Trigger Warning: body gore/violence, suicide
In this, our latest Romantic Reimaginings post, Molly Watson discusses the ways in which Dan Simmons’s novel The Terror reflects and refracts Coleridge’s The Rime of the Ancyent Marinere. If you would like to write for the BARS Blog, please get in touch!
In a review of Captain Sir George Back’s Narrative of an Expedition in H.M.S. Terror (1838), the Literary Gazette commends the sheer force of Back’s descriptions of the Arctic, “the effect of which upon our minds has been something like that of Coleridge’s ‘Ancient Mariner’”. Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s The Rime of the Ancyent Marinere (1798) had been written at the end of the previous century, and yet its story of a mariner whose impulsive murder of an albatross unleashes a curse upon his voyage spoke to the dangers of polar exploration in the nineteenth century.[1]
A decade after Back’s Narrative, Captain Sir John Franklin commanded HMS Terror and HMS Erebus on an expedition to find the Northwest Passage (a sea route between the Atlantic and Pacific oceans) never to return. The mystery that shrouds the Franklin expedition—new evidence was discovered as late as 2016—informs Dan Simmons’s historical horror novel The Terror (2007), which reimagines the fate of the Franklin crew. Like Coleridge’s mariner, HMS Terror and HMS Erebus embark on a cursed journey across the ghostly polar regions.[2]
The term “Polar Gothic” is used to describe works that present the Arctic/Antarctic as “beyond experience, knowledge, or even expression”: remote, totally unfamiliar and unknowable, the polar landscape has an eerily spectral feel to it.[3] Coleridge’s mariner describes how the Antarctic disoriented his crew:
And thro’ the drifts the snowy clifts
Did send a dismal sheen:
Ne shapes of men ne beasts we ken—
The Ice was all between.
The Ice was here, the Ice was there,
The Ice was all around:
It crack’d and growl’d, and roar’d and howl’d—
Like noises of a swound.
The mariner and his crew see nothing but a sheet of white. The albatross is also white, but this is symbolic of its spiritual purity: it guides the crew through the fog and as such they “hailed it in God’s name”. When the mariner crucifies the albatross he consigns the voyage to doom: with the albatross dead, the ship becomes lost at sea, and one by one “The many men so beautiful/And they all dead did lie!”.[4] Though by this point the mariner is withered and barely alive, the Antarctic endures: the ice frequently cracks and groans against the ship, and so comes to life.

Gustave Doré’s illustration for The Rime of the Ancient Mariner (1876) © Wikimedia Commons
In The Terror, the Franklin crew also unleash a curse upon the voyage. Captain Crozier of HMS Terror and his ice master Mr Blanky voice concern about a harsh winter, but Sir John scorns them. Come spring there is no thaw and a rescue party is sent in search of open water. During a storm one of the party shoots and kills an Inuit shaman, provoking the wrath of Tuunbaq, a polar bear spirit that violently slaughters the Franklin crew (men are decapitated, disembowelled, and have their limbs torn off). Only Crozier understands that,
…the Devil trying to kill them up here in the Devil’s Kingdom was not just the white-furred thing killing and eating them one by one, but everything here—the unrelenting cold, the squeezing ice, the electrical storms, the uncanny lack of seals and whales and birds and walruses and land animals, the endless encroachment of the pack ice, the bergs that plowed their way through the solid white sea not even leaving a single ship’s length lee of open water behind them, the sudden white-earthquake up-eruption of pressure ridges, the dancing stars, the shoddily tinned cans of food now turned to poison, the summers that did not come, the leads that did not open—everything. The monster on the ice was just another manifestation of a Devil that wanted them dead. And that wanted them to suffer.[5]

Man Proposes, God Disposes by Edwin Landseer (1864), inspired by the lost Franklin expedition. The painting is said to be haunted (spooky!) © Wikimedia Commons
The Franklin crew pay sorely for their arrogant conviction that the Arctic could be conquered. If the “unrelenting cold” does not kill them, everything else will: men drown in the ice, succumb to TB and lead poisoning, are butchered and eaten by (mutinous) crewmates, commit suicide, or have the unfortunate privilege of being Tuunbaq’s supper. As the men try to destroy Tuunbaq and find refuge from the cold, more of them die. Crozier remains, like Coleridge’s mariner, a “slimy thing” that “Liv’d on”.[6]
Both Crozier and the mariner undergo a spiritual transformation while marooned in the polar regions. In his 1817 gloss to the poem, Coleridge explains that the mariner initially “despiseth the creatures of the calm”, but as he begins to see the beauty of such “slimy things”, he “beholdeth God’s creatures of the great calm”, unburdening him of the guilt of the dead albatross.[7] Crozier’s spiritual transformation, meanwhile, is facilitated by Tuunbaq. With all his men dead, Crozier joins an Inuit village and starts a family with Silna (the daughter of the shaman). The shamans have had their tongues ripped out by Tuunbaq, and Crozier realizes that this ritual is key to his spiritual rebirth: “[f]ur dripping like a priest’s wet and clinging white vestments”, Tuunbaq comes to Crozier, who “extends his tongue” as he did for Holy Communion.[8] By offering his tongue to Tuunbaq, Crozier gains a new spiritual understanding and becomes assimilated into Inuit life. Crozier also has a vision that Tuunbaq will “sicken and die” upon the arrival of the kabloona (white people). He and Silna have an ecological epiphany in which they see that “[w]hen the Tuunbaq dies because of the kabloona sickness…the white domain will begin to heat and melt and thaw”: as such, the Polar Gothic comes to symbolize the terror of climate change. Even though Tuunbaq dies, its spirit still lives on: the curse is transferred from Tuunbaq and the Arctic landscape to the Terror, which Crozier burns because “[w]hatever had taken possession of the ship was as virulent as the plague”.[9]
Unlike the mariner, who passes his story “like night, from land to land”, Crozier does not return home because he does not want to carry tales “to frighten the ghoulish citizens of England and to spur Mr. Dickens or Mr. Tennyson on to new heights of maudlin eloquence”.[10] He is also fearful that the curse of the Terror would follow the search parties from England back home. It is twenty-first century readers of The Terror, rather than Crozier’s contemporaries, who learn about the fate of the voyage—no matter how fictionalized Simmons’s account may be.
Molly Watson
Molly Watson is a PhD student at the University of Nottingham researching Motherhood, Children and Loss in the Works of Mary Shelley and Sara Coleridge, 1820-44. She has previously completed an MRes dissertation on Percy Bysshe Shelley’s Gothic Fiction at the University of Huddersfield. Molly is interested in second generation and ‘late’ Romanticism (1820s-50s), the Juvenile Library, literary legacies, and the Gothic. Her PhD is funded by the Midlands4Cities DTP (AHRC).
[1] The Literary Gazette, review of Narrative of an Expedition in H.M.S. Terror by Captain Sir George Back, 14 July 1838, p. 433. https://www.google.co.uk/books/edition/Literary_Gazette_and_Journal_of_Belles_L/1KPHtO3mpLAC?hl=en&gbpv=0 . See also Siobhan Carroll, An Empire of Air and Water: Uncolonizable Space in the British Imagination, 1750-1850 (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2015), p. 213, n76
[2] Royal Museums Greenwich, “What happened to HMS Erebus and Terror?” https://www.rmg.co.uk/stories/topics/what-happened-to-erebus-terror-crew-true-story. For more on the Franklin expedition, see Michael Palin, Erebus: The Story of a Ship (London: Cornerstone, 2018); Shane McCorristine, The Spectral Arctic: A History of Dreams and Ghosts in Polar Exploration (London: UCL Press, 2018); and Adriana Craciun, Writing Arctic Disaster: Authorship and Exploration (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2016)
[3] Katherine Bowers, “Haunted Ice, Fearful Sounds, and the Arctic Sublime: Exploring Nineteenth-Century Polar Gothic Space”, Gothic Studies, 19 (2017), 71-84 (p. 72)
[4] Samuel Taylor Coleridge, The Rime of the Ancyent Marinere in Samuel Taylor Coleridge: The Complete Poems, ed. by William Keach (London: Penguin, 1997), pp. 148-9, 154 (lns. 53-60, 228-9); for the Marinere as Christian parable, see Malcolm Guite, Mariner: A Voyage with Samuel Taylor Coleridge (London, Hodder, 2018)
[5] Dan Simmons, The Terror (New York: Back Bay Books, 2007), p. 189
[6] Marinere, p. 154 (lns. 230-1)
[7] Coleridge, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner (1834) in Collected Poems, pp. 175-6
[8] The Terror, p. 746
[9] Ibid., p. 710, pp. 764-5; see also Maria Lindgren Leavenworth, “The Times of Men, Mysteries and Monsters: The Terror and Franklin’s Last Expedition”, in Arctic Discourses, ed. by Anka Ryall, Johan Schimanski and Henning Howlid Wærp (Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2010), pp. 199-217 (p. 214)
[10] Marinere, p. 166 (ln. 619); The Terror, p. 764