I read Dan Simmons' recent novel The Terror over a trip, and enjoyed it immensely. A strange book, it fuses together an historical account of Arctic exploration with a horror story, but seamlessly, without calling attention to the genre mix. His imagination of the still-mysterious fate of the Franklin expedition is credible throughout, even with one monster. The story is relentless, dealing horrific, grim fates to the dwindling, ice-trapped crew.
There's fine, fun writing throughout. Simmons certainly knows how to start a chapter:
When Tom Blanky's third and final leg snapped off, he knew it meant the end. (540)
Except for the fact that John Irving was sick and half-starving and his gums were bleeding and he feared that two of his side teeth were loose and he was so tired that he was afraid he would collapse in his tracks at any moment, this was one of the happiest days of his life. (461)
The northern lands and seas draw out lyrics, like this:
There was no sound now except for the panting of the men, the creak of leather, and the rasp of runners. The wind had died completely but the air was even colder with the dimming of the twilight afternoon sun. Ice crystals of breath hung above the procession of men and sledges like slowly collapsing spheres of gold.(450)
There is also a tentative engagement with literary and cultural history, either by extrapolation, historical record, or fantasy. At one point the crews stage a version of Poe's "Masque of the Red Death," which ends badly, of course. Simmons connects the expedition to Charles Darwin, the Fox Sisters, and Charles Babbage. Not to mention the inspired use of Hobbes' Leviathan as a text for religious oratory.
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