There are few places in the world like Pompeii and Herculaneum—if any—where a city is caught unawares, a moment in time frozen and encapsulated for millennia.
I was lucky enough to visit both recently and couldn’t help but imagine Roman life carrying on around me as I walked stone roads scored by chariot wheels, explored the thermal baths complete with built-in lockers, and paused to admire the gardens of homes adorned with intricate mosaics and colorful frescoes.
Plaster cast molds of the cavities left by the people caught in the eruption provide a graphic, harrowing account of their last moments.
We also know what happened that fateful day in 79 AD thanks to Pliny the Elder, a Roman Senator, commander of the imperial fleet, and natural historian whose work on natural history became the first published encyclopedia.
Alerted to the impending disaster by a strange cloud around Vesuvius and the first messages from people in the vicinity calling for help, Pliny launched the fleet hoping to execute a rescue mission.
Alas, floating pumice prevented the fleet from reaching the people who, terrified, rushed to the shore in the hope of a sea rescue. Instead, the ships headed south to Stabiae.
There, Pliny continued to make observations and lift the morale of the distraught and helpless crews, but soon Pliny himself was overcome by toxic fumes and ash.
His nephew, Pliny the Younger, also observed the eruption from afar. He would share his and his uncle’s observations in letters to the historian Tacitus. He described previously unknown phenomena, such as the eruption cloud, how the sea was sucked outward, and how even daylight seemed to vanish. Pliny’s description of falling ash and pumice gave rise to the term ‘a Plinian eruption.’
His letters also reveal intimate, human details: people tying pillows to their heads to protect them from falling stones, and children crying out for their parents.
These vivid accounts and the excavations keep the stories of that moment in time alive. But many stories that could reveal much about Roman life have yet to be told.
These secrets are encased in scrolls found in Villa dei Papiri in Herculaneum. Believed to have belonged to Julius Caesar’s father-in-law, the luxurious villa housed an impressive library. Its 600 plus scrolls were instantly carbonized in the eruption, their texts hidden in the charred rolls for millennia.
Early attempts to unroll them caused the delicate scrolls to crumble. But with advanced technology like CT scans, AI, and 3D mapping, researchers are making headway on identifying the texts that have remained hidden for two millennia.
The many stories told through frescoes, letters, and scrolls preserve something essential—a piece of human experience that reaches us across time.
These ancient echoes particularly inspired me as I put the final touches on my new collection of short stories, When the Stars Were All I Had.
My stories might not reveal a world hidden for millennia, but I hope they are enlightening, uplifting, and show the light that can come from a moment a life is changed. Because, ultimately, it’s stories that keep us connected—to each other, to history, and to the fleeting, precious moments that shape our lives.