The descriptive sense of this is simply wonderful, every nuance of the good and the bad is in here and you can see, sense and feel the chilly arctic through the words the author uses. In December in the dead of darkness, the mist lifts and the full moon rises to illuminate a surreal black and white vista.

But as time passes, after encounters with bears and seals, long treks over the ice and months on end of perpetual night, she finds herself falling in love with the Arctic’s harsh, otherworldly beauty, gaining a great sense of inner peace and a new appreciation for the sanctity of life. Ritter was an Austrian painter, and this is her only book—an account of the year she spent with her husband on the island of Spitsbergen, which is far, far, far north in Norway.She brings to life so vividly the stark landscape of this tiny Arctic island and the hardships she endures. So there’s hunting to make sure they have food, and trapping to get furs to sell to keep themselves going, and that’s not going to appeal to everyone – it didn’t appeal to me, of course, but I was able to read it as part of a particular – very particular – situation in which it is understandable. I also saw that it is the location of the Global Seed Bank, something I have read about with interest over the years.

We are entertained onboard ship, and are given a whole kilogram of coffee and four tins of condensed milk as well as a four-week-old newspaper. My copy of the book contains a number of quaint little drawings by Christiane and three neat black and white photos of Christiane and Hermann, the shack in summer, and the shack in winter with just the stove pipe sticking out of the snow. Ritter's wry commentary over house duties, the depth of her contemplations on life and social ties, her emotional bonding to the animals she grows familiar with, the way she takes to life in sub zero temperatures on her own, all make for a compelling read. It was the 1930s, and this was the sort of adventure that was acceptable for men (her husband had been in Norway for several years at that point) but not for women.

Like you, rather less keen on the hunting/trapping stuff, but of course it fits in with the context and the way of life in that region. Then the 'Hunters' (ew) come back and she's like 'oooo thank goodness I can feel safe again and I must make them their morning coffee and flit about like a useless woman'.