The most recommended books about the Inuit

What struck me most was the use of simple language to portray powerful intimacy and connection between human and animal, and by extension, environment. Murphy’s humorous dialogue, together with sparing, often ironic, descriptions, struck deep into my heart. The play starts in 1535 on an ice shelf up north—when an Inuk widow risks her life to save a lost one-eared polar bear cub on an ice floe, and adopts him. In the last scene five hundred years later in the oily waters of the Northwest Passage, the same bear—starving and cruelly injured by eco-tourists on a cruise ship—struggles to keep from drowning. No one on the ship cares. No one weeps for him. But I did. I wept for him and for his world destroyed by apathy. 

I tracked down a 1973 hardback edition of this book because I fell in love with it. The publication date, the year of my birth, was an added bonus. I borrowed Lowenstein’s translation of material collected by Knud Rasmussen, the famous polar explorer, from the library. As soon as I read the preface, I knew I had to own it. It’s an owning kind of book. Inuit poems are raw like the environment they are birthed in – the words and the people. Some might call the poems simplistic, but having lived in the Arctic, I know that even the simplest things can be challenging, and often life-threatening. The poems in this book capture another world that is so very far removed from our own and yet startlingly vibrant and important. 

I love poetry but have been extremely allergic to a lot of popular contemporary poetry due to the influence of Rupi Kaur and other Instagram poets. Fournier’s recently published collection, however, reminded me of the poetry I loved and reminded me of how I felt when I picked up Dionne Brand’s Ossuaries over ten years ago and was mesmerized by its meter.

The thematic arrangement of the poems, the parallel translation into Inuk, and the way the book has been textured and shaded make Elements an aesthetic object.

Living high in the world’s Arctic regions, Inuit civilization remained largely free of European influences until the twentieth century, allowing its traditions to remain relatively intact into the modern era. Like the Norse, Inuit are a people of wolves and sea monsters and giants. But while the Norse focus mainly on male gods and supernatural warriors, Inuit legends are full of female deities and resourceful humans, making for an arguably more relatable and compelling mythology. Neil Christopher’s immensely readable compendium of Inuit myths is a great introduction to this vibrant tradition.

I wrote my own book inspired by this charming little encyclopedia of emotions.

Smith has collected 156 emotion words in English and other languages, along with delightful discussions of them. Stuff like David Foster Wallace’s ambiguphobia: “feeling uncomfortable about leaving things open to interpretation,” and l’appel du vide, French for “the call of the void,” that unnerving impulse to leap when perched on a high steep cliff. I love the Inuit word, iktsuarpok: the fidgety and restless feeling we get right before guests arrive.

Smith thinks that instead of trying to come up with a reductive list of basic and universal emotions, we should be looking for more–more words in more languages to get at the textures of what we can feel.

My copy of Génsbøl’s nature guide is well-thumbed. I often used it to find out what I was eating. That’s right; it is a nature guide, packed with fabulous illustrations–better than photographs–that allow for easy identification of the flora and fauna of Greenland, but I also used it to identify what I was eating when invited to an Inuit hunter’s kaffemik–a celebration of culture, tradition, and food wrapped up in a birthday or child’s confirmation party. The guide is an indispensable companion for anyone travelling to the Arctic, and Greenland in particular. But it is equally enjoyable, perhaps even more so, when sitting in a favourite armchair with a favourite beverage in familiar surroundings, dreaming of the far north.

I first saw this book about an Inuit newborn on a list of LGBTQ-friendly books because it welcomes a baby into the world without focusing on their gender. This is just one of many things I love about this bedtime poem. Kulu is a term of endearment for babies and young children in Inuktitut and the poem introduces Baby Kulu to the arctic summer. The animals and land share gifts such as love, patience, respect for animals, gentleness, and kindness. The beautiful illustrations in soft hues, convey the same gentle tone as the words, and lead the reader to feel embraced, adored, comforted, and ready to dream. The book is available in English, French, and Inuktitut. 

I appreciate the genuine Inuit voice of this story of creation, so I researched the author.

Rumolt is active in the Inuit community and teaches elementary school there, but her education was started by her grandmother’s traditional tales. The book is in spare text in the tradition of the storyteller. The art is primarily black and white with touches of color, all the more welcome as a surprise.

In the end the story is about compromise and friendship and a beautiful introduction to a unit or theme of creation, seasons, or mythology. 

I found this real-life story of a man from Togo, who becomes obsessed with Greenland as a child and spends years working his way up through Africa and Europe to get there, fascinating.

Not only does it dig deeply into the everyday lives of native Greenlanders – dog-sledding, seal shooting, ice fishing, and a surprisingly open attitude towards sex – but we get a double dose of insight because we get to explore the Inuit way of life from an African’s perspective.

It’s a well-written and amusing account of an amazing and rare adventure; I enjoyed it immensely and would recommend to anyone who enjoys travel.

This is an unusual crime story set in Copenhagen, Denmark. It caused a sensation when it was published in 1992. The main character Smilla Jaspersen is a half Inuit scientist from Greenland, lonely and homesick in the big city. The death of an Inuit boy pulls her into a complex web of crime exposing Denmark’s complicated relationship with its protectorate Greenland. The title refers to the Inuit people’s understanding of their wintry habitat, and is a reminder of the threat to traditional lifestyles of many indigenous people. A thriller, but so much more.