I closed this book and said "Holy s***. I haven't been this impressed by a writer in a long time." I live in Alaska and have known about Sherry Simpson for a while, and been wanting to read one of her books just as long - I've even met her, though I'm sure she doesn't remember me, and listened to her read - and this book clearly demonstrates why she is so renowned in Alaska. So much of what she writes strikes you as the kind of truth you always knew but had never articulated to yourself. She writes about things people judge, but doesn't judge them - she just presents them, and thinks about them, and considers them in relation to other things, and by the time she's done writing about it you don't only know more about that thing, you know more about yourself. Everyone should read her, especially those who love nature and wilderness, or who live lives separate from it.
For the armchair traveler, books about place provide a kind of journey, and in The Way Winter Comes, Sherry Simpson takes readers deep into Alaska. In these 8 essays, she writes her way through an icy landscape, describing, reflecting, and pondering.
Alaska, of course, is not all one place. As Simpson observes in the title essay, a meditation on winter, “The fundamental grammars of darkness and cold seem familiar enough throughout Alaska, but the idioms of climate and geography make each place exotic and difficult in its own way.” Growing up in Juneau, now living in Fairbanks, she finds that in the high Arctic—Barrow—where she is visiting an archaeological dig, she is a “stranger.”
Most—and the best—of the essays focus on wildlife, which she writes about with respect, curiosity, and fascination. In the majority of these, she goes about with an expert, who not only gives us firsthand knowledge of the animals, but also introduces us to Alaskans. Conversations with these hardy, down-to-earth people serves to ground the language in the essays and keep the wonderfully lyrical from growing vague.
In “Where Bears Walk,” on Admiralty Island—“the Manhattan of the bear world,” where there are “more bears…than in the entire continental United States”—she confronts her fear of these huge creatures, and observes: “It is our weakness to hate what is stronger than we are.”
In “Telling Raven Stories,” she reflects on these intriguing birds, who seem able to eat anything and come to town to scavenge—after all, she says, “eating moo goo gai pan out of the Chinese restaurant’s garbage is much easier than locating a moose carcass in the forest or chasing voles.”
And in “Strange Grace,” visiting moose and their tiny calves, most of whom will not survive their first year, she creates empathy for this animal, who people tend to view as merely awkward: while “we drape with legends the animals we identify with, the bearers of desirable traits—beauty, wisdom, speed, killing strength, mystery, intricate powers of language and reason,” we tend to ignore the moose. “Who will give the moose a story?” she asks.
Although this was Sherry Simpson’s first book—I have yet to read the others, but I will—she seems here already entirely immersed in her setting, providing many stories for a place and all its inhabitants, even the moose.
I LOVE Sherry Simpson's work, and I've had the pleasure of meeting her in person. Her writing style is fluid, elegant, and absolutely beautiful. She does not use nor require purple prose to paint life in Alaska, a place that inspires superlatives--thus does her writing convey so much with so little. She is spot-on in her depiction of the places, people, and cultures of Alaska. So accurate is she that I found myself mentally nodding at everything she expressed, and reading her work brings me home so forcibly it makes me miss Alaska all the more.
The Way Winter Comes is one of her more personal collections of essays. In one essay, she speaks on the loneliness of the wild, isolated Alexander Archipelago, and in another her experiences with wolf-trapping and hunters of fur-bearing animals. Alaska is a unique place of extremes, and The Way Winter Comes captures it skillfully in vivid prose.
The author grew up among Sitka spruce and hemlocks 150 feet tall and tells stories about Alaska, some of which will make you never want to go, others which will make you want to run there. Moose, bear, ravens, island, whale, otter, wolf, and a human ancestor are all featured with a perfect stitching together of science writing and spiritual awe. The awe part is never mocking, but it is easygoing: "I began to feel a little uneasy. No one wants to get on Raven's bad side; he did create mosquitoes after all". The first essay which discusses trapping, may offend some. But "people are not particularly interested in natural history; they want natural drama" says the author. Stick with these essays and you will learn the wonder of natural history.
Sherry (in addition to having a great name) captured the fascination many (most?) Alaskans have with local wildlife and the way interactions with them makes us think about ourselves. As an aspiring writer of similar essays, I also learned a great deal about how to take my unique experiences and write about them in a way that might be meaningful to others.
She is a wonderful writer. This book is a love letter to the Alaskan Wilderness. There is an essay on wolves, one on bears, one on ravens, one on moose. There is an essay on living alone on an island for a week. It is a short book, only 125 pages. It lends itself to reading a bit here and there. Enjoy.
Breaks away from the stereotypical Alaskan essay of bad writting with good stories. She has the best voice for Alaska besides Robert Service and Gary Paulsen.
This book is a collection of short essays or autobiographical accounts from Sherry detailing aspects of the natural landscape surrounding Fairbanks in Alaska (where she lives). She describes learning about various forest creatures through engaging with experts - from attending a weekend class about tracking and trapping wolves for their pelts, to tagging along with a wildlife biologist as he tracks and tags ravens. Her writing is informative yet full of feeling. This book is as much about her personal relationship to the natural world as it is about the natural world itself.
Really beautifully written and I especially liked the chapter about moose :)
This was a lovely little book of essays about Alaska! I picked it up at the Homer Bookstore, a great independent bookstore to visit if you are ever in Homer. I read it during the height of our Phoenix summer, which was a nice escape from the drudgery of never ending heat. Each chapter focuses on an iconic animal of Alaska - bear, wolf, otter, whale, raven, moose. The author’s observations and perspectives were honest and sensitive without being judgmental or critical. Alaska is a place of contradictions and otherworldly beauty and scope, and this collection of essays captures these qualities perfectly.
I have a lot to say on this book, but not enough time now. All I can say is that I don't think I (a lifelong, 2nd generation Alaskan from South Central) was the intended audience for this book, and that despite what other reviewers have said, her writing does fall victim to purple prose. I often found my mind wandering.