On the Run in Siberia is, simply put, a wild ride, a combination adventure story, ethnography, and personal journey that is compelling to read. The author, at the time a Ph.D. student in anthropology, was attempting to establish a fur cooperative for Yukaghir hunters along the Kolyma River in Siberia. The ultimate goal of this venture was to ensure that the hunters received a fair price for their sable furs on the international market. They could then avoid selling to the local regional monopoly Sakhabult, which would undercut the prices in exchange for the tools and fuel that it would not provide as promised. Willerslev paints a poignant picture of the history of the fur trade from the tsarist period to the present, and his idealistic wish to correct these old wrongs was a noble motive. However, he failed to assess the complexity of the situation on the ground, leading to an eventual warrant for his arrest and a flight into the northern Siberian wilderness in January of 2000, where he and a companion remained isolated in a hunting cabin for two months.
At first glance, the story is one designed to appeal to the adventurer in all of us, especially those captivated by the vast swath of land that is Siberia. Certainly, the story delivers in this regard. If one ignores all the other fine traits this book possesses, then the author’s experiences in the Siberian Arctic on the run from corrupt officials make for a plot equal to any spy thriller on the market. Moreover, the naturalist, the hiker, and the hunter, especially those used to northern climes, will also find this book a delight to read. Willerslev brings to bear his ethnographic training to describe how the hunters live, cooperate, and hunt. There are excellent descriptions and fine drawings of the tools they use, their clothing, and their ways of life in the northern wilds.
The author’s own journey toward manhood as a result of these experiences is another prominent theme. While sometimes heavy-handed in its expression, it brings a personal aspect to the memoir that will appeal to many. The author does not focus solely on becoming a man’s man, but also on the spiritual journey he underwent while in the Kolyma region. His academic goal for this trip was to document the spiritual practices of the Yukaghir peoples, which resulted in the book Soul Hunters (2007). He writes compellingly of how immersion in this world gave him insight into the spiritual world of the hunters and into the mystical events he experienced. This aspect of the story provides insight into the participant-observer experience and how we can be profoundly changed by the work we do.
Another theme is the result of imperialism and colonialism in this territory among these peoples. As a specialist in this region of the world, I found some of his statements on Russia/the USSR and its history to be too simplistic and overly general. But they would be a valuable way to introduce students to a consideration of the complexity of these issues across the globe, even though the book focuses only on (Soviet) Russia. He provides an interesting overview of the layers of colonialism, if you will, with some minority peoples thriving under the imperialist system, while others do not. Discussions of the ethnic mix of Siberia (and indeed of the Russian territory as a whole) and the interactions between the peoples historically and in contemporary times make for an interesting case study. While Willerslev is not a linguist, the data on language use and its history in this region would be of use in introductory courses on minority languages, language revival/survival, or language and culture.
Finally, any ethnographer or folklorist would find the book especially rewarding because of its outline of the rituals and belief systems of the Yukaghirs and their connections to folk beliefs and narratives of other, often unrelated, peoples. While certainly not as detailed as his academic works, this book is useful for beginning students. One particular event stands out to me in this regard. Willerslev describes shooting a sable as follows. “As I picked it up, I realized I see a red drop of blood on top of its head. My shot has only just grazed it and left a tiny scratch. The sable’s heart is still beating, and after a brief moment, it gains consciousness. I expect it to start hissing and trying to bite me, as usually happens, so I tighten my grip around its chest, in order to squeeze the life out of it. But the sable reacts quite differently. As soon as my hand closes around it, it stiffens with fear. Beneath my mitten, I can feel it heaving and trembling. It gazes up at me with big, coral-colored eyes.” (80) Ultimately, he releases it. The author writes that he was confused by his decision, but the scene resonates with one from folktales (motif B431), in which a hunter’s prey begs for its life in exchange for a service later. Perhaps my reaction was inspired by the author’s own attempts to make sense of the uncanny events he had experienced and his argument that spirits were watching out for him, but it was a compelling parallel to an established narrative pattern. While not a scholarly book in its design, this rich work brings to life many of the issues folklorists and ethnographers grapple with in a readable and engaging manner. As a result, it would be a fine accompaniment to theoretical works or textbooks for courses on post-Soviet society as well as on the cultures of Siberia, or in introductory anthropology or folklore courses.
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[Review length: 942 words • Review posted on February 18, 2013]