I rarely [if ever] seek to know anything about the personal lives of artists or authors. One is always afraid that their masterworks will turn out to be nought but thinly disguised autobiography. I have never believed the, to my mind, daft commonplace interpretation of the quote by Mark Twain, “Write what you know.” Strikes me as both lazy and apt to lead to rather boring output?
I have to say though that I was intrigued by learning that Orwell wrote Nineteen Eighty-Four, whilst not in utter isolation [apparently he was unable to look after himself], in the seclusion of the island of Jura.
Books and desert islands as it were. There be treasure.