2019 read #3: The Ice Is Coming by Patricia Wrightson.

The Ice Is Coming by Patricia Wrightson
196 pages
Published 1977
Read from January 20 to January 31
Rating: 2.5 out of 5

Cultural appropriation is a complicated topic. Writers of privilege should not use the culture, experiences, or heritage of less-privileged groups in order to enrich themselves—that's straightforward enough, as an ideal. But no culture exists in isolation, and a white writer rejecting cultural interchange in order to write some Western European fantasy about a kingdom that has only ever known blue-eyed blonds is going in exactly the wrong direction. The better ideal would be to enjoy cultural exchange only on terms set by the less-privileged group. (A further suggestion, that white and male authors should just shut up and let other folks have the floor for a while, is hard to refute on philosophical grounds, other than a vague sense that silencing an entire group based on their demographics is probably not the best idea in the long run, and is probably something to be avoided.)

On its surface, The Ice Is Coming appears to be an example of cultural appropriation done with every intent of treating those it steals from respectfully. It is told largely from the perspective of Australian Aborigines, or the People; the monsters, heroes, songs, and cultures that enter the story are treated seriously. Especially considering when it was published, Ice seems to be a remarkably forward-thinking novel. When you read deeper, of course, cracks begin to appear. Not a single member of the People is thanked, credited, or acknowledged in the author's note; no indication is given of how Wrightson obtained her information, or who (if anyone) told her it would be okay. Wirrun, the main character, is repeatedly described as "heavy-browed"—exactly the sort of thing that Eurocentric eyes might dwell on, rather than a distinguishing feature a young man of the People might himself fixate upon. Monsters and spirits from a broad geographical transect of eastern Australia are thrown into the narrative as if on a zoo tour, a selection of curiosities to spice up Wirrun's journey before its ultimate confrontation. A random white "Inlander" shows up to help in the climax, much like Martin Freeman's character in Black Panther.

And all the while I was reading it, I kept thinking, "Is a white person really the one to be writing this tale?"

Come to think of it, I don't know of a single Aborigine author. Not one. (Wrightson certainly doesn't list any for her readers to check out.) I need to Google and educate myself; it's a pretty glaring area of ignorance.

As a work of fiction, Ice falls closer to the 1970s exotic thriller than to the fantasy examples Wrightson cites in her author's note. It has more in common with Jaws or this one thriller I read that had to do with these people stranded in a cave because of an avalanche (I forget the title) than with Earthsea or Middle-earth. Wirrun makes major plot decisions based on newspapers; there are random asides to show how local store owners and tourists are handling the encroaching return of the Ice Age. The reveal of the Eldest Nargun at the end was a nice bit of storytelling magic, but otherwise, Ice is an odd document, ahead of its time in some ways but wholly of its era in terms of narrative conventions.