20 Books of Summer, #14 and #15: The Mercies and The Terror

After a series of random mismatched 20 Books of Summer posts, I am perhaps unreasonably pleased that I’ve finally managed to bring together two historical novels that share undoubted thematic similarities, despite some equally obvious differences. Both are set in the far and freezing north; both feature characters in small communities beset by threats from outside that raise superstitious fears; both feature uneasy interactions between white Europeans and local indigenous people; and both are full of violence and death. Neither, therefore, is the best summer read, but as someone who isn’t the biggest fan of summer, I didn’t find that to be a problem 🌞

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Kiran Millwood Hargrave’s first adult novel, The Mercies, is set on a tiny island off the Norwegian coast in the early seventeenth century. When an unexpected storm sweeps in and kills almost all of the island’s men, the women are left to fend for themselves, and are managing well enough when a commissioner from Scotland, steeped in King James VI and I’s writings on witchfinding, is dispatched from the mainland to root out suspected sorcery in this isolated community. Threaded through this series of real historical events is the story of two women: Maren, one of the islanders, who is trying to handle the breakdown of the relationship between her mother and Sámi sister-in-law, and Ursa, the commissioner’s unhappy wife. Hargrave warmly conveys the way in which these very different women come to trust and love each other, as Maren teaches Ursa basic skills such as baking and butchering that she never had cause to learn before. While the pace of this novel is deliberately meditative, the building tensions within the wider community of women are exceptionally well-conveyed, with their common experience of grief proving to be divisive as they find different ways of coping with the tragedy.

The Mercies has an unapologetically feminist focus, and it’s this perhaps that sets it apart from the many, many novels I’ve read that deal with witchcraft accusations in isolated communities in both the early American colonies and across Europe (Corrag/Witch Light by Susan Fletcher; The Heretic’s Daughter by Kathleen Kent; Burial Rites by Hannah Kent). This isn’t to say that these other fictions aren’t conscious of gender inequality, because they are, but The Mercies is both more brutal and more beautiful in its depiction of the position of women under patriarchy. Hargrave vividly depicts Ursa’s humiliating marriage and the abuse faced by the village women who break out of traditional roles to take to the fishing boats after the loss of their men. She gives her story time to breathe before tightening the screws at the end, and while some readers may think this makes the book too slow, I thought this decision was necessary to ensure that we truly care about these characters before they meet their fates. While I clocked that this book plays into a trope that is much too common [highlight for spoiler] bury your gays [end spoiler], I did think that Hargrave made the right kind of choice for the story she was telling, although she could have softened this somewhat by [highlight for spoiler] not killing Maren [end spoiler]. This confident and moving novel bodes well for Hargrave’s future in adult fiction.

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Dan Simmons’s The Terror tells the story of John Franklin’s infamous ‘lost expedition’ (1845-8), a voyage of exploration that intended to chart the Arctic Northwest Passage but from which none of the men ever returned. The fate of Franklin’s expedition attracted a fair amount of attention at the time, especially given the (later verified) rumours of cannibalism among some of the crew and the single, confusing note that survives from one of the copper cairns where Franklin was meant to leave regular reports of his progress. Simmons starts his story after Franklin’s death, during the period when the expedition’s two ships, Erebus and Terror, were still stuck fast in pack ice off King William Island. Nineteenth-century Arctic expeditions relied on building ships that could survive a winter or more marooned in this way, but Franklin’s party ran into particular trouble. Not only did two winters pass with little sign of the pack ice loosening enough for them to sail in the intervening warmer periods, but much of the tinned food they had packed was found to have been poorly sealed, and became poisonous. Along with the weakening of the ascorbic acid in their stores of lemon juice over time, scurvy became a major problem for the crew, alongside other horrific ailments such as frostbite.

Not content with allowing his characters to deal with these trials, Simmons introduces a supernatural element into the mix. Both ships are being stalked by a mysterious white creature that is far taller and more deadly than a polar bear, and which kills men without warning. The Terror switches between more mundane struggles for survival and the fear induced by this monster, but these two plots don’t properly dovetail until the men leave their stricken ships and begin hauling sledges overland to reach a new stock of supplies at one of their base camps, about two-thirds of the way through the narrative. For me, it was only at this point that the novel became truly gripping, which is a bit of an ask given that it’s almost a thousand pages long. Nevertheless, Simmons serves up brilliant set-piece after brilliant set-piece in the first two-thirds, so if you can deal with the lack of narrative pull and are attracted by the blurb, you’re still likely to get a lot out of this book. Two particular stand-outs are a terrifying action scene where one of the ship’s ‘ice masters’ has to climb and leap through the rigging to evade the monster, and a garish ‘Carnivale’ that the men hold on the ice, complete with tents made of sailcloth dyed of different colours, that predictably ends in carnage.

Simmons’s account of being an explorer in the coldest regions of the Earth is the best fictional recreation I’ve ever read, summoning up memories of Apsley Cherry-Garrard’s hellish memoir of his Antarctic experience, The Worst Journey in the World, and, through this, he fully captures the absurdity of the colonial mindset that led white men to ship bad canned food to the furthest corners of the globe rather than recognising the skills that allow native people to survive there. There’s absolutely no way that this book needed to be as long as it is for Simmons to achieve what he wanted with it; however, it’s not a story that I’ll forget in a hurry.

20 thoughts on “20 Books of Summer, #14 and #15: The Mercies and The Terror

  1. I seem to have been picking up loads of sunshine and heatwave novels recently, but I can see the appeal of escaping to somewhere cold for a while instead! I read a wintry one of KMH’s children’s novels last year and wasn’t hugely enamoured, so had been avoiding The Mercies, but your review makes me think I should give it a try after all. Her writing will probably be more advanced/consciously literary in a work for adults. If the Simmons was more like 400 pages I would definitely have a go, but… Maybe the TV series is the way for me to experience it instead 🙂

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    • I didn’t get on with Hargrave’s children’s novel The Girl of Ink and Stars at all, but this was a totally different experience! Ironically I found her writing for kids too pared back and frantic, but this was a great slow burn 🙂

      Based on the gore level of the novel I will 100% be avoiding the Simmons TV adaptation…

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  2. The Terror really drew me in – I take your point about the plot not really kicking in for quite a long time, but I think Simmons’s grasp of the details of Arctic exploration, and his ability to create atmosphere (menace works on me), made it interesting enough to continue. I also really love the way indigenous knowledge is worked in (especially when the white guys [or maybe just one white guy?] discover the thermal efficiency of ice houses and furs!)

    I liked The Mercies too, but was disappointed by the trope you mention.

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    • Yeah, I agree – I think The Terror suffered for me because I read it at a time when I was feeling quite anxious and stuck in my flat, and the atmosphere of the novel didn’t really help! I’d read quite a lot about extreme cold weather exploration before but also liked how the expedition’s preparations were contrasted with the much more effective strategies of the indigenous population!

      It’s a shame about the ending of The Mercies. I definitely don’t think anything too positive would have been fitting, but I think there were other options that would have been less tropey.

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      • It’s definitely a very claustrophobic novel (despite its length) and I can easily see how lockdown conditions might have made it a less amenable read. Constantly amazed by how circumstances can affect our enjoyment of a book!

        Agree – it did need to be a downer ending, really, but maybe it didn’t have to be quite like that?! (I say this as someone who’s written a book that could be accused, also, of asking us to bury our gays. Although at least in my book there are multiple gays and non-binary folks, and only one of them has a tough time; the others just carry on.)

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        • I think having multiple LGBT+ characters definitely changes the way this trope reads! Obviously in The Mercies we only have one F/F pairing (and SPOILER SPOILER it doesn’t help that the most prominent gender nonconforming character dies a horrible death as well).

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  3. Great reviews! I’m so glad you enjoyed The Mercies, it’s been one of my stand-out reads this year. I’m also intrigued by The Terror now, despite it’s length! I’m always attracted to supernatural additions in already-interesting tales, and I haven’t read enough about the Franklin expedition yet to tire of that storyline. I may have to check it out!

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  4. Oh dear, very much neither for me, but well done getting on so well with your 20 Books! I might have to do some shuffling with mine as have a very substantial Persephone coming up and it feels like not enough time!

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  5. Pingback: 20 Books of Summer 2020: A Retrospective | Laura Tisdall

  6. Pingback: 2020 In Books: Commendations and Disappointments | Laura Tisdall

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