"Oh! Is that a zombie book?!"
- Millie, my five year-old daughter, when she saw the cover of Frozen in Time
My oldest daughter Millie has just started paying attention to my reading. Generally, this is a good thing. In terms of modeling behavior, reading a book is better than drinking a glass full of Yellow Tail chardonnay and ice cubes, or playing video games, or doing both at once.
It has also led to some interesting conversations.
A couple weeks ago, I was finishing a book called Scorpions, about FDR and four of his Supreme Court Justices. There’s nothing super fascinating about the cover, especially for a youngster. It is, in fact, sort of boring, adorned with the faces of five older white gentlemen staring off into space. Nevertheless, Millie picked it up and started spelling out the title: “S-C-O-R-P-I-O-N-S.”
“What does that spell?” she asked.
ME: Scorpions.
MILLIE: Like the bug.
ME: Yes.
MILLIE: Why is it called that?
ME: Because the men in this book didn't like each other very much, and they fought like scorpions.
MILLIE: How do scorpions fight.
ME: [I launch into a rather lengthy explanation of scorpions, their stingers, their attitudes, and what they do to each other when placed in close confinement].
MILLIE: I want to see!
So I pulled up some videos on YouTube. We spent ten minutes watching scorpions fight each other. After that, we watched a lengthy duel between a scorpion and a spider. It was time well spent. Another victory for literacy!
Flash forward to now. Things got a little more complicated with Owen Beattie and John Geiger’s Frozen in Time. The cover, you see, is a picture of John Hartnell, taken in 1984. The thing is, John Hartnell died in 1846. He’d been a member of the doomed Franklin Expedition that had attempted to map the Northwest Passage. Among the first of that crew to die, he was buried in the permafrost and essentially mummified by cold.
When Millie saw it, she shrieked in terror and interest. She immediately asked if I was reading about zombies.
ME: No, this isn’t a zombie. It’s a mummy.
MILLIE: What’s the difference.
ME: [I paused for a moment, to decide whether this was a conversation I wanted to have]. A zombie is undead. It can move around and eats –
MILLIE: Mummies can move.
ME: No they can’t.
MILLIE: Yes they can! [She then put her arms straight out and walked like a mummy out of Scooby Doo].
ME: Touché.
MILLIE: What’s that mean?
ME: It means you made a good point.
MILLIE: How?
ME: [I talk a bit about the French language, about fencing, and about debate. Eventually, I get us back on topic].
MILLIE: So that’s not a zombie?
ME: No, it’s a mummy. The difference between a zombie and a mummy is that mummies are real. This is a human being who died a long time ago. His name was John.
MILLIE: Oh.
At this point, Millie ran off. I assumed I’d lost her at some point during my digressionary discursion about competitive sword fighting. But then I heard the scamper of feet, and she was back at the couch, this time with a stuffed pony (I believe it’s called “Rainbow Dash”). She jumped up on the couch next to me.
“Tell me the story!” she demanded.
I’ll tell you what I told her. This is the tale of 129 men who went to the Arctic in 1845 and never came back. They sailed on two ships, the HMS Terror and HMS Erebus, both of which disappeared. None of the expedition survived. What we know of their fates has come to us in small, fleeting scraps of information that hint at an immeasurable horror. (Before you call child protective services, rest assured that the immeasurable horror went unmentioned during our talk).
Beattie and Geiger’s Frozen in Time is about the Franklin Expedition, but in a very focused and particular way. They have a theory about what happened, and most of this book is dedicated to how they derived a hypothesis, went into the field to test it, and then arrived at a conclusion. That conclusion – which for a time, gained pretty widespread credence – is that the men of the Franklin Expedition suffered from lead poisoning. According to Beattie and Geiger, the sailors ingested the lead from improperly soldered tins of preserved meats and vegetables. (There was a certain dark irony to this supposition, since the tinned food was relied upon to ward off the great scourge of sailors: scurvy).
If you’re starting from scratch vis-à-vis the Franklin Expedition, it’s important to note that Frozen in Time never attempts a reconstruction of Franklin’s last voyage. There is precious little space given over to the details of the trip, or the biographies of the men who made it. Frozen in Time starts with a survey of prior Polar expeditions that has a very particular aim. Specifically, the authors note the consistent emergence of a condition referred to as “debility” that afflicted many of the sailors on these journeys. The implication is that these Arctic missions were not only beset by cold and ice and scurvy, but on some malady as yet unnamed.
After this section, the authors move into a recounting of the various rescue expeditions launched to find Franklin. In this, the best part of the book, you learn about the clues (both frustratingly vague and fascinatingly open to interpretation) left in Franklin’s wake. These include three bodies of sailors who died early in the voyage (and who are the focal point of this book’s investigation); an official message left by the expedition in a cairn, written at two different points, which give only cursory information; and reports by the Inuit, long ignored, that tell of white men dying on the ice, and of cannibalism.
Taken together, it’s an unstable foundation for any hard theory, but that’s part of this story’s grim allure. Beattie and Geiger don’t spend much time on the expedition itself, though, because they are focused on the corpses at King William’s Island, and in proving their hunch that lead poisoning played a crucial role.
What I say next might be taken as a “spoiler” (I don’t believe historical realities are spoilers), but it’s more a PSA for potential readers. I enjoyed this in spite of its conclusions, rather than because of them. The exhumation of the three Franklin sailors, and the autopsies, were done in the early 1980s. Frozen in Time was first published in 1987. The paperback version I read is copyrighted 2004, and states that it is “substantially revised.” I wish I knew what that meant, because it’s never explained. I do know, however, that the story of Sir John Franklin and his ill-fated crew has kept going. Only recently, both Erebus and Terror were discovered beneath the sea. More to the point, more-modern scientific analyses of Beattie’s data (a professor of anthropology, co-author Beattie led the group that exhumed the Franklin sailors) cast a strongly negative light on this book’s findings. Turns out that lead poisoning might not have been a causal factor after all.
It’s important to know that Frozen in Time’s bottom-line findings are possibly – if not probably – incorrect. This can still be enjoyed, as I enjoyed it, as the work of dedicated seekers after one of the great maritime mysteries in history. It might be wrong, but it moved the argument forward.
Just hide the cover from your children.