I really loved this book, which rifled sharply through my senses like icy air. Scannell takes us on a journey through abandoned Alaska and, just as the men once mined the copper and gold, he is mining his own soul for meaning in a time of personal loss.He visits places where a Pompeii-esque kenopsia prevails, and so the book is a touching juxtaposition of the photographer-writer working in soundless solitude in buildings that once teemed with workers –mining, living, eating and sleeping cheek by jowl.Scannell beckons us into a buckled bunkhouse, where, like a fairground fun house, he can't tell which way is up; he leads us along precarious staircases where nails ooze rust into the bloated wood; he shows us a tram-tower that’s cabled to the surrounding rocks – it seems to symbolise the precariousness of human existence, a reminder that time and nature will eventually eradicate us all, but for now we must cling on as best we can.The elements are beautifully evoked in both words and images: there’s trickling water, crystalline ice, musty air, sheers cliffs, unending skies and glacial moraines – but it’s not only about inanimate matter and vastness, because Scannell also depicts the minutiae of human existence: socks drying over a barrel stove, a dozen work-gloves hanging from nails, remnants of ripped dungarees, a corroded sardine can, even the fragment of a poster depicting the eyes of a 1930s starlet.These buildings are haunting and eerie, but Scannell, who was dealing with immense personal loss, finds succour in the isolation and dilapidation. As his lens and words capture these spaces, they in turn capture him; he finds a paradoxical rebirth in the rust, warmth in the ice-sodden woodwork, calm in the corrosion, and above all, light in the shadows.Evocative, immersive and educational, a highly recommended read.