While a novel set in the past is fiction and has a right to present imaginary events and personages, it is not (normally) fantasy, and thus certain standards of authenticity must be observed. Otherwise, it moves into the category of alternative history. Different readers will obviously bring differing standards of expectations to this issue, but it seems worthwhile for us writers to consider what our own standards are. Because authenticity makes historical fiction a doubly demanding genre: a historical novel must not only be a good piece of literature but also a good picture of a time and place in the past.
Who Has It Hardest?
When in the past “historical” fiction begins is a discussion for another post. But even the most lenient definition puts it in a time before the birth of the author. That is, she must research the period to get events, speech patterns, social structures, customs, public figures, etc., right. The more foreign the setting in time or place, the more research is required, and the more glaring any anachronistic lapses will be, right? But on the other hand, there are tons more of material to be gone through about recent periods that are better known, and many readers will have personal knowledge of recent past times that must be satisfied. So neither setting is necessarily easier to pull off than the other.
The lazy way out of this problem is simply to omit much detail that would ground the story in a particular milieu. But who wants that? One of the reason readers are attracted to historical fiction is to bask in the exotic color of other times and places, richly depicted. Often, the social injustices or disruptions of war or other characteristics of a particular setting are intertwined with the very mechanisms of the plot.
Enough, Already
But there can also be too much “local color,” or perhaps local color insufficiently well digested. An author can cram details down the readers’ throats, perhaps reluctant to abandon all those juicy factoids their research has unearthed, or perhaps feeling insecure about their history chops. The result is a constant reminder that this is fiction produced by someone, whereas we really want to read a story so deeply integrated into its time and place that we forget it isn’t real.
Some of the best advice I’ve heard on this subject was at the AWP last spring. Do a moderate amount of research. Then write your book’s first draft, letting it flow. Then go back and do more detailed research, filling in all the gaps and checking the authenticity of specifics. Good advice from people who know, although everyone works differently.
Call Me Authentic
Can we ever play fast and loose with historical fact? After all, we aren’t historiographers but fiction writers. My own novels are set in the Near East in the Late Bronze Age, when even the major events are contested. Expert disagree about dates, relationships and identities. Documentation is thin and ambiguous. So there is some room for imagination and, above all, choice. Where scholars disagree, pick the theory that suits the story best. But that isn’t license to ignore generally accepted facts, including the language these people spoke and the kinds of names they bore.
Names are a rough touchstone of authenticity that has turned me away from books without even looking inside the cover. An example (and I’m not making this up): a book set in Mesopotamia in the third millennium BC, whose protagonist is named Jayden. While egregious, it isn’t a unique case.
Maybe, as a history professional, I am more demanding than some readers, but jeez. Do some research.
Now, names are a particular sore spot with readers, I’m told. If you’re writing about the Tudor period, you get to use nice, short Anglo-Saxon names like Henry and Jane. Of course, maybe everyone is a Henry or a Jane, which breeds its own reader problems. But in my worlds, and maybe yours, the names are long, similar to one another, and very foreign. Asshur-naddin-shume, anyone? Sometimes we know of or can imagine nicknames, but by and large, names are what they are. By my standards, any real historical character’s name cannot be touched. Others? Find the shorter available options. But stay authentic.
What are your own experiences, as a reader or an author? How much does hewing the line mean to you?
Ruth D Lott
Recently I published “The Retelling of the Trial of the Century” through Create Space. The story concerned a murder and trial that took place in New Jersey in 1820. Some of my ancestors gave testimony at the trial. The facts were taken from court documents as well as data supplied by the family historian. It was educational for me, as the author, to research information concerning the language, lifestyles, treatment of people, etc. of that era. I believe it also enhanced the overall story.
Niki Kantzios
How cool to have personal connection with a historical event! Sometimes a really well researched piece of fiction teaches more history than a textbook!
Ruth D Lott
Thank you. The names I used were authentic and I tried to write the story in such a way that it would hopefully appeal to young readers. Many high school teens with whom I worked read only at the third and fourth grade levels. Sadly, no one took the time or trouble to introduce them to reading as a means of learning about the past, interesting places which they could visit, or to delve into fantasies and imagination. It was a challenge and enjoyable and most of my writing is geared to that purpose.
Niki Kantzios
Good for you. I used to assign my humanities students historical novels to read and critique, as a way to sensitize them to the issue of authenticity… and to expose them to some history in an attractive way!