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That night, atop a glacier, we made an unusual camp: a cluster of tents, with the dogs staked in a ring around us. The dogs were not in a circle so they could fight off a bear. They were in a circle so that the bear, when it reached us, would already have a full stomach. (77)
The title of this book made for fabulous chatter when—and before—we discussed it in class: Do you have a Goddamn Ice Cube? we'd ask of somebody who might need to borrow a copy. Or Welcome to the Goddamn Ice Hotel, when we were discussing an unrelated piece that also took place in the cold.
Braverman describes a life spent chasing the cold, going to Norway again and again, and to Alaska because maybe this time, this time, she will find what she is looking for. Hers is not the Norway of clean streets and sleek blonde hair but rather one of the grittier north, where the people who become friends and then surrogate family drink coffee in a general store and complain when, twice a year, their coffee mugs are rinsed out. Hers is the Alaska of tourist guides, the Alaska that is breathtakingly beautiful but also a farce—not allowed to discipline the sled dogs in front of the tourists, unable to speak up against the boyfriend who treats her badly and forces her into things she is not comfortable with, wanting the cold but not this kind of cold.
But there's also this sort of thing, when Braverman goes off to folk school in Norway to learn to be in the cold, to drive and care for sled dogs: There were moments when I felt I would never learn enough, never be good or tough or confident enough to drive the dogs well. And there were many more moments, standing on the runners or sitting in the snow with huskies piling onto my lap, when I was gripped with an astonished joy, and could scarcely remember being happier (65). They're there, those moments, and as the book goes on and Braverman figures out what and who she wants, things start to click into place.
This isn't an adventure story in the most common of senses, and some of the more...aspiring-he-men...of our class were disappointed that there was not, for example, more drama and excitement with the sled dogs. But it feels so very fitting for the time, with both external action and internal wrestling, and it packs a punch. A cold one.
The title of this book made for fabulous chatter when—and before—we discussed it in class: Do you have a Goddamn Ice Cube? we'd ask of somebody who might need to borrow a copy. Or Welcome to the Goddamn Ice Hotel, when we were discussing an unrelated piece that also took place in the cold.
Braverman describes a life spent chasing the cold, going to Norway again and again, and to Alaska because maybe this time, this time, she will find what she is looking for. Hers is not the Norway of clean streets and sleek blonde hair but rather one of the grittier north, where the people who become friends and then surrogate family drink coffee in a general store and complain when, twice a year, their coffee mugs are rinsed out. Hers is the Alaska of tourist guides, the Alaska that is breathtakingly beautiful but also a farce—not allowed to discipline the sled dogs in front of the tourists, unable to speak up against the boyfriend who treats her badly and forces her into things she is not comfortable with, wanting the cold but not this kind of cold.
But there's also this sort of thing, when Braverman goes off to folk school in Norway to learn to be in the cold, to drive and care for sled dogs: There were moments when I felt I would never learn enough, never be good or tough or confident enough to drive the dogs well. And there were many more moments, standing on the runners or sitting in the snow with huskies piling onto my lap, when I was gripped with an astonished joy, and could scarcely remember being happier (65). They're there, those moments, and as the book goes on and Braverman figures out what and who she wants, things start to click into place.
This isn't an adventure story in the most common of senses, and some of the more...aspiring-he-men...of our class were disappointed that there was not, for example, more drama and excitement with the sled dogs. But it feels so very fitting for the time, with both external action and internal wrestling, and it packs a punch. A cold one.