Books like The Stars, the Snow, the Fire — picked by fans

Unlike Ivey’s other book The Snow Child, which grapples with the grief of infertility (a book I also love!), this book considers the opportunities a life without children allows for.

It opens with Lieutenant Colonel Allan Forrester as he prepares to lead an expedition into Alaska in 1885. His wife, Sophie, is an explorer in her own right and plans to accompany him—until they realize she’s pregnant and decide she has to stay behind.

Spoiler: Sophie miscarries and learns she will likely never be able to carry a baby to term. But this isn’t an endpoint for Sophie: instead, it sets her on a path toward professional and creative success, as well as love and happiness in her marriage.

We’re used to reading about how motherhood gives life meaning—I loved Ivey’s portrait of how not having kids can do the same.

This is an ancient, novel-length tale of a hero in the Alaska wilderness near the dawn of time, confronting the cruelty and grief endemic in a world in which survival always hangs on the luck and skill of the hunter. Oman, who died in 2018 at 102, told me 30 years ago about holding onto the Qayaq story, even through the years when her cultural practices were effectively outlawed. She grew up at a time in Kotzebue when her father, a shaman, could only tell the ancient stories of her Inupiaq people at night, in secret, vouchsafing them with her for another generation. As an adult she continued collecting them, and then, in her old age, published this graceful and haunting story, which seems to reach to us from another world.

Kizzia’s prose and reporting are unequaled, but this dark, Gothic tale is hard to read because of the real-life horror it exposes. The Pilgrim family came to Alaska in 2002, wrapping themselves in fundamentalist Christianity and fighting with the federal government like true pioneers in the wilderness—they became a cause for the right because of how they seemed to fulfill Alaska’s frontier myth. But it turned out the patriarch of the family had created a weird prison of rape and abuse for his uneducated children, which Kizzia was able to get inside with vividly told scenes. And that truth tells us even more about Alaska, which has the worst rate of rape in the nation and a shocking level of child abuse. 

This book is the most gripping and true-to-life tale I’ve ever read about growing up in the wilderness. As a young boy in northern Alaska, the author learned as much from wolves as from his few friends.

Mesmerizingly beautiful, frightening, and touching, this book made me cry when I finished it.

There are many books recounting living the wilderness lifestyle in Alaska. At the top of the list is probably Dick Proenecke’s One Man’s Wilderness. But The Hard Way Home deserves to be there, too. Steve Kahn has an engaging personal writing style that makes you think you are sitting by the fire in his cabin listening to his tales. 

And there are some whoppers: from boating on Lake Clark in imprenatrable fog to tramping the hillsides in search of Dall sheep, to being forced to walk miles through an unexpected autumn snowfall to be flown out from a hunt. Remembering idyllic summers at Farewell Lake to the horrors of the Exxon Valdez oil spill and much in between, Kahn writes like a guy who knows the real Alaska.

Sherry Simpson’s adventures in Alaska’s wilds are less “extreme” than Jill Fredston’s, but her writing about her experiences is even more thought-provoking. I love her notion of “wayfinding”–of relying on one’s own navigational and cognitive skills to explore nature or ideas. Equally intriguing is her concept of ground truthing–walking the land or going through a process oneself to really “get it.” She contrasts the understanding that personal exploration cultivates with the information maps provide. No comparison!

These ideas raise the question: how well can we comprehend the experiences and realities of others if we haven’t ground-truthed them? Clearly, having immersed oneself in a foreign culture can foster empathy, but I want to believe that, short of that, with goodwill, one can recognize others’ humanity.

Hoping to gain perspective on his troubled marriage, the deaths of friends, and the vagaries of middle age, charter-boat captain Lynn Schooler commits to a walkabout along the “Lost Coast,” one of Southeast Alaska’s wildest stretches.

What begins as a voyage of introspection soon becomes a grueling march—through pelting rain, jungle-like brush, and ankle-busting boulder fields—that climaxes in a long face-off with a rogue bear and the terrifying crossing of a meltwater torrent.

Just getting to this trail-less wilderness in Glacier Bay National Park tests Schooler's mettle; waves pound his small vessel, and boat-swallowing currents threaten his entry into Lituya Bay. On my Brooks Range traverse, I too was moving steadily toward home (in my case, Nome) a knowledge that powered each step and oar stroke.

James Michener is my favorite author. What can I say? I’m a sucker for epics: narratives that fully explore characters, families, historical eras, and locations, both exotic and ordinary. Michener chooses a location and fully explores its history and people; those people don’t always behave as expected.

They interact in unexpected ways, making decisions that are not always what they “should” and marrying (or otherwise) lovers (and otherwise) across cultures and ages. We see how history truly is, humankind ravaging the unknown in discovery and survival.

I chose this book because it was the first one of his I read, and I lost myself in a world of wilderness, a gold rush, and a fight for statehood. It taught me most of what I know about the 49th state, as well as looking beyond the history books to see the human aspect of the past. 

Spike Walker is another writer that has inspired me. Working at sea in Alaska is to tempt fate amid the savage spectacle of nature in raw form. Men are trapped on boats for weeks and even months. Even a safe journey can drive men to the edge. However, in Alaska, disaster can arise at moment’s notice—and often does. Walker tells Alaska sea stories better than anyone. In Nights of Ice, he shares seven amazing stories of disaster and survival. The stories come alive, as Walker has worked on the edge himself. Now he tells some of the greatest Alaskan sea stories ever.

City girl Calla reunites with the Alaskan bush pilot father she’s never really known following his cancer diagnosis. I love this classic fish-out-of-water story, set in rural Alaska, where Calla falls for the rugged, remote landscape and a gruff, bearded yeti “sky cowboy” named Jonah who flies with her dad.

This book had me kicking my feet, laughing, and then fully sobbing. While it is one of my favorite enemies-to-lovers romances, with incredible banter and sexual tension, the realistic last-chance repair of Calla’s relationship with her father is just as compelling.

The two storylines together create the perfect blend of emotional depth, sizzling chemistry, and significant character growth. This is a deeply cathartic, feel-good romance.