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selenakTo start with the obvious: interesting characters and a gripping narrative, as with all novels. No matter how well researched the background of a novel is, if the author can‘t make its characters come to life for their readers, it won‘t work. Also, it‘s no use to say „but it happened that way!“ about implausible historical events. The story has to be told in a way that makes its readers, or in the case of theatre plays, tv shows and movies, its watchers believe what is happening based on its own merits.
Now, with „gripping“ I don‘t mean physical action, i.e. every five pages a fight or a sex scene. This isn‘t meant as a snobbery against bodice rippers. I mean, I love my Alexandre Dumas as much as la prochaine fille. But one of the most captivating historical novellas I‘ve read was „Kein Ort. Nirgends“ by Christa Wolf about a (fictional) encounter between two German poets, Karoline von Günderode and Heinrich von Kleist. It‘s set during a single day when a lot of intellectuals and artists meet at a salon organized by mutual friends. There are some debates, some friendly, some less so, among the various people there, and our two main characters hit it off (not romantically) and start to get drawn into more intense conversation. They walk a bit. At the end of the novella, they say goodbye again. Nothing more happens - physically. But Christa Wolf manages to write a plausible encounter between two very different writers, both of whom would commit suicide some years later, in a way that does their artistry with language justice, makes me feel I understand them and their work better, makes me really feel for them and makes me excited for this meeting of minds. The various other Romantic poets who have cameos in the novella also come to life with just a few paragraphs.
Much as all research and no art of storytelling lets a novel fail, though, not enough research and a sense of the characters merely wearing costumes, with only the villains or less sympathetic ones allowed to display some attitudes the author disagrees often makes me dislike a historical narrative as well. I want a historical story to provide me with some ideas about the era they‘re set in, and to provide me with characters who feel like they were shaped by that era. (Doesn‘t mean they can‘t be progressive or disagree with some dominant beliefs, but nobody disagrees with all of them. Now of course my own take on every historical era is dated in that I‘m basing it on what I‘ve read before. Early 19th century readers would have had different ideas about, say, Henry II, Eleanor of Aquitaine and their sons than late 19th century readers, 20th century readers would be equally divided and so forth. What would have felt authentic to them would not necessarily feel so to us, and not just because today‘s historians have access to more material (while also being further and further away from the eras).
Moreover, real life doesn‘t it with the demands of drama or even with the demands of an epic more often than not. There are always far too many characters with similar names, or with near identical functions in the life of whoever you pick as a main character. (Unless you‘re inventing the lot.) Usually, a writer of historical material already cuts out two thirds of the people rl provides only to hear complaints from readers that there are still so many. Then, the big climactic encounter can happen before the character-evolving build up era, very inconveniently. And if you don‘t write a novel but a play or a screenplay, you have to cut out even more characters and events in order to make it work as a story because there are only two hours or so to tell the tale. Whichever you choose already shapes the story in a certain way.
While I think „doing one‘s homework“ is important, I‘m not sure I would put „is true to the facts“ as the ultimate criterium for historical fiction for that very reason. Not just because today‘s established assumption about Pharao X can completely alter if an archaeological team discovers X was just another name Pharao Y took after a crisis in his regime, not the name of his successor - does this devalue novels about X as a different person? Even leaving aside being overtaken by research unintentionally: when James Goldman wrote The Lion in Winter, he let the play and later screen play take place at a Christmas Court which never happened (though two courts that provided similar to the play political machinations in the two years before and after did. This does not devalue The Lion in Winter as a fascinating historical narrative. Or: I‘ve bickered about Wolf Hall and Bringing Up the Bodies and what it leaves out or invents re: Thomas Cromwell & Co., but that doesn‘t mean I think the novels are „bad“ historical novels. One of Mantel‘s major inventions, making the men later accused of adultery with Anne Boleyn all take part in a masque mocking Cromwel‘s mentor Cardinal Wolsey after his death, thus providing Cromwell with a personal motive for destroying them, is pure fiction (and very unfair in the case of historical Henry Norris who went out of his way to be kind to the Cardinal after his fall), but it is of course something that works psychologically and makes what Cromwell does feel personal to the reader.
(This reader still complains, of course, but that‘s the fun of being into history. Doesn‘t mean I don‘t look forward to whenever she finishes the final installment of the Cromwell saga.)
I mean, after all: it‘s a novel. Mantel does not claim it‘s non-fiction. Otoh: fiction is powerful, and yes, can be used as propaganda. Not just in the sense of making the audience root for the ruling dynasty - looking at you, Will -, but via planting more general assumptions. All those childlike, content slaves aren‘t just found in Gone with the Wind. Even a contemporary anti-slavery novel like Uncle Tom‘s Cabin operates on the basis that the rebellious slaves are the ones of mixed race (the more white ancestry, the more intelligent and rebellious, one white character in the novel observes, and the novel‘s characters demonstrate this is also the conviction of the author) , while the ones of pure African origin might be saintly and in need of liberation, but also behave and think like children. What I‘m getting at isn‘t that good (in the sense of well written) historical fiction needs to display an awareness of such issues. Gone with the Wind, both novel and movie, is superbly made, which in the case of the movie is a minor miracle given the chaotic circumstances of its creation. It offers interesting, layered characters and a gripping narrative, see above, and it doesn‘t try to sell the characters as the author‘s contemporaries. It‘s also incredibly racist. These qualities aren‘t mutually exclusive.
What I would say is that a reader/viewer of historical fiction needs to be aware that any story transports more than just the tale it tells. It inevitably also reflects the present of its author, for good or ill. Again, this is not an aesthetic criterium. For example, Barbara Hambly‘s series of mysteries around Benjamin January, a free man of color living in antebellum New Orleans, does, for me, writing in 2019, a great job with both its poc and its white characters, makes clear the every day horror of slavery as well as the long term effects of living in a society that practices slavery and believes in racial superiority, and still manages to come across not as a thinly disguised preaching to the alredy converted but as a series of compelling novels with interesting characters. This doesn‘t mean I think Babara Hambly is a better novelist than Margaret Mitchell was, or that Gone with the Wind, either as a novel or a movie, should no longer be read/watched. But I do think it‘s worth reading both, not least because the compare and contrast is instructive (and because both are well written). (I would also not be surprised if in less than a century, people discover issues Barbara Hambly glosses over or basic assumptions she transports which in the future will no longer be seen as palpable.)
Returning to: historical fiction always comments on the present of the author. Sometimes this is very intentional, and no, this is not a disqualifier regarding the history. Back in the 1930s and 1940s, a great many of German writers, both thee ones in exile and the ones who remained in the Third Reich, suddenly devoted themselves to writing historical novels, whether or not they‘d done this before. Among other things, it was an attempt to come to grips to what was going on in their present, search for meaning and patterns (usually the exiles), to elude censorship (when within Germany), to further propaganda (also within Germany; one of the reasons why Prussia fell out of favour post WWII in terms of historical novels is that Goebbel had various film makers and novelists beat the „Hitler is the new Frederick the Great!“ line none stop). Reinhold Schneider‘s „Las Casas vor Karl V.“, written and published in the late 30s within Germany, is both a historical novel about the historical figure Bartolomé Las Casas and an attempt to deal with the unspeakable: Las Casas, speaking about his Spanish countrymen becoming guilty of genocide in the New World, as written by a German author for a German readership in 1939. What makes it truly excellent historical fiction is that you can read it today without that context and still get something out of it about Las Casas, Spanish colonization, and ways to deal with guilt if you yourself are part of the system. Jean Anoulih‘s Becket was written very much still under WWII impressions - the Normans in the play and their behaviour towards the Saxons are a reflection of the German occupation of France more than they are of the 12th century Angevin Empire. Incidentally, Anoulih found out before he had even finished the play that one of his key premises - that Thomas Becket was an Anglosaxon - was utterly and completely wrong (Becket was a Norman). However, making „his“ Becket a Norman would have meant scraping the entire play and writing a different one, which is why he didn‘t do it. Now, my own grudge against Anoulih re: Becket is more about the way he writes (or doesn‘t) Eleanor of Aquitaine who actually gets to say „I‘ll complain about this to my father!“ at one point, which reminds me as nothing so much as bad slash fiction where the canon het partner is bashed so that the slash couple can reign supreme and no other emotional connection than between said couple is possible. But purely in terms of theatre (and then movie), as a more or less open male love story with bad breakup within the context of an occupation? By all means.
In conclusion: if you tell a story well enough, I‘ll go for it. I might also argue with it, be annoyed by it, grumble about it - but it will stay with me, and add to my life. .
The Other Days
Now, with „gripping“ I don‘t mean physical action, i.e. every five pages a fight or a sex scene. This isn‘t meant as a snobbery against bodice rippers. I mean, I love my Alexandre Dumas as much as la prochaine fille. But one of the most captivating historical novellas I‘ve read was „Kein Ort. Nirgends“ by Christa Wolf about a (fictional) encounter between two German poets, Karoline von Günderode and Heinrich von Kleist. It‘s set during a single day when a lot of intellectuals and artists meet at a salon organized by mutual friends. There are some debates, some friendly, some less so, among the various people there, and our two main characters hit it off (not romantically) and start to get drawn into more intense conversation. They walk a bit. At the end of the novella, they say goodbye again. Nothing more happens - physically. But Christa Wolf manages to write a plausible encounter between two very different writers, both of whom would commit suicide some years later, in a way that does their artistry with language justice, makes me feel I understand them and their work better, makes me really feel for them and makes me excited for this meeting of minds. The various other Romantic poets who have cameos in the novella also come to life with just a few paragraphs.
Much as all research and no art of storytelling lets a novel fail, though, not enough research and a sense of the characters merely wearing costumes, with only the villains or less sympathetic ones allowed to display some attitudes the author disagrees often makes me dislike a historical narrative as well. I want a historical story to provide me with some ideas about the era they‘re set in, and to provide me with characters who feel like they were shaped by that era. (Doesn‘t mean they can‘t be progressive or disagree with some dominant beliefs, but nobody disagrees with all of them. Now of course my own take on every historical era is dated in that I‘m basing it on what I‘ve read before. Early 19th century readers would have had different ideas about, say, Henry II, Eleanor of Aquitaine and their sons than late 19th century readers, 20th century readers would be equally divided and so forth. What would have felt authentic to them would not necessarily feel so to us, and not just because today‘s historians have access to more material (while also being further and further away from the eras).
Moreover, real life doesn‘t it with the demands of drama or even with the demands of an epic more often than not. There are always far too many characters with similar names, or with near identical functions in the life of whoever you pick as a main character. (Unless you‘re inventing the lot.) Usually, a writer of historical material already cuts out two thirds of the people rl provides only to hear complaints from readers that there are still so many. Then, the big climactic encounter can happen before the character-evolving build up era, very inconveniently. And if you don‘t write a novel but a play or a screenplay, you have to cut out even more characters and events in order to make it work as a story because there are only two hours or so to tell the tale. Whichever you choose already shapes the story in a certain way.
While I think „doing one‘s homework“ is important, I‘m not sure I would put „is true to the facts“ as the ultimate criterium for historical fiction for that very reason. Not just because today‘s established assumption about Pharao X can completely alter if an archaeological team discovers X was just another name Pharao Y took after a crisis in his regime, not the name of his successor - does this devalue novels about X as a different person? Even leaving aside being overtaken by research unintentionally: when James Goldman wrote The Lion in Winter, he let the play and later screen play take place at a Christmas Court which never happened (though two courts that provided similar to the play political machinations in the two years before and after did. This does not devalue The Lion in Winter as a fascinating historical narrative. Or: I‘ve bickered about Wolf Hall and Bringing Up the Bodies and what it leaves out or invents re: Thomas Cromwell & Co., but that doesn‘t mean I think the novels are „bad“ historical novels. One of Mantel‘s major inventions, making the men later accused of adultery with Anne Boleyn all take part in a masque mocking Cromwel‘s mentor Cardinal Wolsey after his death, thus providing Cromwell with a personal motive for destroying them, is pure fiction (and very unfair in the case of historical Henry Norris who went out of his way to be kind to the Cardinal after his fall), but it is of course something that works psychologically and makes what Cromwell does feel personal to the reader.
(This reader still complains, of course, but that‘s the fun of being into history. Doesn‘t mean I don‘t look forward to whenever she finishes the final installment of the Cromwell saga.)
I mean, after all: it‘s a novel. Mantel does not claim it‘s non-fiction. Otoh: fiction is powerful, and yes, can be used as propaganda. Not just in the sense of making the audience root for the ruling dynasty - looking at you, Will -, but via planting more general assumptions. All those childlike, content slaves aren‘t just found in Gone with the Wind. Even a contemporary anti-slavery novel like Uncle Tom‘s Cabin operates on the basis that the rebellious slaves are the ones of mixed race (the more white ancestry, the more intelligent and rebellious, one white character in the novel observes, and the novel‘s characters demonstrate this is also the conviction of the author) , while the ones of pure African origin might be saintly and in need of liberation, but also behave and think like children. What I‘m getting at isn‘t that good (in the sense of well written) historical fiction needs to display an awareness of such issues. Gone with the Wind, both novel and movie, is superbly made, which in the case of the movie is a minor miracle given the chaotic circumstances of its creation. It offers interesting, layered characters and a gripping narrative, see above, and it doesn‘t try to sell the characters as the author‘s contemporaries. It‘s also incredibly racist. These qualities aren‘t mutually exclusive.
What I would say is that a reader/viewer of historical fiction needs to be aware that any story transports more than just the tale it tells. It inevitably also reflects the present of its author, for good or ill. Again, this is not an aesthetic criterium. For example, Barbara Hambly‘s series of mysteries around Benjamin January, a free man of color living in antebellum New Orleans, does, for me, writing in 2019, a great job with both its poc and its white characters, makes clear the every day horror of slavery as well as the long term effects of living in a society that practices slavery and believes in racial superiority, and still manages to come across not as a thinly disguised preaching to the alredy converted but as a series of compelling novels with interesting characters. This doesn‘t mean I think Babara Hambly is a better novelist than Margaret Mitchell was, or that Gone with the Wind, either as a novel or a movie, should no longer be read/watched. But I do think it‘s worth reading both, not least because the compare and contrast is instructive (and because both are well written). (I would also not be surprised if in less than a century, people discover issues Barbara Hambly glosses over or basic assumptions she transports which in the future will no longer be seen as palpable.)
Returning to: historical fiction always comments on the present of the author. Sometimes this is very intentional, and no, this is not a disqualifier regarding the history. Back in the 1930s and 1940s, a great many of German writers, both thee ones in exile and the ones who remained in the Third Reich, suddenly devoted themselves to writing historical novels, whether or not they‘d done this before. Among other things, it was an attempt to come to grips to what was going on in their present, search for meaning and patterns (usually the exiles), to elude censorship (when within Germany), to further propaganda (also within Germany; one of the reasons why Prussia fell out of favour post WWII in terms of historical novels is that Goebbel had various film makers and novelists beat the „Hitler is the new Frederick the Great!“ line none stop). Reinhold Schneider‘s „Las Casas vor Karl V.“, written and published in the late 30s within Germany, is both a historical novel about the historical figure Bartolomé Las Casas and an attempt to deal with the unspeakable: Las Casas, speaking about his Spanish countrymen becoming guilty of genocide in the New World, as written by a German author for a German readership in 1939. What makes it truly excellent historical fiction is that you can read it today without that context and still get something out of it about Las Casas, Spanish colonization, and ways to deal with guilt if you yourself are part of the system. Jean Anoulih‘s Becket was written very much still under WWII impressions - the Normans in the play and their behaviour towards the Saxons are a reflection of the German occupation of France more than they are of the 12th century Angevin Empire. Incidentally, Anoulih found out before he had even finished the play that one of his key premises - that Thomas Becket was an Anglosaxon - was utterly and completely wrong (Becket was a Norman). However, making „his“ Becket a Norman would have meant scraping the entire play and writing a different one, which is why he didn‘t do it. Now, my own grudge against Anoulih re: Becket is more about the way he writes (or doesn‘t) Eleanor of Aquitaine who actually gets to say „I‘ll complain about this to my father!“ at one point, which reminds me as nothing so much as bad slash fiction where the canon het partner is bashed so that the slash couple can reign supreme and no other emotional connection than between said couple is possible. But purely in terms of theatre (and then movie), as a more or less open male love story with bad breakup within the context of an occupation? By all means.
In conclusion: if you tell a story well enough, I‘ll go for it. I might also argue with it, be annoyed by it, grumble about it - but it will stay with me, and add to my life. .
The Other Days
no subject
Date: 2019-01-18 12:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-01-18 05:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-01-19 03:12 am (UTC)Reminds me of an experience I had ages ago in a creative writing course in undergrad. I'd written a story about my grandfather, who in reality had survived three brain tumors, that were cancerous, but his brain was pretty much that of a small child's afterwards. When the class read it -- one of my readers stated, rather vehemently I might add, that it was completely unbelievable and offensive. How dare I! A close relative of her's died of brain cancer -- one tumor. She went on and on and on about it. Afterwards, the teacher told me -- even if in my experience it had happened, I had to write about it in a way to convince the reader. And possibly to change it to say one brain tumor or state clearly it was operable, so the reader would buy it.
That said..I don't know the degree to which the writer is responsible for a reader's perspective on the matter. Because, most of the people who read my story did find it believable and had no problems. It just didn't fit that one reader's limited experience of the problem.
Also...considering our current events...I have a feeling future historical novelists are going to have their hands full trying to convince readers of the plausibility of both the US 2016 election and Brexit, and what happened afterwards. I'm living it and I can't quite believe it half of the time. So there's something to be said for ...certain historical events being impossible to convey in a believable matter, simply because they defy belief.
no subject
Date: 2019-01-19 04:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-01-19 01:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-01-20 02:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-01-19 01:30 pm (UTC)I really dislike historical novels where the POV character holds contemporary views on issues which simply don't match the period.
It makes it very hard for writers, as they want to make their characters appeal to modern readers, but I found it very hard to be convinced by a novel where the protagonist was the one who had freed all his slaves in the Antebellum South. I think I gave up after a few chapters.
no subject
Date: 2019-01-20 01:58 pm (UTC)