also primary themes I aspire to in my own writing: characters who face hardship with grit, perseverance, and a deep connection to their wild home. 

The author was born and raised in Alaska, and you can tell by the detail and specificity in her writing. In this novel, the natural world truly is the main character, to breathtaking effect.

I love everything Claire Fuller has written, but her debut novel has a special place in my heart.

This is an apocalyptic tale with a difference (don’t want to give spoilers), but the story of a father and his daughter living off-grid in the woods at the end of the world is utterly gripping.

The way Peggy uses her imagination to create worlds in their isolation, protecting herself from the dangers around her, is conveyed incredibly powerfully. The descriptions of the forest are particularly beautiful, and Peggy’s resilience in the face of darkness lingers in my mind.

This is a little off-piste in that this isn’t exactly about cold climates; the main topic of Dodds Pennock’s book is about how Indigenous Americans discovered Europe. I first heard Dodds Pennock talk about her book at a lecture in London just a few months back and had to buy the book, which is a riveting account of the reverse migration of Indigenous Americans to Europe.  

Why include this book on the Arctic, you ask? Dodds Pennock also writes about a few Indigenous Inuit that make it to England, and I haven’t stopped thinking about the story she tells about their fraught lives in the UK and (until now) unknown or forgotten history in England. For example, she tells a gripping story of two Inuits who were abducted and brought to London in the 1570s and are buried in the city in unmarked graves at St. Olave’s Church. 

This novel has everything I love – a narrator who’s definitely not telling us everything, newly arrived in a remote house by a lake in Norway that is so clearly drawn I can see and feel it in my bones.

Trond has secrets and this is where he’s going to live now. There’s a man down the track whose window he can see when it falls dark. A river flows fast beyond the trees. Petterson’s beautiful, spare writing creates a filmic atmosphere in which past mysteries unfold as Trond begins to learn to live alone with his past.

Stunning story-telling, wonderful place-setting, and a character utterly unlike me that I loved reading in his solitude.

Neil Ansell is such an honest writer. I came to this book because I loved his other writing about nature and followed him back through time to the five years he spent living alone up a Welsh mountain, seeing no one for weeks on end, exploring and working in the woods and hills around him.

It’s a rich and deep description of place, but more than that, it’s a gradual unfurling of Ansell’s sense of self. In a later book, he writes of that time of prolonged solitude, ‘You slough off the skin of self, all self-awareness, and are left with pure sensation. Nothing has a name; it is only itself.’

Ansell is a slow-burning writer who I trust completely to take me, however slowly, to a new understanding.