“...of the shimmering aurora, with its barely audible hum. The booming crack as the glacier calves. And the ice! My God, the ice. Apparently boundless in its sounds, incarnations, and capacity to crunch, maim and kill good Christian sailors. Isn’t that what you’ve always dreamed of?” P20
Having recently read Gavin Francis’ “True North: Travels in Arctic Europe”, I’ve come to realise that the Arctic has always had a magnetic intrigue and attraction for some people. I’m one of those people and my reading choices seem to reflect this deep and unrelenting interest. Francis introduced me to the other worldly Svalbard archipelago in the Barents Sea, midway between the north coast of Norway and the North Pole, straddling 74th to 81st parallel north, one of the northern most inhabited lands in the world.
Naturally when I picked up “The memoirs of Stockholm Sven” by Nathaniel Ian Miller, set in the first half of the twentieth century, almost entirely in Svalbard, I was immediately intrigued. Although entirely fictitious, the memoirs are inspired by a real person, a real Spitsbergian hunter referenced several times in Christiane Ritter’s memoir, “A woman in the Polar Night”.
Sven Ormson is from Sweden, introverted, unobtrusive, restless, and obsessed with Arctic history and exploration. A series of events in Stockholm sees him on the island of Spitsbergen, working in the coal mines, in the hopes of experiencing the wonders of the Arctic himself. After a being buried in an underground mine avalanche that almost claims his life, leaving him permanently disfigured, Sven is thrust on an incredible journey of survival, exploration, and self introspection, deep in the Arctic north, befriending some of the most unlikely individuals in ways that he would never have imagined and few ever find.
Miller has created an incredible character in Stockholm Sven. His resilience has to be read to be believed. He is weak yet strong, disfigured yet whole, scared stiff yet totally courageous, introverted yet other focused. I found myself reflecting the whole way through the book, loving Sven, his friend Charles, Tapio, Illya and of course Skuld. Sven Ormson had to travel to the northernmost reaches of the globe to find that which gave him purpose. I get it. I don’t know if I could do what he did but then, neither did he.
“Fate is empty. Any Arctic explorer or common sailor can tell you this. So you must make the best choices you can, knowing they may lead you astray, but proceeding boldly lest your life become one long monotonous drift between death and your last interesting choice”. P 170