Tag Archive: historical fiction

Captain Kirk to the bridge, please

by Tracy Barrett, W&M contributor

 

On Star Trek (and by this, children, I mean the real Star Trek—the one captained by James T. Kirk, and with cheesy special effects and constant violation of the Prime Directive), a lot of strange things happen (I’m referring to the strange things that the producers intended to happen, not the accidental ones). The audience has to understand these strange things to make sense of the story. But there are no footnotes in a television show, and a voice-over to explain what’s going on would be even more intrusive than mid-60’s hairstyles and encounters with space-hippies.

So how to explain?

Enter Captain Kirk. He’s got the smarts to run a spaceship but doesn’t know a whole lot about the new lives and new civilizations that he encounters. Luckily, he has Mr. Spock, who patiently explains and theorizes about these mysteries to his captain, and hence to the audience. Kirk isn’t stupid—he’s just a military man whose interests lie elsewhere.

Writers of historical fiction face a similar problem. My Princess Anna of Anna of Byzantium wouldn’t think, “Wow, the palace I live in is huge!” But I want my readers to know that it is. Ariadne of Dark of the Moon wouldn’t question the human sacrifice that her religion demands every spring. But I want my reader to picture Anna in a huge palace, and Ariadne being a prime player in the sacrifice. So they need someone to explain to: a slave from a distant part of the empire in the first case, Prince Theseus in the second.

It’s been said that there are only two plots: A stranger comes to town, and Someone takes a journey (some have said that this is really one plot, but from two points of view). I doubt that this is true, but the device is a common one. I wonder if the need for a stranger in town is so the person whose POV informs the story can either explain things to the stranger or be the one who receives an explanation.

Who “Owns” a Story?

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By Tracy Barrett, W & M Contributor

I occasionally get questions from readers of my historical fiction asking why I deviated from the real story of the Minotaur or the Odyssey. By “the real story,” what they mean is a familiar telling. But the version that my questioners think is the authentic tale is just one in a long line of tellings of a myth or legend, and my books are merely the most recent addition to that line.

Myths were told orally, most of them for centuries, before someone wrote them down. What that writer set down on paper (or clay, or parchment) was only one version, neither more nor less authentic than any other version that either didn’t get written down or whose written form has been lost. Usually the same basic story elements persist from one telling to another, but sometimes they are drastically altered. Look, for example, at three different (ancient) endings to the Odyssey, all found in ancient written sources of equal “authenticity”:

  • Odysseus ruled in Ithaca until the end of his days
  • being sick of the sea, he walked inland until someone didn’t recognize the oar over his shoulder and asked, “What are you doing with that winnowing-fan?”
  • he sailed through the Straits of Gibraltar and never returned

or the two descriptions of Ariadne’s fate after she was abandoned on the island of Naxos by Theseus after he killed her brother, the Minotaur:

  • she hanged herself
  • she married Dionysus/Bacchus and became immortal

or three levels of Helen’s culpability in the Trojan War:

  • she went willingly to Troy with Paris
  • she  was abducted by Paris and went to Troy against her will
  • she hid out virtuously in Egypt, while a phantom double went to Troy.

If the ancients didn’t find one version more true, more original than the others, why do modern readers?

In my young-adult novel King of Ithaka, Telemachos is indignant that bards change the details of stories. He is told, “Nobody expects a poet to tell the truth. It’s a better story this way.” This is even more true when a writer is retelling story that was fictional to begin with. What “authentic” story am I deviating from if I create a centaur sidekick for Telemachos, if I have Ariadne choose willingly to stay on Naxos, if my Minotaur in Dark of the Moon is no monster but a horribly deformed man? I’m not changing the “real” story. I’m making a new one, just as the other tellers before me have done.

The First Typewriter: Gift To A Blind Woman

By Carey Wallace

Half-way through writing the first draft of The Blind Contessa’s New Machine, a historical fantasy based on the invention of the world’s first typewriter, I got stuck.

The actual facts of the historical story had practically begged to become a novel: a beautiful Italian noblewoman, gone blind in the flower of her youth. A local inventor, inspired by her beauty to create the world’s first typewriter. The complication that both of them were married to other people. The lush backdrop of early nineteenth century Italy.

But seventy-five pages in, the tensions established, the stage set for the typewriter’s appearance, I had a narrative problem. Why did this story need a typewriter? What events could possibly lead the characters I’d created to invent the new machine, as they actually had? I struggled with the question in the abstract for several days, but it wasn’t until I dove back into the story itself that I found the answer.

It was deceptively simple: Carolina, the contessa, wanted to write a letter to Turri, the inventor. When I had her sit down to do that with the tools she would have had at hand: a pen, ink, sealing wax, and open flame – I knew immediately why Turri would have been inspired to invent his new machine. For a blind person, these simplest elements of communication would have been not only virtually impossible to negotiate, but genuinely dangerous – which is why most early typewriters weren’t conceived of as commercial products, but as writing aids for the blind.

Carey Wallace, author of The Blind Contessa’s New Machine: A Novel (Pamela Dorman Books), was raised in small towns in Michigan. Her work has appeared in Oasis, SPSM&H, Detroit’s MetroTimes and quarrtsiluni, which she guest-edited in 2008. To read more about the author and the book click here.

IMAGE: Young blind girl with an early typewriter

Selling Historical Fiction to Teens

By Melissa Luttmann

Historical fiction author Ann Rinaldi puts a warning label on each of her books—literally. On the back covers of her novels, you’ll find a block of text that reads, “WARNING: This is a historical novel. Read at your own risk. The writer feels it necessary to alert you to the fact that you might enjoy it.”

Seeing that warning on the back of Ms. Rinaldi’s latest release made me think about the way teens perceive historical fiction. I know many teens who refuse to so much as look at historical novels because they find their history classes at school boring. They see history as a bunch of dry facts to be crammed into their brains for the next test, and never stop to consider that history is actually about stories—many of which are very interesting.

Because so many teens have an aversion to historical fiction, those of us who write it are, in a way, aiming for a slightly different market than other YA authors. Of course it would be wonderful if a teen who never liked history picked up your book and fell in love with it. But if your novel is going to stay in print, people have to buy it, and the people who are going to buy a YA historical novel are mostly members of that specific group of teens who like history.

This isn’t necessarily a bad thing—I’ve found that many historical fiction lovers are voracious readers who buy tons of books and are loyal to authors they like—but it does mean the average teen consumer is less likely to pick up your novel.

DISCUSSION:

Do you think historical fiction can be a hard sell to the average teenager?

Does it bother you that many teens don’t like history, or are you just happy for the ones that do?

Melissa Luttmann is the YA Editorial Assistant for Wonders and Marvels. You can read more about her here: Editorial Staff.

Historical Fiction Isn’t Just Historical Fiction Anymore

By Melissa L.

If someone asked you to define “historical fiction,” you would probably say that it’s fiction set sometime in the past. And if you gave that answer, you would be fundamentally correct. But historical fiction isn’t just historical fiction anymore. More and more, it’s being crossed with other genres to produce books that toe the line between historical and something else.

Historical romances. Historical mysteries. Historical fantasy. These are all examples of the types of books I like to call “historical hybrids”: books that can be called historical fiction, since they do have a historical setting, but are also strongly tied to another genre. In the YA market, these books often seem to sell better than straight historical fiction because they can appeal to a wider audience. Many teens, who otherwise find history boring, will pick up a book that’s fundamentally a romance.

The question with such books, though, is the extent to which they can actually be called historical fiction. For example, many historical fantasy novels are meticulously researched, and their authors certainly deserve credit for including as much historical accuracy as possible—but they’re still fantasy. Part of the point of historical fiction is that the events described in it could have happened, and we all know that people didn’t really work magic in historical times. Is there any way you can ascribe the label “historical fiction” to such a novel? Or is it solely fantasy?

Discussion:

What do you think about the so-called historical hybrids? Can you call them historical fiction, or do they really belong more to their other genres?

Melissa L. is the YA Editorial Assistant for Wonders and Marvels. You can read more about her here: Editorial Staff.

Test Your Knowledge of Historical Fiction

By Melissa L.

The amount of information about writing historical fiction that you can find on the Internet never ceases to amaze me. While I was playing around one day, I discovered this interesting quiz about historical fiction for children. It was actually designed as part of a children’s literature course for teachers, but writers will benefit from knowing this information, too.

There’s one aspect of this quiz that I found particularly interesting. (Warning—I’m basically going to give away an answer or two here, so you may want to try the quiz before you read the rest of this post.) The curriculum this quiz is taken from is intended to show teachers how to use historical fiction in the classroom—namely, to supplement their history curriculums. I’ve always been under the impression that teachers who choose to use historical titles in this way are more concerned about the historical aspects of the books than anything else. But this quiz emphasizes that the story overrides the history—something that I, as a writer, find incredibly refreshing.

Of course it’s important to write a book that’s true to the time period, but in the end, it’s the story that’s the heart of the matter.

How well did you do on this quiz? Do you think it does a good job of covering the basics of historical fiction? And if not, what other basic ideas would you choose to add?

Melissa L. is the YA Editorial Assistant for Wonders and Marvels. You can read more about her here: Editorial Staff.

Rules for Writing Historical Fiction

By Melissa L.

Like nearly everything else in life, it seems that writing historical fiction comes with its own set of rules. While browsing the Internet, I discovered an article entitled “Seven Rules for Writing Historical Fiction,” by Elizabeth Crook, the author of three historical novels. Crook’s article is intended for authors of historical fiction in general, but I found some of her rules especially applicable to writing for children.

At first glance, Crook’s first two rules—“Sweat the Small Stuff” and “Cut the Ballast”—seem to contradict one another. In reality, though, both are vital to a good novel for young readers. As a historical fiction author, you need to know virtually everything about your time period in order to write accurately; after all, you don’t want to give your readers a false impression of history. At the same time, though, all of the details you learn don’t have to make their way into your book. Kids have notoriously short attention spans, and if you bog them down with information they don’t want or need to know, they’re likely to put the book down.

The idea of including only necessary details echoes in Crook’s sixth rule, “Don’t Get Bogged Down by Back-story.” You need to know the entire back-story, of course, but your readers only need it to a certain extent. Kids in particular like their books to open at a fast pace. If you devote your first chapter entirely to the back-story, you’ll quickly bore and lose your readers.

What do you think about Crook’s set of rules? Are there any other rules you would say are important in historical fiction for kids?

Melissa L. is the YA Editorial Assistant for Wonders and Marvels. You can read more about her here: Editorial Staff.

Societal Norms in Historical Times

By Melissa L.

I’ve always assumed that emotion is something that’s constant, regardless of the time period. After all, won’t people always be happy when they receive a sudden windfall, or sad when their loved ones die? On the most basic level, yes. But the issue is a little deeper than that.

While I believe that basic human emotions have been the same throughout all of history, the ways in which people express them have not. An expert on the ancient world recently brought it to my attention that, in ancient Greece, it was perfectly acceptable for men to cry. So if you wrote a scene in which a Greek boy was crying and feeling ashamed about it, that wouldn’t be historically accurate. Similarly, the loss of a young child was a very common event in colonial America. Of course 17th century parents grieved when their children died, but did they express their grief in the same way that parents experiencing a similar loss today would? Probably not.

The truth is that most of us are used to the societal norms of 21st century America, and we have to be careful not to force those norms into historical time periods. We live in a world where men don’t cry and the loss of a child is a rare event—but that doesn’t mean the world was always that way. The lesson here? Learn the societal norms of the time period you’re writing about, and make sure your characters respond to their all-too-universal emotions in an appropriate way.

How important is it to look at societal norms in historical fiction, and how can you find out about them? Have you come across any that are especially startling to 21st century Americans?

Melissa L. is the YA Editorial Assistant for Wonders and Marvels. You can read more about her here: Editorial Staff.

Periods and Places: Not All Created Equal

By Melissa L.

When a fellow children’s author asked for a book set in ancient Rome and no one could recommend anything suitable, I began to think about periods and places that are underrepresented in historical fiction for kids. A few that immediately come to mind include:

  • Ancient Rome, Greece, and Persia. (Especially Persia. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a children’s book about that.)
  • The Americas before 1492.
  • Africa, in any time period.
  • China, in any time period.
  • The 1960’s and 1970’s (the Vietnam era)

I do think that more Vietnam-era books will be published as we move away from that time and begin to think of it more as history than as living memory. The other places and eras, I’m not as confident about—but they need to be there. China, for example, is a nation that’s quickly becoming a major world player, and a place that young readers definitely need to be introduced to. While the region’s ancient culture could make a great base for historical fiction, there just isn’t much out there.

But would books about these yet-unknown places ever sell? I think they would. As our world becomes increasingly global, schools are focusing more and more on teaching about all regions of the world, not just Western Europe. If you could write a high-quality book about Africa or Asia, I’ll bet teachers and librarians would buy it.

So what areas do you feel are underrepresented in children’s and YA historical fiction? Is there a market for such books?

Melissa L. is the YA Editorial Assistant for Wonders and Marvels. You can read more about her here: Editorial Staff.

2009: A Great Year for History and Historical Fiction

By Melissa L.

At the end of each year, School Library Journal publishes a list of the best books for children and young adults. I was heartened to see that on the 2009 list, fourteen of the fifty-four featured titles were history or historical fiction—that’s about 26%. While that might not seem like an impressive number, it’s definitely better than 2008, when historical titles made up only 18% of this special list.

These statistics tell me that 2009 was a year when lots of great historical titles were being published—and, more importantly, that many of them were being recognized as some of the year’s most outstanding books. History and historical fiction are genres that often don’t get a lot of attention (except, of course, on Wonders & Marvels). By placing so many of these titles on their list, the editors of School Library Journal are giving them the recognition they deserve.

Furthermore, wider recognition for historical titles can also lead to a wider audience. The editors and reviewers for School Library Journal are mostly librarians, and if they’re recognizing these titles for their excellence, they’re probably also buying them to put on their shelves. The more these books are in the libraries, the more they can get into the hands of young people.

What do you think about the year 2009 in history and historical fiction? Were there any titles that were especially great? And finally, what more do you hope to see in 2010?

Melissa L. is the YA Editorial Assistant for Wonders and Marvels. You can read more about her here: Editorial Staff.

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