For my first book, The Lost Pianos Siberia, I was interested in the history of political repression in Russia, the Tsarist exile system, and Stalin’s Gulags. But how to find a connection to the millions who were murdered? I used the search for an historic piano as my device; with music as my passport in Russia, I discovered a ‘safe’ space to excavate oral memory and listen as people’s stories opened up. 

Those same principles were at play in my second book, A Training School for Elephants. When I came across an 1879 expedition to Congo with four Asian elephants — one of King Leopold II of Belgium’s first incursions into the continent — I could see a journey I could follow, which would give me a through-line not only from the Swahili coast to the Great Lakes, but into the story of Europe’s grab for Africa. By retracing the journey, I hope I could start to understand something more of colonialism’s impact. I thought the elephants could function as my ‘piano’ — a device to lure readers into a story about the genesis of Leopold’s monstrous, murderous ambitions.

So while pianos and elephants may appear unrelated, they are not. They have afforded me a consistent approach. A reason to journey. To research forgotten stories, and ask questions about who and what has been struck from the historical record. Where I’m most comfortable as a writer is in this weave of the contemporary and the historical — in quests driven by reportage, and the connections I can find in my on-the-ground search for oral memory.