How My Mother’s Dying Wish Took My Family to Antarctica

Before Maggie Shipstead’s mother died, she confided in her daughter that she would like to have her ashes scattered in Antarctica—a decision inspired, in part, by Shipstead’s most recent novel. In just 4,000 words, Shipstead, a superlative travel writer, delivers a rich cast of characters, the sensory thrills of a journey to a rarefied place, and a multifaceted consideration of grief. The economy of emotion here will impress any reader or writer, and there’s not a bad line in the piece. A difficult trip, no doubt, but one worth taking with Shipstead as a guide.

One morning we awoke to a grayscale landscape: rock, ice, cloud. In the photo I took of Mom on our balcony, her hands are balled into fists, pressed to her heart, her smile tremulous. When we first stepped ashore, she said she wanted to kiss the briny pebbles under her boots. She wanted to do everything. She hiked in the snow; she kayaked. She fell in love with penguins, especially the saucy, knee-high gentoos with thick white markings above their eyes like Ernest Borgnine brows. I was chastened by the Peninsula’s austere, extreme beauty. Here, like the Ross, was a place that would kill you without noticing, a place that made you feel tiny and vulnerable, its fearsome grandeur offering access to the sublime. When we sailed north, away, Mom embraced me in our cabin and cried. When she got home, she ordered a vanity license plate for her car that read: “GENTOO1.”