This felt like a very uneven book. On the one hand, the writing gets gorgeous and almost lush as McNeil attempts to convey the cold 'other' of Antarctica. Her philosophical musings are tangentially connected in a way that it feels like you're inside her head. On the other hand I found myself really annoyed by her remove in that there were constant musings on writing and how apart writers are from society (especially Antarctic) while scientists and pilots were portrayed like they know what they're doing which felt like an immature way of reading the situation in that it doesn't give other people credit for potential inner lives as rich or pained as her own.