The Universe of Lost: Literary and Cinematic Influences

Tons of research goes into writing historical fiction. But a book is more than just the facts. Here's a look at the truth and vibes that inspired my debut novel. ***Contains spoilers***

When I get lost, I look to my stars.

Where My Story Came From

In my last post, I described the journey of writing Lost. Though maddening at times, my journey was thankfully less arduous than that of my characters. To make them truly lost, I threw them across the world, covering a lot of physical ground:

• Starting in the River Thames, crossing the Atlantic and Indian Oceans, flashing back to Bethlem (a.k.a. "Bedlam") Asylum and Millbank Prison

• Casting two of the main characters away in the Tasman Sea

• Landing on the shores Cape Reinga, New Zealand, and venturing to Te Kao, Kaitaia, and the Bay of Islands

Each setting required its own body of research, but the three texts that most heavily shaped and inspired the book are:

• An Imperial Disaster by Michael Roe

• 438 Days: An Extraordinary True Story of Survival at Sea by Jonathan Franklin

• Making Peoples by James Belich

The journals and other writings of William Gilbert Puckey and Joseph Matthews were also incredibly eye-opening and solidified my fascination with primary sources. They unveiled the missionary presence in New Zealand at the time, with all of its good and wildly problematic intentions.

But this story started long before I found these texts. It fermented with ingredients of stories I read long ago and come back to again and again.

Prisoners' Tales

When I decided to write a book focusing on a convict, my brain pulled heavily on stories I've treasured for years:

• The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexander Dumas

• Les Misérables by Victor Hugo

• Great Expectations by Charles Dickens

I read The Count of Monte Cristo the summer after I graduated high school. I can still feel the weight of my mom's hardback copy as I read on my parents' couch. The book taught me how obsession can drive a story. It also gave me a deep love of side characters in the form of Abbé Faria, and his appearance in Edmond Dantès' cell inspired Pomeroy's voice appearing in J—'s.

As for Les Misérables, I confess it was more of the musical than the book that played in my head on repeat in my early pages. But picking up the Victor Hugo's masterpiece, the details of Jean Valjean as a prisoner and distrustful convict on the run let me burrow further into J—'s mind. Valjean's family being scattered by poverty after his arrest stuck with me as I developed J—'s character.

And then there's my favorite escaped convict: Abel Magwitch (what a name!) of Great Expectations. The juxtaposition of him against sweet Pip who then grows up to be horrified by their association inspired the foil relationship between J— and Thomas.

Movies have also played a big role in shaping Lost. Two notables are:

• Papillon (1973) starring Steve McQueen

• Hunger (2008) directed by another Steve McQueen

  
  

I watched Papillon long after I'd written J—'s backstory in the dark cells of Millbank Prison. When I described the scene to a friend, he recommended the film, based on the account of a French prisoner who escaped a penal colony in French Guiana. I found lots of familiar territory, and the true tale urged me to not hold back.

Hunger was a way for me to understand two major aspects of J—'s identity: a prisoner subject to the brutality of British authority, and one who uses food as a means of exerting control.

Love Stories

Though the love story appears late in the book, a sense of longing develops early on. In the first chapter, J— uncovers the woman in the painting that will become his life raft, and is eventually replaced when he is rescued by the very real Kekeno.

In historical fiction and 19th century literature, I gravitate toward slow burn love stories and obsessive relationships that leave both lovers destroyed and perhaps one or both of them dead. The novels that inspired the tone of J— and Kekeno's relationship are:

• The English Patient by Michael Ondaatje

• Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte

• Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte

I recently forced my husband to watch a film version of Jane Eyre after I was shocked to learn he didn't know the story's big twist (read: after I spoiled the whole Bertha bit for him over a glass of wine on the couch). I claimed the 180-year-old book was common knowledge in today's world. He disagreed (but thankfully ended up still loving the story despite my spoiling it).

Jane Eyre feels alive and well in my worldview. Contemporary love stories are just copies of the OGs, so I often look to those OGs for guidance.

Also watching Mia Wasikowska dash herself on the moors sobbing in the rain, reminded me that this is the type of love story I really want: one of a love so great, you just wander off over a hill some day to find it —or break free of it.

As J— and Kekeno do not share language, I found myself gravitating to the visual medium of film, namely:

• The Piano (1993)

• The New World (2005)

The relationships at the center of these stories had to be revealed by action, with any word passing between lovers charged with meaning and expectation. In Lost, J— and Kekeno begin to learn each other's language at Kaitaia Mission Station. As J— helps to build the bridge with Maori men, he picks up more language than the missionaries can dispense, "untangling the jungle between them a word at a time."

"Each day, the gap narrows in the bridge that will be, as the two banks stretch toward one another. Each day, he wakes in his tent, body frozen from the exertion of the day before. He lurches to life to cake himself in mud, adorn himself with splinters, and give every last drop of sweat in the pursuit of her language."

Finishing Touches

As I was finalizing the manuscript, I lighted upon The Ministry of Time by Kaliane Bradley. I'm not usually one for sci-fi books, but the historical fiction storyline was right up my alley (ships, survival, grumpy 19th century men—yes please). I enjoyed it to the last page, so much so that I had to flip right back to the beginning and remember how it all began.

I realized I wanted my book to have a similar circle. It inspired the final edit of Lost, where I separated the wheat from the chaff and made room for the themes I really wanted to matter. Also in my ear at the time was Lauren Groff's Florida, Maggie O'Farrell's Hamnet, and as always Toni Morrison's husky reading of Beloved.

I know my novel pales in comparison to the works discussed on this page. But those works reminded me what books can be, that prose can be beautiful and efficient, that plots can be purposeful and take their time, and that devastating ends don't make a sad book—they make books that haunt me for the rest of my life.