Cold Country

Writing about Alaska is harder than you'd think. The physical beauty can be both overwhelming and subtle to nth degree of white or gray. But the people whose traditions have bound them to the land and those who choose to live here are not always described well. I think Gerri Brightwell made a good start. She caught the strength of those who have been raised here and their ability to survive. She describes cabin life with feeling and is not exaggerating the constant danger of living in the deep cold. She touched upon the interdependence of Alaskan families; in this story there are negative impacts, while I witness far more positive and necessary mutual support. So, as a start, it begins to bring an image of Alaska to the foreground. Outside of Alaska as the setting, her prose is clean, the story line very believable, and offers satisfying growth in the characters. That alone makes the story worth reading.

Good literature allows us to see the world through another person's eyes, to go places we can't go. I will never know what it's like to be a put-upon Brit dragged unwillingly to the wilds of Fairbanks, Alaska. But after reading "Cold Country", I have at least a glimmer of an idea. Gerri Brightwell takes risks in her debut novel, risks that don't always pay off. The road trip that comprises the first third of the novel mimics all too well the tedium of a long journey with a moody companion in a run-down pickup. Neither Sandra nor Fleur seem likeable enough for us to care what happens to them at first. But once the pair arrives in Fairbanks, things start to get interesting. What was the incident that turned the bright and resourceful Fleur into a hand-wringing nervous wreck? Exactly what promises did Fleur make to her family in Fairbanks? And now that Sandra's in Fairbanks, how will she ever get out? Brightwell's defiance of convention is refreshing. Sandra is selfish, obstinate, self-deluding; she changes only when she must. Like the protagonist of a Victorian novel, she is a woman of diminished circumstances who must take a menial job in order to survive, and in order to grow up. But our expectations are curiously deflected; we expect Sandra to fall in love with a Brawny Alaskan from central casting, but it doesn't happen. We expect a Mysterious Benefactor to show up and hand Sandra an easy solution, but it doesn't happen. We expect Bob to meet an Untimely End in order to stoke up our sympathy (that doesn't happen either). Sandra's wry sense of humor is the only thing that gets her through, and corny country music lyrics become the barometer of her state of mind. But mixed in with the humor is a grittiness and a sharpness. Brightwell's Alaska is populated by ordinary people who hide their scars; you won't find a sideshow of quirky but lovable townspeople, nor the warm-and-fuzzy schmaltziness of Lake Wobegon. This is a tough, grown-up book, and well worth reading.