It is nearly impossible to be saved from obscurity. With each passing decade, the chances of someone’s name being completely lost to history increases dramatically to the point of certainty, regardless of their accomplishments or how interesting of a life they lived. Even the subject of Reid Mitenbuler’s recent book, a biography about arguably the most interesting person you’ll ever read about, was discovered by mere happenstance.
It was an oil painting of a bearded, peg-legged gentleman that piqued Mitenbuler’s interest. The artistic presentation was interesting, for sure, but what made the subject of greater interest was that the painting hung in an old New York mansion that was home to The Explorers Club. The subject of the painting was Peter Freuchen and his story exceeds imagination.
Peter Freuchen’s Wanderlust
At the onset of the book, Freuchen is met with a choice that many of us can relate to from our early days. It was the career choice. Freuchen was med student, on the path to becoming a doctor, but there was a strong desire (Mitenbuler indicates it was in his blood) for adventure, specifically polar adventure. I suggest that this moment is relatable because many of us had that period, regardless of its brevity, to choose between a stable, perhaps risk-averse, life and that of adventure, even danger. But that’s where the similarities end, as Freuchen chose the latter in its most extreme form.
Freuchen was possessed of an adventurous spirit and was born during the age of polar explorers. Where men sailed toward and were often met with extreme hardship, if not tragedy. He had been part of the 1906 Danmark Expedition, which was met with both extreme hardship and tragedy, when three of its members, including expedition leader Ludvig Mylius-Erichsen, perished.
These adventurous pursuits, of course, were not just for the poles, but for posterity. To be remembered for generations to come. People have long suffered, and often died, to accomplish achievements to preclude obscurity; some have even lied about such achievements. In fact, Freuchen, who became a journalist after the Danmark Expedition, was one of the first to suggest the Arctic explorer Frederick Cook had not in fact reached the North Pole after comparing his personal experiences in the Arctic region.
A Lost Age
As the book progresses, we witness the raw existence of the frigid north recede as modernity reaches its icy shores. We witness this “progress paradox” (an economic term used by Mitenbuler) through Freuchen’s eyes. Indeed, the era of exploration that we esteem with such nostalgia had, in a considerably short time, given way to capitalism and industry. It is a paradox as it leaves us wishing for the past while simultaneously grateful for the advancements of the modern era. In a sense, Freuchen is a human analogy of the times in which he lived. He was both a picture of the receding and dying past and the progressive and hopeful future.
Survival of Various Sorts
“Wanderlust” displays Freuchen as a man who seemed almost otherworldly, and indeed many people in his day viewed him as such. His massive build, thick scraggly beard (which helped cover scars from frostbite), missing foot (also due to frostbite), combined with his gift for storytelling (both verbal and literary), kind-heartedness, and his pursuit of righting social wrongs makes him celebrity for both yesterday and today.
His survival both physically and monetarily was often by sheer will, whether it was combating loneliness and mental fatigue in the polar regions, forcing himself to write novels and screenplays in America and Denmark (including the landmark MGM film “Eskimo,” in which he also starred), or facing down Nazis. That will―that gifting―to explore, survive, and dictate enables us to experience and understand his past, a world that seems now so obscure and unreal to the point of unbelievability.
Mitenbuler has reproduced the incredible and unfathomable life of Freuchen in a seamless, enjoyable, thoroughly researched, and properly balanced biography. That pursuit of balance, which I believe Mitenbuler achieves, typically culminates in biographies where the views and social norms of the past (the subject) and the present (the reader) collide.
Mitenbuler, in his epilogue, brilliantly addresses that balance, stating, “Evaluating the past is always a challenge, walking that fine line between smug superiority and warped nostalgia.” This is a view to which we all should adhere. If we do, we may wind up like Freuchen, at least conceptually (the days of polar exploration are over, though there is still Mars). Such a balance would result in a fine existence, even if we are doomed to obscurity.
