75 pages • 2-hour read
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Content Warning: This section of the guide includes discussion of racism, substance dependency, graphic violence, illness, and death.
Meat consumption is a central motif that is directly tied to the novel’s depiction of horror. Without meat, the men cannot survive, only for them in the end to become meat themselves—whether to the Tuunbaq, or each other in the case of Hickey’s mutineers. In the beginning, the men consume the meat harvested, processed, and packed in England, which was then shipped thousands of miles to preserve the illusion of abundance even at the edge of the world. The officers’ dinners, with their roasts and carefully served cuts, represent the cultural confidence that English civilization can extend anywhere, even into the Arctic. However, these provisions are tainted. Historically and in Simmons’s retelling, much of the canned meat supplied to the Franklin Expedition is contaminated, poorly sealed, or spoiled. The men suffer from scurvy, food poisoning, and the creeping horror of food that looks intact but carries hidden rot. The empire’s attempt to master the Arctic through logistics collapses when its rations turn against the men. What was meant to preserve life accelerates decay.
While Irving at first suspects the fresh meat he finds Silence eating in the cable locker is from the bodies of the men previously killed by the Tuunbaq, it’s revealed that it’s from the animals the Tuunbaq is bringing her. The only characters who consume human flesh are the “monsters”: The Tuunbaq, Hickey, and the latter’s followers. The Arctic, as depicted in the Inuit worldview integrated into the novel, is where animals offer themselves to hunters who treat them with respect. Since Silence and the other Inuit have not transgressed, the environment provides for and sustains them. Meanwhile, for the crew of the expedition, the animals are absent. As Crozier reflects regarding the situation: “By mid-July the water and opening floes should be teeming with life […] This summer, for the second year in a row, almost nothing living moved across the ice” (731). They are not deemed worthy and so do not receive.
Dreams are another key motif in the novel. Crozier dreams at critical junctures, especially after his near-death experiences following his withdrawal from alcohol and being shot during the mutiny, and represent his spiritual transformation. What Crozier experiences isn’t ordinary fever-dream confusion. He sees future rescue expeditions, the discoveries of M’Clintock and Hobson, and even the fraud of the Fox sisters in New York—events historically tied to the Franklin mystery but beyond his knowledge in 1848. Whether he admits it early on or not, Crozier is indeed the inheritor of his grandmother’s gift. In the fever, he’s finally unable to suppress what Memo Moira claimed for him: The ability to “see things no person on this sad earth has ever seen” (430).
It’s the distorted memories of her and Catholic ritual that have the most importance to the narrative and his character, especially the Eucharist and the priest’s insistence on submission, which are later mirrored in the climactic moment when Crozier submits to the Tuunbaq. The priest and the Tuunbaq are one, linked in his past and future. When he kneels naked before the beast, he embodies both surrender and defiance. He does not submit to the Tuunbaq as master but offers himself in communion, as one who has already learned to merge self and other. His dreams have taught him how to yield without losing the flame of life within. The dreams function as initiations to prepare Crozier to abandon the binary of survival versus death, of self versus non-self, and to embrace transformation.
In the novel’s bleak Arctic landscape, fire is a paradoxical symbol: It represents warmth and survival, but also destruction, violence, and spiritual corruption. Fire, in the form of warmth and light, is essential to human life, and without it, life itself cannot be sustained. The sailors rely on stoves aboard the ships and small fires in camps, but fuel becomes increasingly scarce. Unlike ice or the Tuunbaq, which are external forces of nature or myth, fire is within human control until it isn’t. Fires begin at two of the biggest losses of life in the story, the Carnivale disaster and the attack in the hold of Erebus, because the men panic, fumble, or act rashly. They light too many lanterns, knock them over, or throw them in desperation, causing even more death and destruction than the Tuunbaq could cause alone.
For Crozier, in contrast, his relationship with fire is one of control. He’s portrayed as the most reasonable and levelheaded of the crew, and not prone to taking rash action. He describes his will to survive in his point-of-view chapters as a “blue flame of determination that still burned small but hot in his breast” (529). When he finds the abandoned Terror at the end of the novel, he chooses to burn it rather than let it ever be found. Fire here acts as a purifier, destroying the physical remnants of the expedition so that the past cannot return to haunt the future. The blue flame represents his soul’s endurance, while the flames that consume Terror symbolize the erasure of his past so he can build something new. In both cases, he’s in control and channels the destruction rather than letting it destroy him. Just as he learns that survival requires surrender and identity requires transformation, fire itself embodies that contradiction.



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