It’s an old story, but a great one. The Count of Monte Cristo has sat on my creative wishlist for years. Recently, I finally dusted off the mental notes I’d been storing and began the daunting task of actually putting pen to paper.

The Impetus: From “Zattara” to “Driftwood”

The spark for this project actually came from a mistranslation in the 2002 film adaptation. In that movie, Edmond is given the name Zattara, which the characters claim means “Driftwood.” In reality, Zattera is Italian for “Raft”. That cinematic error stuck with me; it felt like a perfect metaphor for a man stripped of his past, floating through a life that no longer belongs to him.

In Good Company

In modernising this tale, I realised I was joining an illustrious tradition of retellings. From the sci-fi grit of Alfred Bester’s The Stars My Destination to the 2024 adaptations starring Pierre Niney and Sam Claflin, the “Monte Cristo” architecture remains one of the most durable in literature.

The most direct literary parallel is Stephen Fry’s The Stars’ Tennis Balls (2000). Apparently, Fry didn’t set out to write a retelling; he realised mid-way through that he had accidentally reconstructed Dumas’s skeleton. While I’m in good company with luminaries like Fry, Driftwood is a very different beast.

The Permanent Ghost: A Modern Ending

The most significant departure in Driftwood is the question of identity. In most versions, including the original and likely Fry’s, the protagonist eventually resolves back into himself. In Driftwood, that door is permanently locked.

Administrative death is a very modern cruelty. Edward Davies is legally dead—his mortgage is paid off by strangers, his savings distributed, and his home emptied. He doesn’t just “act” as Richard Dryden; he becomes him. He carries the real Richard’s conviction, his life licence, and his history for the rest of his natural life. Walking into the sunset as Richard Dryden—not Edward—is a more unsettling and modern ending than most retellings would dare.

Weakness vs. Malice

Another core distinction is the character of Charles Danford. In many versions, the “villain” is driven by pure malice. But Charles’s betrayal in Malaysia isn’t premeditated; it is a moment of weakness. When he sees the door to freedom opening, he simply doesn’t fight for Edward. This creates a “dirtier” guilt—the guilt of a man who didn’t plan a murder but chose to profit from one. It makes the final confrontation less about a hero vs. a villain and more about two men bound by a twelve-year silence.

Where the Tide Stands

We are now 31 chapters into this 190,000-word journey. The “Education” phase is complete, and the “Return” has begun. Edward has accessed a crypto fortune worth billions—a modern equivalent to a cave of gold that has spent twelve years compounding in the dark.

He has also found his “closing argument”: Victoria Danford. She is not just a mark to be seduced; she is a professional adversary who has been fighting Arthur Danford for fifteen years. Together, they are dismantling a corporate empire that was built on the “necessary” deaths of both their fathers.

As the title suggests, this story doesn’t end with a homecoming. Edward Davies is gone. Driftwood doesn’t go home; it fetches up somewhere new.