What a strange world it is where you can have as much sex as you like but love is taboo. I'm talking about the real thing, the grand passion, which may not allow affection or convenience or happiness. The truth is that love smashes into your life like an ice floe, and even if your heart is built like the Titanic you go down. That's the size of it, the immensity of it. It's not proper, it's not clean, it's not containable.
I love the way the shrinkage of the [ice] floe imposes this tightening dramatic focus to the action. They are being forced closer together even as they are trying to pull further apart. I like to think of it as an adventure story for adults rather than a Hardy Boys type thing. I sort of avoided the genre of historical fiction in the past because I always thought of it as a sub-genre and I knew it could easily lend itself to either costume drama or boyish adventure. I wanted it to be more complicated thematically and intellectually but I also wanted it to be a page-turner.