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September 18, 2003, 9:00 a.m. Storms of Two Centuries Hurricanes before Isabel. A Q&A by Kathryn Jean Lopez

udden Sea: The Great Hurricane of 1938 has just been released by Little Brown — perfect timing. With all the hype about Hurricane Isabel this week, NRO spoke with Sudden Sea's author, R. A. Scotti about hurricanes, past and present.

Kathryn Jean Lopez: How bad was the "Great Hurricane of 1938"? What makes it distinctive?

R. A. Scotti: The 1938 hurricane was the most-destructive national disaster that had ever struck the U.S. — worse than the San Francisco Earthquake, the Chicago Fire, or any Mississippi flood. Most disasters affect a fairly circumscribed area. But this killer storm sprinted up the Atlantic seaboard, faster than any other storm on record, sideswiped New Jersey, then swept over seven states (New York and New England). It claimed almost 700 lives and cost an estimated 4.7 billion in today's dollars (only 5 percent of the losses were covered by insurance). Coming as it did between the Depression and World War II, it stands as a benchmark in the history of New England. A way of life was lost. As the Associated Press said, "The day of the biggest wind has just passed, and a great part of the most picturesque America, as old as the Pilgrims, has gone beyond recall or replacement."

Lopez: How did New Englanders survive a hurricane without the Weather Channel?!

R. A. Scotti: New Englanders relish a good storm. Until the afternoon of September 21, 1938, they believed they could weather any gale. But residents living in the area in 1938 had never experienced an extreme hurricane. The last one that had come so far north was in 1815. When the weather changed so unexpectedly that afternoon, many people went out on the beaches to admire the wild ocean. Minutes later, a titanic storm surge was engulfing the very beaches where they were standing.

Lopez: Besides the obvious — the modern conveniences, the 24-hour TV coverage/hype — are there any dramatic differences in the way people approached hurricanes in the 1930s and the way we do now?

Scotti: Today, we are so well-informed. The National Hurricane Center acts like a weather CIA, constantly tracking and stalking gathering storms with state-of-the-art technology. Sixty-five years ago, hurricane central consisted of two men in a small outpost in Jacksonville, Florida, drawing maps based almost entirely on reports radioed from ships at sea or from weather posts in the Caribbean islands.

Lopez: The hurricane you write about was in 1938-how vivid can people's memories be of what happened?

Scotti: The hurricane of 1938 was a storm of such extreme power and fury that the memory of it is permanently etched on the minds and in the hearts of those who endured it. When I began to interview survivors for my book and heard their amazing stories, I was skeptical. I assumed that like the minnow that grows into a great white shark in a favorite fish tale, memories of the hurricane had become overblown with the years. But as I researched the storm, I realized that the memories were as accurate as they were vivid. The hurricane of 1938 was so extreme, it is almost impossible to exaggerate its impact.

Lopez: How does Seabiscuit make its way into your book?

Scotti: The day before the hurricane, Seabiscuit lost his first East Coast race of the season, the $6,050 Belmont Handicap, on a sloppy course.

Lopez: You've previously written novels. Why a history now?

Scotti: I had written one previous nonfiction book, Cradle Song. It was a personal story, and in a certain sense Sudden Sea is, too. I grew up in Rhode Island hearing stories of '38. My grandmother's best friend stepped out on her porch and was lost. My aunt worked in downtown Providence where floodwaters rose as high as 17 feet and people came home from the office in rowboats. Those who remember firsthand are now in their seventies and older, and I wanted to capture their stories. With the 65th anniversary of the hurricane approaching, it seemed like the perfect time.

Lopez: Do you prefer fiction or nonfiction writing?

Scotti: I love to do research, which makes me tend to nonfiction. However, there is nothing more fun than taking a couple of slim strands of reality and weaving them into a new and believable story. My novels have mostly been international thrillers, in which you're actually inventing a believable yet fully imagined future. In some ways, it's tantamount to playing God. In nonfiction, you are constrained by the facts, which can be a challenge for a novelist.

Lopez: How much poetic license did you take in the interest of fluid and descriptive storytelling?

Scotti: Sudden Sea is extensively researched and documented history, yet I wanted it to read with the pace and suspense of a novel. So often, the most fascinating history is related in ponderous prose. There were moments when I was tempted to invent an incident to create a narrative bridge, but I had a wonderful editor, Deborah Baker, at Little Brown, who is a stickler for facts. As a result, I rearranged and reorganized passages repeatedly, even after bound galleys were printed, to achieve the narrative pace that I hope makes the book a compelling read.

Lopez: Talking the science: Did you learn anything in the course of writing Sudden Sea that surprised you?

Scotti: One thing I learned in researching Sudden Sea is how incredibly vast and complex weather is. Even today, meteorologists have only a partial understanding of weather phenomena like extreme hurricanes. I used to make fun of TV forecasters because they never seem to make the right prediction. Now I appreciate what a tough job they have. We've gone to the moon and computerized the world, yet we still don't know enough about the weather to predict the track of an extreme hurricane with any degree of accuracy until 24 hours before it hits.

Lopez: Do you have a most-memorable "Great Hurricane" story?

Scotti: It is difficult to choose a single story, just as it was difficult to decide on which stories to include in the book. But one of the poignant images that stays in my mind is the picture of the elderly Stevenson sisters who for many, many years ran a gift shop in Watch Hill, R.I. When the winds began to blow up, Jane Grey Stevenson, a slight, timid woman, closed the shop early and hurried home to their beachfront cottage on Napatree-Watch Hill. Her sister who was ill with diabetes was home alone with their equally elderly housekeeper Elliefair Price. The three women were just finishing their afternoon tea, when the hurricane struck. As the ocean water rushed in, Jane Grey quickly packed an overnight bag and the three went into the kitchen. Knee-deep in water, Jane Grey stood watch at the backdoor. Her sister and Elliefair sat on the kitchen table to keep dry. The women weren't afraid. You could see the Watch Hill Coast Guard Station from their front porch, and whenever a bad storm blew up, the Coast Guard always came by in a cutter and brought the Napatree residents to safety. But as the three waited for the rescue boat, the Atlantic Ocean literally leaped out of its bed. It cut off the station, marooning the Coast Guard officers, and picked up the Stevenson's cottage, sweeping it into the maelstrom.