Cynthia Reeves

Can revisiting the past finally assuage my guilt? from The Last Whaler by Cynthia Reeves

Svalbard lies halfway between Norway and the North Pole. A stark land where the few trees grow inches tall, the land of beluga whales and seals and polar bears and brilliant auroras. In 1937 the beluga whaler Tor brings his wife Astrid on his annual trip to hunt the whales. Their beloved son had died in a tragic accident and they had hoped that Astrid would find solace in applying her botany degree to researching.

Astrid was unprepared for Tor’s life in the Arctic: sharing a house with two of his workers who had little concern for cleanliness, the constant stench of death and from rendering the whale oil, how little privacy they had, how little free time to pursue her research.

Astrid became pregnant on the Summer Solstice. At the end of the hunting season, they stay on after the others have left, to enjoy a bit of private time. Tor misjudged, and they became stranded, facing surviving the dark Arctic winter alone.

Over the year, Astrid wrote letters to her deceased son, giving insight into her innermost thoughts. Ten years later, Tor returns to the hunting camp for the first time since 1938. He reads the letters, searching to understand what had happened.

The story is as stark as the landscape.

Yes, the world is dangerous and sad and beautiful. There is no equilibrium, no careful balance between joy and sorrow. There is now, there is then, there is whatever may come. And no guarantee that You mete out only what we can endure. from The Last Whaler by Cynthia Reeves

Beautifully and sensitively written, the story told by Tor and through Astrid’s letters, the book embraces themes of grief, guilt, and mental health, the early emergence of feminism, our environmental impact, and the impact of war.

I received an ARC in exchange for a fair and unbiased review.… (meer)