This is an extraordinary and unusual
book, part travelogue, part intimate
autobiography in which the author sets
out to exhume memories and chase away
ghosts. She takes a cruise to Antarctica
where she examines some of the more
painful details of her childhood. Why
Antarctica? Because the colour white is
like a mantra for her, it has a calm
meditative quality which she craves and
where better to find it in abundance that
the South Pole. This is a lovely and
very funny book. Diski has a keen wit
and an original mind as well as a talent
for being both intimate and detached; the
combination of the two is most
compelling.
For centuries now, Antarctica has been
seen as an otherworldly place; a place
that goes some way towards making
abstract principles concrete. The
purpose of Scotts famous last expedition
to the pole was ostensibly to collect
Emperor penguins eggs. Perhaps he really
went there for some of the same reasons
that Diski did, to make some sense of the
incomprehensible. Perhaps he hoped that
this great pale, reflective expanse of
whiteness or nothingness would help to
provide him with some answers.
The author came to Antarctica, hoping to
find the stillness of an all enveloping
whiteness, a whiteness shed only ever
come close to in the sterile environment
of a psychiatric hospital. Antarctica
spells whiteout for her. Isolation.
Oblivion. This is a woman who injected
the drug Nembutal as a teenager in a bid
for instant unconsciousness. Ultimately
this sounds like she was flirting with
death, and indeed Diski describes it in
these terms. She is a writer who
displays a great deal of self knowledge.
Depression has had an interesting run in
literature recently. Out of Me by Fiona
Shaw, is just one example, in which the
author describes the raw horror of her
recent post natal depression. Both
depression itself and the toll it takes
on those around the depressive are still
things we know so little about. It is
fascinating therefore to have some of the
mystery illuminated by Diski who through
it all retains a light narrative touch
and a great sense of humour about the
whole affair. That compelling
combination of intimacy and cool
detachment.
The expression of her inner fears and
turmoil, her thoughts and philosophies,
becomes an integral part of the plot.
She eases the book backwards and forwards
between the Antarctic and her childhood
memories, producing an easy logic from
her minds seemingly arbitrary
connections. Diski deals easily with very
personal memories and complex
psychological issues. She refuses to
compromise or simplify emotional detail
yet her writing remains crystal clear.
She is very straight about herself.
Skating to Antarctica is in some ways a
detective work. Diski talks to former
neighbours, a group of Jewish migrs, to
try and piece together her early life.
She recalls, for instance, her mother
telling her that if shed known how Jenny
was going to turn out shed have strangled
her at birth. When she unravels her
feelings for her parents, she comes to
terms with the grim reality that they
were deeply inadequate and destructive
people. Their marriage was volatile and
violent. They had a lot of difficulty
communicating and so, between suicide
attempts, they channelled all their
grievances with life and each other
through their child. It is not
surprising then, that this quiet,
contained little girl not only broke down
but finally walked away from them when
she reached adolescence.
Diski is very funny on the subject of her
fellow voyagers to Antarctica. She gives
them nicknames, “Butch”, “the Zionists”,
a distancing mechanism I expect,
labelling them to keep them at bay. She
is almost reclusive at times on what is
for her a personal journey and yet a
public one. They are full of
inadequacies, foibles and Americanisms;
human and irritating. Their desperation
to record everything on camera reaches
extreme levels. Wrapped up warm and cut
off from their environment they wander
round like Cyclops with a single camera
or video eye. The present experience is
made past, they see the scene as it will
look later when they show it to friends.
Meanwhile Diski describes the minute
details that hit you so forcefully when
you travel. The secluded haven of her
cabin; lying awake in the rocking ship
reading Moby Dick in the paleness of the
Antarctic night. The icebergs, an
intense blue, transfix her as they float
past her window, ” clouds and bergs,
bergs and clouds”. She has a clear,
fresh view of the natural world around
her. The grim sight of humping elephant
seals. The Albatross that spends a
lifetime of balance and movement above
the seas and only lands to mate.
Penguins who stand transfixed, staring
out to sea as if waiting for something
extraordinary to appear on the horizon.
Birds everywhere and trainspotters
following them with huge binoculars.
I found this book immensely satisfying to
read. I hadnt read any of Diskis work
before and was entranced by the grace of
her writing and the spare power of her
style. She has produced a hugely
original and moving work.
Reviewed by Jessica Woollard
