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North Pole and Polar Worlds review – why Inuit don’t worry about north

Exciting tales of heroic polar explorers make a great exhibition, but a book on the North Pole shows that times are too changed not to seek deeper narratives
Polar sledge exhibit
Polar Worlds shows equipment used by the great explorers
Image courtesy of the National Maritime Museum and Casson Mann. ©Hufton+Crow

, National Maritime Museum, London

AT THE start of his book, Michael Bravo promises to “treat the mysterious power and allure of the North Pole in a way you will not have seen before”.

It is a promise he fulfils in North Pole, a narrative that avoids the usual histories of exploration. His mission is to chart the layers of meaning that the pole has accumulated in our minds and that motivates the explorers who try to reach it. He asks: “Why has the North Pole mattered, and to whom?”

Before considering his answers, let us add context. Helpfully, London’s National Maritime Museum has recently opened a Polar Worlds gallery, which provides a straightforward history of polar exploration. There are plenty of heroes, from Martin Frobisher, who sailed to the Arctic in the 16th century, to William Parry and George Nares, who tried and failed to reach the North Pole in the 19th century. Then there are the very famous – Scott and Shackleton in Antarctica, and Franklin – who all died on their expeditions. And finally, the American Robert Peary, who claimed to have reached the North Pole in 1909.

Thanks to its treasure trove of objects – sledges, telescopes, mittens, chronometers, snow goggles and much more that tell the stories of 500 years of exploration – the exhibition succeeds magnificently. And you can gaze into the eyes of the heroes, portrayed in oil paintings.

However, to explore what the North Pole “means”, we must return to Bravo. There is a link: in one exhibit of quotes from polar diaries, a sailor complains of having to take snapshots of icebergs “on the sly” because the crew signed away rights to record the expedition. That, the diarist continues, is so the leaders can “spin their tales without being contradicted by the sailors”.

“Explorers faced pressure not just to reach their destinations, but to deliver stories with mass appeal”

Explorers faced tremendous pressure not just to reach their destinations, but also to deliver stories with mass appeal. This inevitably shaped their psyche. Bravo tells of David Buchan, commander of the 1818 North Pole expedition, who was so busy “being pummelled by the brutal and crushing force of the polar ice pack” he made the ultimate mistake of not writing his journal. He lost support from his backers and vanished from history.

We also learn more about the real Peary. He cultivated a nationalistic, masculine image to feed “an audience hungry for tales of heroic purity and suffering”, writes Bravo. Peary wrapped himself in the Stars and Stripes, scattering strips cut from the flag as he neared the pole “as a ritual act of territorial possession”.

Like the other explorers, Peary saw the “epic voyages of classical heroes as their ancestry and inheritance”, identifying with Hercules in his fight to reach “the summit of the world”. All the great explorers were visionaries, but were they gifted or self-deluded, Bravo asks.

Certainly, explorers inherited a long history of obsessions about the pole’s cosmic significance. In the 16th century, new maps provided a fresh world view, looking down on the pole to show Earth in relation to the heavenly spheres. Peter Apian, from Saxony, printed a string of bestsellers. His Speculum cosmographicum of 1524 even came with a paper wheel that could be used to track the sun’s path once mounted on the map. At its centre, holding Earth and the universe together, was the North Pole.

This view of the pole made it a fertile ground on which to site lost Edens, spirit worlds and imaginary utopias. The most extraordinary is that envisioned by proto-feminist Margaret Cavendish, Duchess of Newcastle. In her 1666 novel, she is propelled through the pole into an alternative world where power is “gendered female not male”.

Bravo paints other pictures of the pole. Its allure is seemingly lost on the Inuit. Their vast network of trails takes them around the Arctic’s rim, and the constellations that guide them lie just above the horizon, where sled drivers can see them. The Pole Star above is of little use and the concept of “north” is foreign to them, he writes.

Among the explorers, we find different visions of the pole, too. My hero, Vilhjalmur Stefansson, lived with Inuit. After Peary’s “victory”, Bravo writes that he asked, “What if the North Pole were celebrated for the values and way of life found in the Arctic itself, rather than by images of conquering the environment?”.

Stefansson mapped a new “pole of inaccessibility” so much farther out from land that no Western conqueror could lay out enough supply depots to reach it. For him, only hunters who lived in harmony with the Arctic could arrive there. Sadly, his utopian view was shattered when the nuclear submarine Nautilus passed below his pole in 1958. Bravo notes the comment by its master:”Who cared? We were safe, warm, and comfortable.”

The Arctic may have been conquered by technology, but the values of Stefansson and Peary are still in opposition. The North Pole hasn’t become a cartographical dot – it remains a sacred place for adventurers.

Bravo has written a rich and insightful book about our ideas of the pole. Although his focus is the North Pole, it left me thinking about the stories we all tell ourselves in our everyday lives.

Michael Bravo

Reaktion Books

This article appeared in print under the headline “Poles apart”

Topics: Books / the Arctic