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juushikaTitle: Diary of the "Terra Nova" Expedition to the Antarctic, 1910-1912
Author: Edward Adrian Wilson
Published: Humanities Press, 1972
Rating: 4 of 5
Page Count: 280
Total Page Count: 534,000
Text Number: 1955
Read Because: rabbithole; borrowed from OpenLibrary and Interlibrary Loan (I really thought I wouldn't finish it before my ILL arrived, and yet...; still, ILL helps for looking at the pictures)
Review: Unlike Scott's, this diary is edited to include relevant pre-expedition content, which means: Wilson out in the world, being racist. It's a productive reminder of the culture framing these particular men, especially as racism and exploration are entwined; indeed, racism (via a lack of furs and dogs) helped get Wilson dead.
Wilson wrote primarily for family, and that audience feels present and limiting: this is anecdotes and birds, but the anecdotes are active and chock full of social dynamics from Wilson's frustrated and bemused position as science team lead. Insofar as a certain kind of restrained suffering was both holy and masculine, Wilson got top marks; both understated and honest, profoundly self-abnegating, and unexpectedly funny, this more than anything that I've read about the Terra Nova expedition thus far makes me want to reach for a biography, because the man is almost absent his own narrative, which is fascinating and frustrating and insightful.
Author: Edward Adrian Wilson
Published: Humanities Press, 1972
Rating: 4 of 5
Page Count: 280
Total Page Count: 534,000
Text Number: 1955
Read Because: rabbithole; borrowed from OpenLibrary and Interlibrary Loan (I really thought I wouldn't finish it before my ILL arrived, and yet...; still, ILL helps for looking at the pictures)
Review: Unlike Scott's, this diary is edited to include relevant pre-expedition content, which means: Wilson out in the world, being racist. It's a productive reminder of the culture framing these particular men, especially as racism and exploration are entwined; indeed, racism (via a lack of furs and dogs) helped get Wilson dead.
Wilson wrote primarily for family, and that audience feels present and limiting: this is anecdotes and birds, but the anecdotes are active and chock full of social dynamics from Wilson's frustrated and bemused position as science team lead. Insofar as a certain kind of restrained suffering was both holy and masculine, Wilson got top marks; both understated and honest, profoundly self-abnegating, and unexpectedly funny, this more than anything that I've read about the Terra Nova expedition thus far makes me want to reach for a biography, because the man is almost absent his own narrative, which is fascinating and frustrating and insightful.
