Brian Payton made two trips to the Canadian North, in 2007 and 2008, to research a book on climate change. He decided, instead, to write about the 1850-54 voyage of the HMS Investigator in search of the missing Franklin expedition.

“Like so many who have gone to explore or navigate some portion of the Arctic,” he writes, “I reached a point in my journey where I was obliged to change course.” Payton, a Vancouver journalist and novelist, provides no further explanation of that obligation. But certainly, the Investigator voyage is a great story that had yet to be fully told.

In addition to the harsh privations of over-wintering and bouts of madness and death, the saga is noteworthy because Commander Robert McClure and his crew made the first transit of the Northwest Passage, even if their ship didn’t make it with them. Dispatched as part of a multinational effort to find Franklin, the Investigator entered the Arctic from the west, through the Bering Strait. By the time these would-be rescuers were rescued and emerged from their high-latitude prison, three ships had been abandoned in the ice, and McClure and his surviving company (most pulled through) had narrowly avoided having their names added to the ranks of the lost and lamented.

Drawing on his novelist’s side, Payton aims at literature rather than comprehensive history. His narrative unfolds in the present tense, the book lacks an index and the bibliography is so loosely composed that two McClure letters are cited without archival sources. Payton can craft narrative, though, and he has the raw material to pull the reader into the icescape and keep them there. He is also to be saluted for his attention to arctic ecology and the lives of Inuit. The Ice Passage reminds us of what is at stake in a melting world.

Payton is sailing close in the wake of William Barr’s 2007 book Arctic Hell-Ship, which relates the travails of the HMS Enterprise, the companion vessel to the Investigator on this Franklin search mission. Payton, however, forgoes information that Barr delivers, such as McClure’s explanation to the Admiralty as to why he was chucking orders that he not become separated from the Enterprise as he seized the opportunity to pursue personal glory.

Payton’s main protagonist is Johann August Miertsching, a Moravian missionary and Inuit interpreter aboard the Investigator. Miertsching produced an unaffected and observant narrative that Leslie H. Neatby translated from German and published as Frozen Ships in 1967. Payton uses it faithfully to reconstruct dialogue and events, although he tends to melodrama. Compare Payton’s opening description of Miertsching’s arrival in Oahu — “He emerges as if from a shallow, anxious dream” — with Miertsching’s own version: “Weather superb. At 6 a.m. I had coffee with the officers on deck.”

The largely passive, proselytizing Miertsching is an odd choice as the lead character when the dynamic and exasperating McClure is swaggering about the very same ship. Payton, nevertheless, spends a lot of time with McClure, and while a fair sense of McClure’s complexities emerge, I wish the author had done even more with one of the great unexploited personalities of Arctic exploration.

Payton’s extremely terse version of McClure’s c.v. prior to the Investigator assignment leaves the impression that McClure was up to the job, asserting he was “no stranger to polar navigation.” Neatby, in his introduction to Frozen Ships, described McClure as a “very unlikely aspirant to fame … McClure had previously served in a subordinate rank on two polar voyages, but was otherwise undistinguished.” Moreover, as the Dictionary of Canadian Biography (DCB) profile of McClure notes, he spent a month in the sick bay on the second of those journeys and missed out on sledging expeditions — which helps explain his near-fatal performances in the Investigator’s initial Arctic shore parties.

Payton delivers the dramatic “what” of these idiotic miscalculations, but not the “why.” A few additional paragraphs could have more firmly grounded the narrative in events and expanded our appreciation of key characters. My verdict? Payton keeps the pages turning, but you may want to consult Frozen Ships, Arctic Hell- Ship and the DCB to get the most out of an already engaging tale. Douglas

— Douglas Hunter

Douglas Hunter’s most recent book is Half Moon, about the 1609 voyage of Henry Hudson. He lives in Port McNicoll, Ont.

Once, when I was six, I walked out my front door and headed to the North Pole. Growing up north of Montréal, I knew that if I went through the woods, past the lake, I would find the Arctic, bears and purple polkadotted monsters. On the way, I stopped at my Auntie Sue’s house. Several cookies later, I decided to go swimming, instead. I would explore another time — the North Pole would always be there.

The media is saturated with the Arctic these days, and some of the stories are about as accurate as my childhood impressions. Michael Byers’ Who Owns the Arctic? is an admirable attempt to make the debate a bit more grown-up. It is a readable overview of a century of Arctic law and politics.

Byers covers the main touchstone events, from the 1880 transfer of the Arctic Archipelago to Canada from Britain to the controversial 1969 Northwest Passage transit of the SS Manhattan and Canada’s recent tussle with Denmark over Hans Island. He clarifies arcane legalities, such as the definition of continental shelf claims, describes the vast hydrocarbon reserves and examines the enormous potential and challenge for shipping. Given the rapid changes to the North caused by climate change, the book has an urgent tone at times, and it highlights the crucial importance and value of including the people of the North in all decision making.

But Byers, who holds the Canada Research Chair in Global Politics and International Law at the University of British Columbia, isn’t just a passive observer. In one interesting section, he outlines the results of a two-day “model negotiation” he initiated, with the goal of improving Canadian-American relations in the Arctic. Participants included Paul Cellucci, a former American ambassador to Canada. The list of recommendations that emerged shows there is an encouraging amount of common ground between the two countries, especially around creating a safe and secure Arctic.

The book’s clarity and its attempt to find solutions are laudable. It is weakest, however, when Byers allows seemingly partisan politics, occasionally tinged with optimism bordering on the naive, to seep in. He writes, for instance, that it’s “possible to imagine an eventual federation of sorts between Greenland and Nunavut.” This is unlikely, considering Denmark’s firm hold over Greenland’s foreign policy and the growing geostrategic importance of the area.

Opinions on the future of the Arctic vary, and while everyone won’t agree with Byers’ conclusions, he at least provides readers with tools for developing their own analyses. The North Pole will always be there, attracting our imaginations like a compass. But it’s time to put away the imaginary monsters and view the Arctic like adults. It is a complex, delicate, shifting place that deserves thought, heart and defending.

— Cleo Paskal

Cleo Paskal is a senior fellow at the Royal Institute of International Affairs in London, England. Her first book, Global Warring: How Environmental, Economic and Political Crises Will Redraw the World Map, was published in December.

If you can’t make it to the North or South poles anytime soon, pick up Paul Nicklen’s new book, Polar Obsession. Nicklen grew up in Nunavut and is a photographer for National Geographic. Through his pictures, he reveals the true nature of the world’s most vulnerable ecosystems, showcasing both the Arctic and Antarctic. Some of the images are recognizable from National Geographic, while others are new — but all are breathtakingly beautiful. This beauty reflects Nicklen’s passion for his subject matter, which is also expressed in a series of short essays detailing his experiences as a photographer. If the polar regions are altered significantly by climate change, we stand to lose a lot, a message this book delivers in a very personal way.

— Emma Lehmberg

Most Canadians don’t have to venture far to find that mythical gargantuan snowfall that characterizes this northern nation, but writer Charlie English had to hunt a little harder. English, who hails from London, England, details his obsession with the fluffy white stuff in this literary voyage across continents. With the tone of a 19th-century romantic travelogue, The Snow Tourist catalogues the varied and sometimes tempestuous relationships that people around the world have with snow, from the deep snowfalls that can crush all activity in cities to the beauty of a single snowflake. The book also offers a glimpse into the lives of Inuit in Canada and the construction of that ever famous architectural marvel, the igloo. While learning to build an igloo, English reflects on how snow shaped the early Inuit and how their way of life endures in a changing land.

— Emma Lehmberg