‘Gratifyingly defies expectations.’ — New York Times Book Review

‘The prose is calm, vivid, hypnotic and acutely piercing … It’s a remarkable achievement.’ — Colum McCann

‘Meditative and spare, this is not a fast read but one worth the effort: underneath all the ice, there is real emotional depth.’— Kirkus 

‘There’s one hell of a woman on this harrowing Arctic adventure. You’ll want to invite her to your next gathering… you’ll be calling each other halfway through the month, just to chat about the ending.’ — Oprah.com Book Club  

‘James’s sharp prose and attention to detail . . . leaves a lasting impression of this momentous journey.’ — Publisher’s Weekly

‘James uses the sublime appeal of the Arctic and the extreme situation of his characters as the stage for an essentially domestic psychological novel. The Surfacing is about how people live together and how we rise to the occasion of pregnancy and birth… This is a book for grownups, one that finds its best hope not in romance or friendship or the drama of seeking and finding, because none of those things happen, but in the capacity of human beings to endure… It is an austere pleasure to read.’ — The Guardian

‘In a genre whose characteristics can too easily veer towards cliché, the writing sparkles with inventiveness … The real strength of the novel, however, lies in the powerful descriptions of nature at its wildest, vivid images of sea and sky, and the carefully constructed dialogue of the men … A highly original and poetic story of isolation and responsibility upon the sea.’ — John Boyne, The Irish Times 

‘An epic tale of a quite magnificent futility.’ — Irish Examiner 

‘James’s depictions of the Arctic are beautifully brutal, and his alignment of maternity with the enthralling yet treacherous landscape emphasises Morgan’s fear of both … THE SURFACING is a moving reminder that some of the biggest journeys in life don’t involve going anywhere at all.’ — Financial Times 

“That day they hauled across the ice for twelve hours straight, with never more than a few minutes’ pause, until finally Cabot collapsed. It was neither exaggeration nor display. Morgan himself stood clinging to the sledge, knew that without it he would fall. Daly too had let himself crumple to the ground, and Petersen was standing over them, ordering them to get up. He was roaring. He was right. It would be better, afterwards, to be able to say you had still been able to stand. Stretched out on the ice was too much of a concession. You were beaten, with no further asylum. It was your back against the wall.”