Published: May 2001 by: Telegraph Magazine

Appearing as snaking streamers, the semi-hallucinatory effects of the aurora borealis have been a rich source of myth for thousands of years. Kristian Birkeland, a Norwegian scientific genius, devoted himself to proving that the lights were produced by the interaction of cathode rays falling on the earth's magnetic field. It had crucial consequences for our understanding of space, but ultimately the discovery cost him his health, his marriage, his reputation and his life. Now, 100 years later, he is the subject of The Northern Lights, a first book by documentary-maker Lucy Jago.

Jago spent a succession of nights on top of an isolated observatory in Norway, gazing at the northern lights. 'I'd lie flat on my back in the snow for hours. It was minus 20, and I'd watch them all night. It was the most romantic thing,' says the author, her cornflower-blue eyes darkening with rapture.

More than the lights, it was Birkeland's story that Jago fell in love with, by accident, while making a documentary about the sun for the BBC. The resulting book is guaranteed to invite comparisons with Dava Sobel's Longitude in its heartwrenching mix of human interest, history and thrilling rendition of scientific quest. Jago's book, however, is better written. It has all the stylishness of good fiction, and its huge dollops of well-researched scientific fact go down with amazing ease, an achievement Jago is particularly proud of: 'I was thrown out of chemistry and physics at 14 so it was a challenge,' she laughs.

She is now 34, although her girlishly pretty features make her look all of 22. Unpretentious and determined by nature, she also seems highly sensitive. 'The thing that really gripped me was the tragedy, that Birkeland died unrecognised, even while the Nobel committee was in the process of nominating him for a prize.'

Jago's passion for Birkeland has a whiff of the missionary about it, and she consequently brings the man and his self- destructive genius vividly to life. He died in 1917, alone and paranoid in a Japanese hotel room, from of an overdose of the sleeping pill Veronal, to which he had become addicted.

'There's something about such men that grabs at my heart,' she smiles, admitting that she has a less tragic but not dissimilar prototype in her father. 'He's a brilliant pioneering keyhole surgeon, and he sacrificed his life to the NHS and making people better.'

Though she denies that she shares any of her father's obsessive zeal, her cv contradicts her. There are two academic scholarships, a double first from King's, Cambridge, in archaeology, anthropology and history of art, and an MA from the Courtauld Institute. Throughout the Nineties, Jago produced and directed intelligent documentaries, mainly for the BBC and Channel 4, and she collaborated with Jonathan Meades on Travels with Pevsner for BBC2. But her talent shone most in Hungerford: Ten Years On, about the long- term effects of the Hungerford massacre on the relatives of the victims, and The Day That Changed My Life: Is There Anybody Out There?, a memorable, artistic portrayal of a blind piano tuner whose world fell apart when he went deaf. 'Lots of people called to say they were suicidal until they watched that man,' she says, moved.

It was a love of travel (she's gone far and wide, alone and with film units) and an intense interest in people that combined to propel Jago into television. Her last work before The Northern Lights was a documentary on centenarians, 'and the one thing they all had in common was that they looked forward, they shared a psychological optimism, a curiosity,' she says with conviction. It's something detectable in her, and as she grew disenchanted with television, she saw her chance and took it.

Having always nurtured a desire to write, Jago found the Birkeland story a welcome change of direction, particularly since she was tiring of the changes in televisual culture over the past 10 years. 'There's less faith in the audience as intelligent,' she says with fervent irritation, and one glimpses the old student activist in her. 'I used to be a big issues person. The one thing I never want to do is be put off doing anything by fear.'

Jago is pregnant, with her baby due at around the same time as the publication of her book. 'I haven't been very careful during my pregnancy,' she laughs, having recently returned from scuba diving in California, where in typical fashion she became avidly interested in a biological research trip nearby: 'I'm endlessly curious about everything.' A keen traveller, her next book- research trip will take her to Calcutta with baby in tow. 'I've found out the best time to travel with a baby is when they're still breast-feeding,' she smiles.

Her relationship with the baby's father, a musician, is delicate, and she has bought a small house in Dorset to be near her family. 'I'm going to have a huge support structure. They're all dying to look after the baby,' she laughs. Her mother, a former English teacher, instilled a sense of determination in both her daughters. Her older sister, Camilla, is an airline pilot, 'a Base Captain,' says Jago proudly. 'We were never brought up to focus on babies or marriage - so I'm bucking the trend in a way.' Any mention of the phrase 'single mother' brings out Jago's impressive defiance. 'It's pejorative; it's never used as a laudatory term. For me it feels like the next adventure,' she says.

The Northern Lights has already attracted considerable film and television interest, both here and in the US. A final assessment of her tragic pioneering hero? 'I think a happy life is to find a balance between your obsession and your contentment. Birkeland didn't have that.' She visibly saddens at this thought and we agree, wistfully, that Ralph Fiennes has the right air of tortured genius should Birkeland make it on to celluloid, 'even though the real Birkeland was this balding little man,' Jago laughs - at her own romantic vision as much as anything.