And suddenly I realize that civilisation is suffering from a severe vitamin deficiency because it cannot draw its strength directly from nature, eternally young and eternally true. Humanity has lost itself in the unnatural and in speculation. Only now do I grasp the real meaning and the world-transforming element in the saying: “Become as the peasants, understand the sacredness of the earth.” She agrees, leaving her small daughter with family in Germany and ignoring pleas about this being a "hairbrain" scheme. She arrives in August and she does indeed live for a year with her husband and, as an added bonus, his hunting partner, Karl, a Norwegian. I wondered how she felt when she found, with no warning, that she would be living in a 10x10 hut with not just her husband but a strange man! Her writing is both matter of fact and lyrical, with never a mention of complaint. I think she survived through her good humor and through discovery - the "strange illumination of one's own self" and of seeing the world anew. Christiane writes in a spare and straightforward manner. She is very descriptive of the landscape, animals, weather, and the three's activities such as hunting, cooking, meals, going on hikes. You feel like you are right there with them in this isolated winter world. It was fun to read how her attitude towards her arctic home changed over the course of the year. In 1934, at age 36, Christiane Ritter, an Austrian painter and housewife, agrees to join her trapper husband in Spitsbergen (Svalbard), Norway for one year. This area is solitude and remoteness like no other place on the planet. “Chrissie” has no survival training and no real travel experience. A Woman In The Polar Night is a collection of her poetic reflections on that year - the days, weeks and months filled with beauty, danger and courage, howling winds and crashing ice floes, arctic ptarmigan and polar foxes, northern light and profound darkness. I highly recommend this German classic to anyone who enjoys reading detailed descriptions of the natural world and our tiny place within it. Ritter lived to be 103 years old, so maybe a year immersed in an Arctic landscape with nothing but nature for companionship is worth consideration after all. The writing is quite restrained in places (e.g. when it comes to detailing personal information or relationships), but Ritter's descriptions of her surroundings are captivating. Landscape, climate, and nature - and how they change throughout the year - are all depicted in an almost painterly style:

Sie berichtet vom dortigen Alltag, den Aufgaben und ihren Erfahrungen. Besonders schön und persönlich fand ich, dass ihrem Buch acht ihrer Aquarelle und 25 ihrer Federzeichnungen hinzugefügt wurden, die das Buch abrunden und sehr bereichert haben- immerhin war Ritter Künstlerin. So dürfen wir als LeserInnen (abseits des Geschriebenen) erfahren, wie sie ihre Zeit dort wahrgenommen hat.Note: I received an ARC through NetGalley, and the passages quoted may not be in their final forms. And her phrases hang like paintings in her book. For example, this passage about the morning twilight: “The whole sky is deep lilac, lightening into a tender cobalt blue at the horizon, over the sea of ice. From the east a pale-yellow brightness spreads, and the frozen sea, reflecting the heavenly colours, shines like an immense opal.” I think there is an important truth in Ritter’s book. While researching for Losing Eden , the more I saw how strong and varied the evidence is for a connection between nature and mental health, the more I became convinced that we are losing something psychologically important as we continue to disconnect further from the rest of nature. Ritter, writing way before the climate crisis, global species decline and habitat destruction, was sounding an alarm. “I realise that civilisation is suffering from a severe vitamin deficiency because it cannot draw its strength directly from nature,” she wrote. “Humanity has lost itself in the unnatural and in speculation.” mulle nii kohutavalt meeldib, kui mõni inimene reisib kohta, kuhu (või asjaoludel, millistel) mina iial ei reisiks, ja siis suudab sellest kirjutada raamatu, mis peaaegu et paneb mu ümber mõtlema. I do think that it is important to mention that there is sexism and hunting for food and fur involved. Ritter talks about this in a way that aligns with the time it is written. She is explaining her lived experiences when writing this and sexism is not the focal point of this book. Hunting is used for survival and combatting a limited food supply in an area with limited access to buying goods and services and poor land for growing – 4 stars.

I’ve been drawn lately to books about people living off the grid. The crazier our society becomes, the more enticing an isolated existence sounds. But maybe not in the Arctic Circle. Maybe somewhere that at least has vegetation and temperatures above freezing. Maybe somewhere with individual days and nights: “For here there are no days because there are no nights. One day melts into the next, and you cannot say this is the end of today and now it is tomorrow and that was yesterday.” The book was written ninety years ago by a woman who decided to spend a winter in the remote north with her husband, who apparently had been living there for some time without her. Not until she's underway does she learn that another man will be living with them. The human relations among the few people in the area (the closest neighbor is sixty miles away by non-motorized means) are intriguing, and she also spends a lot of time alone and writes about it well. The savage magnificence of the landscape carries the book for me, but the interactions between Ritter (an Austrian artist), her husband and a young Norwegian adventurer, are cheerful and sincere, and also a highlight. Christiane Ritter, an Austrian artist, lived with her husband, a hunter in Spitsbergen, for a year. Hunters lived solitary and dangerous lives but thrived on the challenge. Christiane’s husband, Hermann, invited her to join him and another hunter because they wanted a ‘housewife’. Over the winter, she would be left on her own while they went hunting. No electricity, no facilities, no running water, nothing but a tiny stove to heat the tiny hut which was barely a bunk’s length wide and which would mostly be completely immersed in snow. This would be an adventure in contemporary, tech-driven times but this was 1934.The writing is part memoir and a travelogue of sorts that does not keep its arc or sights on geographical indicators. Rather, it is a brisk yet deeply philosophical look at nature, the bonds between human and animals, the way human comfort can be stripped down to the barest essential when faced with the existential crisis of survival and the way, the human mind and spirit can wax, wane and make small steps to start all over again when nothing familiar exists except your own solitary self. It is a slim book that carries within valuable insights of how the desperate search for food means having to let go of sentimentality or how the need for human company can be fraught. Ritter's wry commentary over house duties, the depth of her contemplations on life and social ties, her emotional bonding to the animals she grows familiar with, the way she takes to life in sub zero temperatures on her own, all make for a compelling read. How varied are the experiences one lives through in the Arctic. One can murder and devour, calculate and measure, one can go out of one’s mind from loneliness and terror, and one can certainly also go mad with enthusiasm for the all-too-overwhelming beauty. But it is also true that one will never experience in the Arctic anything that one has not oneself brought there.

Obwohl der Inhalt des Buches sehr alt ist, ist es trotzdem interessant und ausgenommen einiger Punkte tatsächlich zeitlos. Klar, über gewisse Dinge/Ansichten muss man einfach hinwegsehen können und man darf nicht vergessen, dass aus dem Jahr 1934 berichtet wird. Wenn man das jedoch kann, wird man mit einem tollen Bericht belohnt. They have some provisions but must rely largely on what they kill. Her first seal dinner — she was told to cook the liver first — is a trial for her. But soon such dishes are a feast. The threesome sometimes come worryingly close to running out of food. When the sun comes out in the spring, they celebrate with “a whole spoonful of honey with our coffee and cold seal.” Her transformation from the excitement of arriving on the island, which reads like an Enid Blyton style adventure of the day (1930s), to a fear of what she has let herself in for as the sun goes down in October, not to rise until February, is perfectly described. That bright Blyton style descends into a dark cerebal tone; the mental toughness necessary for survival is evident.

väidetavalt on raamat olnud pidevalt trükis alates 1934. aastast, kui ta ilmus, ja tõesti on tegu kuidagi ajatu teosega - võibolla poleks samas kohas elades praegu eriti midagi teisiti (kuigi vajalikud vitamiinid vast võetaks purgiga kaasa, selmet jääkaru peale lootma jääda). kuigi kas seda jääd kliimamuutuste järel enam nii palju on, seda ma ei tea. aga vast külm ja valgus (või selle puudumine polaaröö ajal) ja tähed ja sellised asjad on ikka samasugused.