Thank you so much for this adventurous, gripping and informative book, Lauren. Just wow. Firstly, can you tell our readers why you've written this book?
I wrote VOYAGERS to tell a different sort of story about the climate crisis – to help us think about our current moment in a new way, and show that we still have agency to change, and open up meaningful conversations about what to do next, together.
I began working on the book in 2020 in a time of personal and global upheaval. I’ve always used writing as a processing tool, and so this project became a way to try and piece together meaning amidst overwhelming fear and uncertainty – and figure out how to keep walking onwards in this climate-changed world. My own reaction to this uncertainty was restlessness – wanting to travel, to seek other horizons, to learn more, to find different ways of being – and I thought that maybe understanding this impulse in myself and in our species might be another lens through which to see our present crises. I thought that maybe, if I could see where we came from and how we got to this point, I could see where we might go from here.
It was a hugely ambitious idea, as it asked questions with no definitive answers! But through telling stories of past voyages and upheavals, I’ve tried to reframe the climate crisis not as a purely modern environmental problem but one linked to a history of exploration, colonisation, extraction and economic gain. Looking broadly at the journey of our species also allowed me to think about how we can draw on the adaptability and resilience of our ancestors (and each other today) to collectively create a more just future.
I've traversed with you through seas and rainforests and mountains and beyond, as you were right there on the ground, and that's what makes this book so special. Why did you choose this blended format of science writing and travel narrative?
The blended format of science and travel writing came pretty naturally because science is a major framework through which I see the world. When I’m travelling, my background in science influences what I’m curious about and what I pay attention to; I often first try to understand new places through their natural history.
I also knew that the book was dealing with enormous questions around the movement of our species and the way in which that's influenced our relationship to land over time, and I needed a way to ground the reader and myself, to avoid being overwhelmed with information. Travel writing seemed to be a neat way to give the book grounding and focus; I situated each chapter in a different place I had spent time in, learned about and come to know.
What's your favourite chapter of the book, and why?
That’s a hard question! I loved the research I did for chapter three about the cultural impetus of exploration, using the example of Polynesian wayfinders and their incredible story of innovation and ingenuity. Writing chapters four and five was also a joy because they’re set on Adnyamathanha Yarta, in a landscape that I love deeply. But I think my favourite chapter may be chapter eight. It was one of the most difficult ones to get down on paper, partly because it’s a chapter where a lot of personal growth and learning happens, and partly because it’s a turning point of the book, a hinge in the narrative where I begin to realise what it will take for us to get through this and the ways in which all of us need to step up and come together. It’s a nerdy answer, but structurally chapter eight is my favourite!
You pack in so much science and history, without ever losing my interest for a second. What was your research and writing process like? How long did this book take you to write?
This book took me about three years to finish, in lots of intense bursts of activity around the rest of my life and work. When I started the book back in 2020 I didn't know where I would end up – I knew the overarching questions I wanted to explore, but I didn't know the answers, and didn’t even know what the second half of the book would look like because I hadn't travelled to many of the places or done many of the things that I ended up writing about. I just began, and trusted that in the process I’d learn what I needed to learn to finish the project.
The research and writing process was long and iterative. I tended to write chapter by chapter, as each one is generally set in a different place and addresses a different question, so I treated them like long, interconnected essays. So there’d be periods of reading and thinking and doing and scribbled note-taking – journal entries, disjointed facts, descriptions of place, jotted records of what people had said to me – then I’d manage to put aside a week or two when I’d get all the first draft of a chapter down in a frenzy of writing. I’d piece all my notes together with my research like a jigsaw puzzle, sorting out what would best tell the story I wanted to tell and bring out the intended meaning. Usually through the practice of writing the draft I’d figure out what I was actually trying to say, then the second draft would involve huge amounts of cutting and rearrangement.
Was there anything particularly challenging to write? If so, why, and how did you tackle it?
To be honest, the whole book was difficult! Writing is a way that I process my thoughts and feelings and experiences, so although it’s incredibly rewarding, it’s also hard work. But the most challenging parts to write were the two chapters set in Adnyamathanha Yarta in the northern Flinders Ranges. To write them, I went purposefully out of my depth, learning about a different way of seeing and being in the world through experiences I had with Elders. I felt immense pressure to do the people and place justice. I ended up taking the draft chapters back up to the folks I had written about to speak to them and get feedback, which they were incredibly generous about.
Often science writers and journalists avoid putting themselves into the story. I guess there's a time and place for that, but I just love how you've woven your personal journey into it – exploring your socio-economic privileges, your role as a science writer, what activism means to you, and even deeper existential queries. For our readers, can you share a little bit about how your perspectives on the climate crisis have grown?
When I first became aware of the true magnitude of the climate crisis in my early 20s, I learned about it through the conventional framing: as an energy problem, as the direct result of fossil fuels. Through that limited lens, it appears that the solution is very simple – to stop using coal, oil and gas. But this wasn’t happening, because – as I began to realise as I learned more and more – climate change isn’t purely an “environmental issue”. It’s intimately related to a raft of intersecting crises we’re facing because it’s also economic, social and political problem; we can't separate the climate crisis from colonisation and empire, from historical and ongoing power dynamics and injustices, and from the dominant economic system we live under – capitalism – which requires infinite growth and increasing extraction of resources and labour. My perspective on the climate crisis has therefore expanded from a strictly environmental problem to something that can only be understood and addressed systemically. It’s a problem that requires us to radically rethink how we live – more justly, more cleanly and more meaningfully.
Thank you for inspiring me to take action. You write stunningly – there were so many passages that I wanted to highlight, and I basically want to kayak now because of this book.
Thank you! It means so much to hear that.