The Arctic Book Review
Letters to the Editor
The Arctic
Book Review welcomes letters from readers. Correspondence
should be addressed to the Editor,
Russell A. Potter, c/o the English Department, Rhode Island
College, Providence RI 02908,
or via e-mail to rpklc@etal.uri.edu .
Ken McGoogan
A publisher once told me that, excepting only the
yelp of delight, the best review is a spirited denunciation. What
counts is the passion, she said, because it signals a degree of
engagement that potential readers find intriguing. The wily
author shouts from the rooftops: "Enough tepid applause!
Bring on the indictments!"
In my case, the Arctic Book Review has preempively
obliged. Last issue, it published not one but two articulate
screeds denouncing my new book, Ancient Mariner: The Arctic
Adventures of Samuel Hearne one each by Russell A.
Potter and David M. Owen. For these, I am truly grateful. Both
reviewers are well-informed members of The Arctic Tribe. And both
recognized and reacted to the fact that, within that context, I
am a dangerous subversive. Bravo!
One omission I do regret. While acknowledging my thorough
research, neither reviewer mentions that my book sheds new light
on Hearnes family background, especially his mothers
remarriage, and overturns received wisdom concerning his naval
career: Hearne was no ordinary seaman, as for decades
historians have insisted, but rather a young gentleman who walked
the quarterdeck an officer-in-training.
These are quibbles. I write to address the larger challenges.
Potter suggests that this book differs from my last, Fatal
Passage, because in Ancient Mariner I am treating
not a neglected but an already-familiarexplorer.
Certainly, Hearne is well-known to readers with a long-standing
interest in northern exploration. But compared with all those who
read English-language literature, be it fiction or non-fiction, I
fear that we Arctic aficionados constitute a tiny tribe. Indeed,
I would venture that ninety or ninety-five per cent of serious
readers have never even heard of Samuel Hearne. With Ancient
Mariner, I am trying to reach not just The Arctic Tribe but
also that broader audience.
And that brings me to methodology -- the crux of the matter for
both reviewers. Potter regrets my fictive reconstructions
of bygone moments, and complains that I create scenes
for which there is simply no historical evidence
whatsoever. Owen writes that sections of the book read like
historical fiction: What is the line between likely
imaginings and wholesale invention?
For several years now, while teaching courses in creative
nonfiction and moderating seminars with titles like
"Where Fact Meets Fiction," I have been wrestling with
such questions. And Potter and Owen are right in perceiving that
I have a beef with the way history is conventionally written. I
believe we can draw nearer the elusive truth and also make
history more vivid and accessible -- by combining scholarship
with imagination, and by augmenting traditional analytical
narrative with the techniques of fiction (scene, dialogue,
point of view).
In a recent review of Voyages of Delusion: The Quest for the
Northwest Passage by Glyn Williams (The Beaver,
January 2004), I elaborate this perspective. I write that this
excellent work is marred by eye-glazing patches of summary and
unwritten scenes, and that the problem arises because Williams
remains resolutely within the conventions of modernist history.
For example, I cite a passage in which Williams reveals that two
bitter enemies confronted each other aboard a discovery ship.
Because the records and log books have not survived, he moves on
without elaborating, as mandated by the pseudo-scientific
conventions of analytical narrative:
Here, where even the dullest novelist would leap to
reconstruct the confrontation scene, Williams refuses to
speculate, to go beyond the dubious evidence of primary
documents. He declines to dramatize his best guess, well-informed
though it certainly is. One cant help wondering what would
happen if superlative historians like Glyn Williams stopped
pretending that they practice science and accepted that they
write literature. Maybe history would begin to regain its
audience?
Subversive, you see? Reviewing Ancient Mariner, Owen asks: Where
do we draw the lines? The writer of historical fiction, I
believe, has taken out a license to change dates, names and
venues, and to invent, combine or kill off characters, whatever;
the writer of historical nonfiction, on the other hand, must work
within the known facts, changing and ignoring none of them. I
take the position that, having assimilated the relevant journals,
letters, biographies and histories, the non-fiction writer can
then use imagination and craft to bridge gaps in the record.
Owen surmises that, at times, a few facts or suggestions
got stretched to cover a lot of empty canvas. But where Fatal
Passage comes out of the well-documented nineteenth century,
Ancient Mariner derives from the far sketchier eighteenth.
Inevitably, the gaps are greater.
This is not to say that I create scenes out of whole cloth
although Potter contends that I do, and offers an example:
When Hearnes mother signs him up with Captain Samuel
Hood, were brought into the room and treated to a long,
detailed and utterly fictitious scene. In fact, the record
shows that Hearnes mother did introduce the young man to
Captain Hood, and that this happened early in 1757, as I indicate
not in 1756, as numerous historians have reiterated,
following an erroneous primary source.
Having visited Portsmouth, I can also attest that the building in
which this meeting happened has been torn down. Still, the scene
is far from utterly fictitious. It is an
extrapolation from the historical record, an approximation of a
real event that occurred at a specific time and place and
is readily apprehended as such, I contend, by the literate
general reader.
Owen makes the same argument using a different example. But the
record shows that Samuel Hearne and Mary Norton did indeed say
goodbye forever at Prince of Wales Fort during the wee hours of
August 9, 1782. By casting that emotional farewell as a scene
complete with dialogue, I signal the reader that this is an
approximation that, having thoroughly researched these
people, this time and place, I offer my best guess as to how
events unfolded. By this method, I tacitly acknowledge that The
Truth is approximate and, having provided all relevant
information, invite the reader to assess my recreation. Surely
that is more honest, responsible, and valuable to the non-expert
reader than declaring: You're on your own: the record is
silent.
Potter takes me to task for waiting until page 287 to address
allegations that Samuel Hearne was not present at the massacre he
describes so vividly in his journal, and then of boiling
away the whole kettle into steam. But I believe I
demonstrate those allegations to be unfounded indeed,
utterly fictitious. Why, then, would I make this
tempest in an academic teapot the centre, rather than the
periphery of my biography?
A few politically correct historians yearn to believe that some
mythical rewrite artist created Hearnes massacre scene for
him. In Ancient Mariner, I prove their
eyewitnesses pretenders and their arguments specious.
I make the case that, shocked by what he witnessed, Hearne
plunged into denial. When writing his field notes, he did not
feel equal to describing details. And so those details haunted
him. Years later, in London, he could finally face and so
at last narrate a more complete version of what he had
witnessed.
Potter asserts that I attempt to anoint Hearne as
the inspiration for Samuel Taylor Coleridges
Rime of the Ancient Mariner. Yet I observe that Coleridge
drew upon numerous literary influences, that his skeleton ship
derived from a friends dream, and that several
determining factors in the poems action fell into
place during a legendary hike with William Wordsworth. In fact, I
contend that Samuel Hearne inspired only the archetypal figure of
the haunted narrator. Surely a subtitle, which in this case
alludes to the sailor who inspired Coleridges
masterpiece, must be allowed some metaphorical elbow room?
Owen complains that the Ancient-Mariner theme seems to be
grafted onto the book. I say that he feels this way because
he has internalized the prevailing view that Hearne is primarily
a northern explorer. The way I see it, the Ancient Mariner
connection is the final piece in the jigsaw puzzle. Certainly,
Hearne was a major explorer. But first and foremost, he was a
haunted story-teller. And that, I think, is how posterity will
come to regard him.
-- Ken McGoogan
Editor's note: We wish to clarify that we are
certainly cognizant of the ways in which fact and fiction
overlap, an ambiguity often further cloaked in the mists of
incomplete records or conflicting testimony. What we object to is
fiction that represents itself as fact to the reader -- who,
whether one of the "Arctic Tribe" or merely the general
public, deserves better.