Covering the Same Ground: Can You Do a "Remake" of a Popular Novel?

We've seen it time and again in Hollywood--remakes of the same story with new actors, a new director, and (hopefully) a slightly new take on the story. Some movie goers (I assume) enjoy new takes on old stories. Others roll their eyes and groan. "Another Spiderman movie?!?!"

I was intrigued to hear about Anne O'Brien's next venture, to write the story of a woman who has already been immortalized in a very popular historical novel. O'Brien goes into the project fully aware of the enormity of the challenge. In a recent post, she writes:

I have decided to write the story of Katherine Swynford and John of Lancaster, to be released in Spring 2014.  Am I mad to do so?  What is it that has made me take on such a sacred subject, to step onto such hallowed ground?  

Katherine, that beautiful love story written by Anya Seton, was first published in 1954.  It is considered to be a classic novel of its kind, read and adored by all aficionados of historical fiction.  I read it in the 1970s and was entranced, carried away by the vivid depth of accurate historical detail and the sheer romance of the relationship.  I could not envisage a better historical novel.

This praise of Seton's novel is something with which I can agree wholeheartedly. Katherine is one of my top five favorite historical novels, and if I can ever write something half as good, I will consider my authorial career a success.

With Seton's book being universally acknowledged as a triumph, is there room for another work on Katherine Swynford? Or is the canon closed on John of Gaunt's famous mistress?

 So what made me decide to place my head on the block and write about these most famous of 14th century lovers? Certainly not a desire to do a better job than Ms Seton.  I would not presume. But perhaps to write something different.... [I]t seems to me that the relationship between John and Katherine was far more than just a simple love affair.  How could a simple falling in love cause this unlikely couple to cast aside all they knew, accepted, and believed to be morally right....   

...I consider it to be a tale of compulsive desire and need, sweeping all before it with the force of a tsunami, and so much stronger than love. I have to write it.

And in the end, isn't that the most important consideration for what subject you choose for your novel? Even if someone else has already told the story, if it speaks to you in such a way that you "have to write it", I think there's room for one more version of the tale.

Mary, Queen of Scots, is one oft-depicted character whom I would like to explore in a future novel. I may not do a better job of those that have gone before me, but I would certainly do something different. I have not gotten to the point yet where I "have to write" her story, but the desire has been growing incrementally over the years.

Are there any stories already told that you would like to tell again in a different way?

Too Close to Home?--Reading Inside Your Own Genre

One of the reasons I have chosen to write historical fiction is because I have always loved reading it. Last year, almost every single book I read was an HF title, and this year I've had to make a conscious effort to branch out in other genres.

In some ways, however, becoming a historical novelist myself has been a double-edged sword when it comes to enjoying other historical novels. On the one hand, it makes me enjoy good historical novels even more. Besides appreciating the stories, I can also better appreciate the craft that went into writing them. On the other hand, it makes me more critical of poor historical novels. I am unable to turn a blind eye to flaws that I have worked hard to avoid in my own writing.

One example of this is my (relatively) new appreciation for narrative voice. After agonizing over whether to use first person or third person narrative in my novels and weighing the pros and cons of each, it gives me greater delight to see other authors use first or third person narrative well. I recently finished reading two of Kate Quinn's books where she changes between multiple first person narrators and some third person narration, and I was awed by the effectiveness of her approach.

Another example is the use of dialogue tags (e.g. he said, she chortled, they moaned). I've started to work harder on giving each of my characters distinct voices and getting rid of superfluous or distracting   dialogue tags. I also work hard on finding a balance between the invisible "said" and the sticks-out-like-a-sore-thumb verbs like "guffawed", "reminisced", "interpolated". (M.m. Bennetts had a lovely post a couple months ago on her philosophy of using dialogue tags.) Now, as I read other writers, especially historical novelists, I find myself automatically judging the flow of their dialogue--which leads to either a greater or lesser appreciation for their work.

A third example is in the realm of historical accuracy. I find that I can forgive a lot of liberties in eras I know little about. "What? You completely rearranged the chronology of this Roman emperor's reign? Fine by me--it was a great story!" In eras I have extensively researched, however (i.e. the Middle Ages), I tend to take umbrage over too much manipulation of facts. I especially hate having modern ideas superimposed on this time period. Knowing the history behind a brilliant novel like Anya Seton's Katherine makes me love it immeasurably more. Knowing the history behind a hack job like...well, let's not mention any names...makes me despise it utterly.

As much as I love reading books in my own genre, sometimes I find that I need to move outside it a little bit--not out of historical fiction entirely, but at least, into a different time period. I'm curious--do any other authors feel the same? Do you read books similar to your own, or are they a little bit too close to home?

The Alien Past: The Difficulties of Writing Religion

Last week the Historical Novel Society posted an interview with Lindsey Davis, the author of the Marcus Didius Falco series (some of my favorite books!). One of the questions Richard Lee asked was: "What do you find most alien about the past? Does it help or hinder your writing?"

Lindsey Davis' answer was quite concise. "Religion. I leave it out as much as possible."

I appreciate the honesty of this answer. And thinking back over the twenty books in the Falco series, I can see how Lindsey Davis does leave out the real heart of the Roman religion. Sure, she has Vestal Virgins as murder suspects and her protagonist being appointed the Procurator of the Sacred Geese, but throughout it all, Falco remains a dyed in the wool skeptic.

Skepticism seems to be the route many historical novelists choose to take for their protagonists. Ken Follett's The Pillars of the Earth comes to mind, where Ellen, one of the principal characters, is far more of a "free-thinker" than one would expect in twelfth century England. Follett's sequel World Without End imbues its characters with even more unbelief. Caris, the daughter of a fourteenth century wool merchant, is as unlikely a candidate for a nun as you will find. She doesn’t believe either prayer or relics have the power to heal; she doubts that the Church really knows what God thinks about things.

I think that many historical novelists choose to portray their protagonist as a skeptic is because they have a hard time relating to a true believer in religion. Like Lindsey Davis, they find the rituals and creeds of the past completely alien, and even more alien, the idea that such things could be taken seriously by someone. Religion is equated with superstition, something difficult for an educated modern to fathom, portray, or endorse.

But to correctly display a time period where religion was all-encompassing, would it not be the braver course to make the protagonist a believer rather than a skeptic?

A year and a half ago, I posted about some thoughts Sharon Kay Penman had on this subject. She listed religion as the number one way that the medieval world differed from ours. "All men--be they Christian, Jew, or Muslim--were convinced that theirs was the True Faith.... They can respect one another's courage, but neither side doubts that damnation awaits their foes." In her novels, Penman tries to make her characters, "acknowledge this bedrock belief, so alien to most of us today."

Anya Seton's novel Katherine is another book, along with Penman's, that seriously embraces the religious milieu of the period in which it is set. Whether or not Seton believed in the words of medieval mystics like Julian of Norwich, she made sure to show us that her heroine Katherine Swynford did. Instead of making Katherine a skeptic to make her more "relatable", Seton made her a believer and thus a better window into the world of the fourteenth century.

While writing the Chronicles of Tancred, I try to write about religion as if I were an eleventh century Norman adhering to the rites and rule of the Church of Rome. In some ways the fact that I am a twenty-first century American Protestant helps me in that task; in other ways it hinders me.

But when a scruffy drunkard has a vision of St. Andrew informing the Crusaders where the Holy Lance is buried, it's not my place to make my protagonist distrust him simply because I, the author, am dubious of visions, don't embrace the Roman Catholic view of sainthood, and don't believe relics have special powers. Instead, I must put myself in Tancred's worn-out boots. And though they might be more difficult to walk in, they make the journey more rewarding.

Wikipedia: The Bane and Boon of Historical Research

Just like the word Google, the word Wikipedia has become a regular verb in our vocabulary. If I don't know about something, I'll go "Wikipedia" it. I'm as big a fan of Wikipedia as anyone, but I still cringe when I see a history student or a historical novelist cite Wikipedia as the source of their information.

Why is that? Have I imbibed the ivory tower snobbery of academia? Do I think all valid historical perspectives must be vetted by peer-reviewed journals?

Wikipedia is an excellent and (usually) accurate reference guide for finding out basic facts. It is a summary of readily available information on a given subject. But for someone doing historical research, it is more the starting blocks than the finish line. Just like any encyclopedia, it will acquaint you with basic dates, names, and events, and (hopefully) point you in the direction of books and articles that will give you a fuller discussion of the topic.

The trouble comes when people begin to see Wikipedia as the end and not the beginning of their research. If a history student's paper is simply a summary of Wikipedia's summary, he has presented nothing new to the world. He may have interacted with the viewpoints of a few historians, but only the ones deemed relevant by the anonymous writer of the page he viewed. He may have seen pieces of primary sources, but reading Wikipedia's excerpts is not substitute for understanding them in the context of the entire work . By basing a paper on Wikipedia, the student has shown his ability to read and condense an article. He has not shown any ability to research, analyze, or synthesize.

This same truth applies to the historical novelist. Although the research in a historical novel is subservient to the story and should not be included simply for its own sake, it is still the bones keeping the body of fiction from flopping about like a jellyfish. The historical novelist who only culls information from Wikipedia's paragraphs, is someone satisfied with a pelvis, a humerus, half a cranium, and a few vertebrae. It's not exactly the complete skeleton, but still enough to give some semblance of the human body. By neglecting to do deeper research, the author will be hard put to produce a book with any kind of depth.

Of course, it is not just the history student or the historical novelist who can use Wikipedia as the end-all and the be-all of research. Readers who are history enthusiasts sometimes fall into this trap as well. It's always mind-boggling when a reader informs the world that he fact checked a book by Wikipedia-ing it--and then assumes that whatever historical plot points didn't show up on Wikipedia were fabricated by the novelist.

I should certainly hope that there are things in my book that you won't find on Wikipedia! And many of those things I didn't make them up--I found them out by reading *gasp* source material! If you really want to fact check, I've appended a several page long bibliography at the end of each of my novels. You'll find books by eminent historians, translations of medieval chronicles, guides to period costume, but the one thing you won't find is a bibliography entry for Wikipedia. Did I ever use it for research? You bet! But I'm far too embarrassed to admit it....

Items Learned While Lurking

It's been a while since I've visited my own blog, and I fear the holidays are not the things to blame. No, poor health is the culprit this time. Interesting that my last post was on the Black Plague since  I've been down with some disease nearly as awful ever since Christmas Eve. "It's just a cold," they told me when I went into the doctor two days ago. Then why does it feel like a knife in the ribs every time I cough? And why am I too dizzy to do anything besides sit or lie down? Fortunately, David's still on break from school this week and lots of kind relatives have been helping out with the twins. So, I've had ample time to lay about and convalesce and lurk to my heart's content on the Internet. There have been some interesting discussions of late on the Historical Fiction groups that I frequent, and I have three items to draw to your attention.

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Item #1: "Downton Abbey." It's a show that I haven't yet had the opportunity to watch, but there has been some controversy lately in regards to its historical accuracy. According to a recent news article:

Historian Jennifer Newby said the servants in the country house drama, created by Oscar winner Julian Fellowes, look too clean and were too friendly with their employers. She said: ''I find it infuriating to watch, it sets my teeth on edge. The relationship they have with their employers is totally wrong.''

Which brings up the question: is historian Jennifer Newby right? Her complaint resonates with how history is popularly portrayed. Most people are far readier to believe that the lower classes of the olden days were dirty and downtrodden than that they were happy and hygienic. Marx's narrative of how the world works seems to have infected everyone's perceptions.

But are the Marxist eyeglasses the only ones worth looking through? Historical novelists Katherine Ashe and M. M. Bennetts made some insightful comments about this over on the English Period Authors Facebook group. And since Katherine Ashe re-posted the conversation on her own FB page in case others were interested, I'm going to take the liberty of quoting a couple of her comments on my blog:

Regarding the Downton Abbey review: I'm sure some servants were filthy and sullen, others tidy and cheerful, with a great many in between. The reviewer reveals more of her own sullen politics than any overriding historical truth. A household, like a corporation, has a certain spirit and those who are part of the household will reflect it according to their individual characters (I'm saying the obvious -- for any historical novelist.) It is well to remember that historians are as much twisted by current political spin as novelists may be.... 

The problem with certain 20th - 21st century historians is the desire to make the past seem virtually unlivable: dominated by inept rulers and their noble, worthless toadies. This reflects the political spin that has been with us, more or less, through much of the 20th century and has a distinctly pro-proletariat, anti-bourgeoise/aristocratic/monarchic leaning with a strong message of how people were abused by the holders of power and privilege. To a certain extent it's true, but it's overdone.

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Item #2: "Heaving Bosoms or Chaste Kisses." This is an article that was posted yesterday on the Affaire de Coeur blog. As the title implies, the article deals with the divide between "steamy" historical romances and "clean" historical romances. Apparently, the clean romances are making a comeback.

This topic seems to be a favorite with readers and writers of the historical genres. Do you or don't you like your historicals with a tinge of eroticism? To me, the interesting thing is watching the way people phrase their comments, especially those who don't like the steamy side of things. "I'm no prude, but I just prefer to keep the story clean." Or, "To me, the sex scenes just get boring and take away from the storyline." Everything is couched carefully in terms of preference. No one objects to overt eroticism from a moral standpoint because that would stir things up a bit too much. That would require stepping on somebody else's toes. That would mean someone was in the right and someone was in the wrong.

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Item #3: "Writing Historical Fiction Simplified for the First-Time Author." This last item is a bit of humor for your delectation. Author Debra Brown gives some tongue-in-cheek advice on how to get into the historical fiction biz. Here are the first three items on her list of sixteen suggestions:

1) Set aside some years for research and sign up for NetFlix. You will need both streaming and physical DVDs for this tedious process. 

2) It costs money to make money. If you are not working, take your Mastercard and buy a good supply of popcorn. Microwave popcorn is preferred as you have your work cut out for you. (Use your lowest interest card- it might be a while before your first check.) Few are able to research well without chocolate, but you will have to ration it to maintain your current weight, as you will not be getting any exercise. Do not cheat on the rations. (Under no circumstances should you set the portions so low as to injure your self-esteem. You must be able to say, truthfully, “I am, indeed, a person who never cheats.”)

3) Have your spouse take the children and raise them somewhere else....

If you want to see the rest of her suggestions, be sure to click over to the article. I must admit that item number three did occasion the most laughter for me. "Have your spouse take the children and raise them somewhere else...." Well, David HAS been taking care of the kids a lot this week, but I don't think we've come to quite such a pass.

Thanks for listening in on the items I learned while lurking this week. If boy number three doesn't make an early appearance (due date is January 31), I hope to cease lurking and resume living sometime in the near future. Happy New Year!

Same Name, Different Person

Suppose that you're in a conversation with a friend talking about a mutual acquaintance named "John." An outsider comes up, listens in for a few minutes, then says. "Oh, I know a John too. They're probably the same person." You both stop talking and stare at the newcomer flabbergasted. Does he really think there is only one person named John in the entire world? 

This naivety is not something you often encounter in conversation. But somehow, in the world of historical fiction, it is a conclusion that readers often jump to, especially if a character has a name that is unusual or unfamiliar to them. 

Tancred of Lecce

During my recent blog tour, countless people who heard that "Tancred" is the main character of my book Road from the West said, "Oh, Tancred! I read about him in Sharon Kay Penman's latest book Lionheart." Sorry as I am to sever this (possibly advantageous) to SKP's novel, my sense of historical accuracy has been begging me to exclaim, "No. You did not!" My Tancred was an obscure Italian marquis who eventually became Prince of Galilee and Duke of Antioch after the First Crusade. SKP's Tancred was a distant relative, called Tancred of Lecce, who ruled Sicily and lived nearly a century later during the time of the Third Crusade.

The name Tancred, although incredibly unusual to the modern ear, was a popular one in this Norman family. Their original Norman ancestor, a shadowy figure named Tancred de Hauteville, was born in Normandy shortly after the French king bestowed it on Rollo and the other Vikings. Tancred of Hauteville was renowned mostly for the deeds of his progeny, begetting twelve superlative sons from two successive wives. One of the chroniclers records that whenever William the Conqueror was feeling unmotivated to conquer, he would remember the doughty deeds of the family from Hauteville and stir up his spirit to attempt greater things. These sons of Tancred de Hauteville would eventually spread across Europe and establish princedoms for themselves in Italy, Sicily, and the East. 

Two of the sons to travel to the sunny south were Robert Guiscard (the "Fox) and Roger de Hauteville. While Robert focused his activities on driving the Byzantines out of Italy and then making an expedition toward Constantinople itself, Roger focused on driving the Muslims and Byzantines out of Sicily and setting up a kingdom there. It is from these two brothers that the two easily-confused Tancreds descend. 

Tancred and Erminia, by Nicolas Poussin

Robert Guiscard's daughter Emma married an obscure Italian marquis named Odo the Good, and from their union arose Tancred, the hero of my novel, a dedicated leader of the First Crusade. Roger set up a dynasty in Sicily leaving the throne to a tangled web of sons and grandsons until it was eventually seized by his (illegitimate) great-grandson Tancred of Lecce. 

Although it may be tempting to assume that every historical figure with the same name is the same person, a simple request for Wikipedia to "disambiguate" the name can keep you from being the "newcomer" to the conversation. A simple reference to a historical timeline can keep you from confusing the King of Sicily with the Prince of Galilee.

The Forbidden Fruit Syndrome

It's been an interesting phenomenon how the genre of historical romance (or, dare I say the genre of historical erotica?) has been steadily encroaching on the field of historical fiction over the past several decades. It is rare to read through a new historical novel without running into explicit sex scenes, most of them involving premarital or extramarital sex. Many of the discussions in historical fiction book groups revolve around the questions of how much sex is appropriate. My informal assessment is that a few readers and authors prefer the scene to fade to black while most enjoy sex scenes as long as they are "helpful to developing the characters." It seems that for many book lovers of today's generation "historical" and "racy" are two adjectives that go particularly well together. Lately, I have been pondering why exactly this is the case.

Perhaps for those interested in a racier brand of literature, historical novels have something to offer that contemporary novels do not. That something is stricter social mores. In Regency romances, part of the "thrill" of a sexual encounter comes from the knowledge that the heroine will actually become compromised--whereas a heroine "hooking up" in today's world would be as normal as working nine to five. In Medieval novels, part of the appeal of fornication and adultery is the condemnation it will receive from the narrow-minded and monolithic Church--whereas such deeds in a contemporary novel would only provoke jealous high school friends or unsympathetic parents.

One of the key components of the courtly love paradigm developed in the twelfth century (a paradigm, incidentally, that endorsed adulterous behavior) is that in a true love story there must be some obstacle separating the man and the woman. The greater the obstacle, the greater the desirability and the attraction. A love that was forbidden (by parents, by religious authorities, by social standing, etc.) was the most exhilarating kind of love. In many ways, this paradigm lives on today. And although obstacles between lovers can be found in a contemporary setting (e.g. He owns a big bookstore that wants to put her little bookstore out of business, a la You've Got Mail), these contemporary hurdles seem fairly easy to jump when compared to obstacles like "utter ruin and disgrace in the eyes of society," or "excommunication and certain damnation."

For fans of racy reading, the openness, ease, and acceptability of modern affairs cause modern novels to lose a little luster, but the strict moral code of past eras makes infractions of it that much more enticing. The barriers society and religion placed before immorality translate into exciting obstacles to be overcome. The secrecy needed to conduct such behavior titillates readers and adds intricacy to a plot.  As one wise man put it, "Stolen water is sweet, and bread eaten in secret is pleasant." In an era where "everything is ok," it seems that novelists must return to a bygone age in order to find rules to break.

The Eagle Fails to Soar

"The book was way better!" That is usually my reaction after watching a film based on a book I have already read. It's not because the film is different than the book--I understand that changes must be made to accomodate a different medium--it's because the film is worse than the book. The screenplay writer looked at the original story and thought that he could make a better story using the same characters. And ninety-nine times out of a hundred, the screenplay writer was wrong.

The Eagle, starring Channing Tatum and Jamie Bell, is a movie that came out earlier this year. It is based on the book The Eagle of the Ninth, by Rosemary Sutcliff. Since Sutcliff has been one of the biggest influences on my own historical fiction writing, my interest was definitely piqued by the preview, and I was exited to watch it while we were on vacation last week.

*SPOILER ALERT!* The first third of the movie follows the book almost exactly. Marcus Flavius Aquila (Channing) introduces himself well as a faithful and stalwart Roman centurion, trying to make up for the dishonor that his father had brought upon the family. The Roman fort Marcus commands is very believable, as is the surprise attack by the marauding Britons. Wounded in the leg, Marcus is forced to retire from his military career and spends some time in the south of Britain with his Uncle Aquila (Donald Sutherland). While Marcus is still convalescing (and wondering what he is going to do with the rest of his life), he attends a gladiator fight where he saves the life of a young Briton named Esca (Bell). Aquila purchases Esca as Marcus' body slave, and Esca makes an oath to serve Marcus even though he hates everything Roman.

It is at this point that the plot of the movie radically diverges from the story in the book. Marcus decides to go north across Hadrian's Wall and find the eagle standard from his father's lost legion, bringing with him his deeply-embittered slave Esca as a guide. Instead of adopting some sort of plausible disguise so that he can search unnoticed in enemy territory, Marcus naively follows Esca around the north of Britain, hoping that the tribesmen will ignore his Roman haircut and his reliance on the Latin language. Eventually, he discovers that Esca has been pulling the wool over his eyes--the slave knows exactly where the lost legion lost itself because his tribe was there at the battle! Esca spouts some touching memories about the deaths of his family members, prey to the voracious appetite of Roman conquest. Marcus responds in typical Roman fashion by defending his nation's imperialism and brutally killing any tribesmen who stand in his way.

When Esca and Marcus encounter the Seal People (the keepers of the eagle standard), their tribal logic immediately deduces that Marcus is a Roman. Esca pretends that Marcus is his slave, and that he tricked him into coming north so that he could escape the clutches of Rome and return to his own people. The Seal People (whose looks and way of life would seem to place them in The Last of the Mohicans rather than the highlands of Scotland) greet Esca as a brother and heap abuse on Marcus, the despised representative of a hated race who--despite his civilized veneer--is just as savage as they are.

Marcus, afraid that Esca has betrayed him, behaves stupidly and earns many beatings. But one night, after a tribal ceremony where the eagle is displayed, Esca wakes the Roman and tells him that it is time to complete their mission. The two men steal the eagle and ride for the border pursued by hordes of angry Indians...ahem...Celtic tribesmen. When Marcus is unable to go any further, he finally trusts Esca enough to grant him his freedom. The Briton leaves his erstwhile master and dashes off to find a very unlikely source of help. The movie culminates with a fierce battle between the two men (plus auxiliaries) and the aggrieved tribesmen, which my husband described as "Roman biker gang vs. Native American Blue Man Group."

My main contention with this movie is that the screenwriter took a historically plausible adventure with a resourceful hero and turned it into an anachronistic rant against slavery and Roman conquest. In the book, Marcus and Esca become friends (in a believable way) while they are still at Uncle Aquila's home, and Marcus manumits his slave before the trip to the north. Esca, although a Briton, is from a completely different tribe than the ones that slew the lost legion. He has no conflicted loyalties on the trip. Marcus is a sympathetic character--not an unintelligent brute--who shows kindness to Esca and devises stratagems to find and steal the eagle. The book also includes a small romance between Marcus and Cottia, a young woman who lives nearby Uncle Aquila's home, which softens and adds dimension to Marcus' character.

Instead of following the plot of the book, the screenwriter clearly showed that he (or she?) had an ax to grind. The temptation to add a "relevant message"to historical fiction is one that can beset both novelists and screenwriters. Marcus must learn to hate his country and feel self-loathing by the end of the movie because that is what we would feel if our country went around killing and enslaving people. Some may see this as a profitable addition to the story. After all, since literature teaches by example, is it not right to imbue it with our own society's sense of morals?

Two posts I did earlier in the year have some bearing on this issue, one with Ian Mortimer's take on historical fiction and the other with Sharon Kay Penman's. In his History Today podcast, writer Ian Mortimer states that he is "not interested in enhancing people's understanding of the past. In fiction I'm using the past to demonstrate how we can say something that is true today and more meaningful for us today." Mortimer's kind of thinking would embrace the addition of "messages" into historical fiction, ones like the anti-slavery and anti-imperialism messages in The Eagle, because these are values that are generally held by us today.

Sharon Kay Penman, on the other hand, insists that historical fiction should scrupulously follow the mindsets of the past and avoid anachronistic messages that may appeal to our modern understanding. In a blog post titled "History vs. Fiction" she talks about the medieval view toward animals:

When daily life is so hard, few can spare sympathy for hungry dogs. This is especially true in a world in which people believe that God has given them dominion over the earth and all in it. So when one of my characters is moved by the plight of a suffering animal, he often is vaguely embarrassed by his Good Samaritan inclinations. When Justin de Quincy rescues a drowning dog in The Queen's Man, he does it after he "casts common sense to the winds," and he is motivated in some measure by the tearful entreaties of a small child. The life of a horse was worth a great deal and the life of a pet dog might have mattered to its owner. But the lives of animals in general had no intrinsic value and my characters cannot display the same outrage in the face of cruelty that we would. 

Ms. Penman avoids injecting her novels with the modern notion of animal rights because it would not be appropriate to the time. Her commitment to historical accuracy in her writings outweighs her modern sensibilities.

The Eagle could have been an excellent movie, if the story had stayed close to Sutcliff's original story, or if the plot had been historically appropriate. I do have the capacity to enjoy a movie even if the storyline differs from the book. All I ask is that any changes to the storyline make a story that is equal to or better than the original. In the case of historical fiction (whether book or film), I follow Ms. Penman's (or Ms. Sutcliff's) school of thought. Paint the people as they truly were, not as twenty-first century Americans in helmets. And since films so rarely fail to live up to this criterion, perhaps it is better to keep our favorite historical fiction novels away from the cinema all together. As Lindsey Davis said, when asked about a poorly made film adaptation of her Falco series: "I am not interested in having inferior versions!"

Five Different Ways of Viewing the World

Would someone unfamiliar with the MA [Middle Ages] be repulsed by the description of a medieval execution, with its throngs of avid spectators and its raucous fair-like atmosphere? Shocked that Henry and Eleanor married their daughters off before they reached puberty? How far do you think historical novelists should go to make their books palatable to modern readers? Is it necessary to make the characters in a novel about the ante-Bellum South all secret abolitionists at heart in order to win reader sympathy? What of a family living in Nazi Germany?

Historical novelist Sharon Kay Penman asks these questions at the conclusion of a recent article entitled History vs. Fiction. Ms. Penman's stated goal for her fiction is "to make the MA [Middle Ages] come alive to readers in a way that makes them want to keep turning the pages." At the same time, she is a self-proclaimed fanatic about historical accuracy. So what does she do when her MA characters view the world in a way that she (and her audience) disagrees with?

Ms. Penman identifies five ways in which the modern mindset differs significantly from the medieval mindset: "the concept of religious tolerance, anti-Semitism, the conduct of war, the status of women, and the treatment of animals." She gives examples from her novels to show how she deals with these difficult issues, trying to fairly represent the medieval characters without anachronism, but striving not to alienate her readers who come from a world wholly different. One great annoyance to me is when historical fiction authors turn their protagonist into a mouthpiece for twenty-first century propaganda, and this article is a refreshing reminder to me to be careful how I craft my characters.

"Religious tolerance," according to Ms. Penman, "was as rare in the MA as the unicorn. All men--be they Christian, Jew, or Muslim--were convinced that theirs was the True Faith.... They can respect one another's courage, but neither side doubts that damnation awaits their foes." Instead of making her characters agnostic or doubters of their own religion (as Ken Follett repeatedly did in World Without End), Penman tries to make them true to life. "I have to care in my novels to acknowledge this bedrock belief, so alien to most of us today." 

As I evaluate my own writing, I can say that describing religious "intolerance" in my writing isn't really a problem. I share the bedrock belief with the denizens of the Middle Ages that there is only one way to heaven, that not all faiths are equal. In Road from the West, all of my characters (Muslim, Jew, Christian, and even the various sects within Christianity) are inflexibly sure of the truth of their own religion.

Ms. Penman's second point is that, "Anti-Semitism is the ugly underside of medieval life." Even though it still exists to this day, "the difference is that in the MA, the Church gave official sanction to it." How does she portray this in her novels? 

I try to stay true to the tenor of the times, so virtually all of my characters are infected to some degree. When I needed a character to voice doubts, I had to choose an outsider to make it believable, a character who was a natural rebel and therefore more likely to question even the teachings of the Church....

I have thought about the subject of Anti-Semitism a lot in my own research and writing. Ms. Penman's claim that "in the MA, the Church gave official sanction to it," is a prevalent notion, and is based on the previous concept of religious intolerance. The Church taught that the Jews were going to hell, therefore, the Church taught people to be Anti-Semitic.

But at the same time, when looking at the primary sources it is interesting to note that it is the laity, and particularly the money-hungry monarchs who take anti-Semitism to the extremes of torture and murder. It was King John who pulled out a Jew's teeth to force him to reveal where his fortune was hidden, not the Church. It was Edward I who issued the edict expelling all the Jews from England. During the First Crusade, when German adventurers decide that the "will of God" is to murder all the Jews in the Rhineland, it is the Christian bishops who hide the Jews in their churches and denounce the actions of these "Crusaders" as evil. This is an often forgotten episode in history that I plan to describe in Road from the West.

The third area where Ms. Penman sees radical difference is in the medieval attitude toward war.

During the MA, the Church attempted to shield noncombatants, too--women, children, priests, pilgrims, etc. But the nature of medieval warfare--laying waste the lands of one's enemies--all but guaranteed there would be civilian casualties. And kings, knights, and soldiers accepted this as inevitable.... There was a strain of pacifism in the MA; there were even a few to criticize the crusades. But we're talking of a small minority and their views never wielded any influence.... So to be true to the times, I cannot have my characters reacting to the destruction of a town or the raping of its women as if it were a war crime, the way we would characterize it today.

I am pleased to see that Ms. Penman acknowledges that there was a pacifistic strain in the MA. I think she marginalizes the pacifist segment a little too much, however. There were many times throughout the centuries when the Church tried to impose the "Truce of God" on bickering barons, forbidding them to fight except between Monday and Wednesday, and not at all on Church holy days. The Church was not exactly a "minority" in society.

Did all kings, knights, and soldiers accept the carnage as "inevitable"? Were they all murderous brutes like the characters in Michael Crichton's Timeline? In my research on Tancred for Road from the West, the primary sources display pieces of his character that seem bipolar in our modern age. Ralph of Caen writes about Tancred:

Over time, however, his prudent soul raised concerns that caused him anxiety. It seemed that his military life contradicted the Lord's command. The Lord had commanded that after one cheek had been struck the other was to be offered as well. But a secular military life did not even permit the sparing of a relative's blood. The Lord admonished that it is necessary to give over one's cloak, as well, to the one asking for a tunic. By contrast, the necessity of military life urges that once these two garments have been seized, the rest are to be taken as well. These two principles opposed one another and undermined the bravery of a man full of wisdom [Tancred], if, indeed, they ever permitted him to sleep. But when Pope Urban's decision granted a remission of all sins to all of the Christians setting forth to fight against the pagans, then finally it was as if the vitality of the previously sleeping man was revived, his powers were roused, his eyes were opened and his boldness set in motion.

At first, it seems that Tancred has a "pacifist streak" to him, but at the end of the paragraph we see that the way he intends to atone for his sins of warfare is by entering into more warfare against the pagans. Later on, we learn that Tancred has no such scruples about the warfare in the East; after killing 700 Turks in battle, Tancred sends Bishop Adhemar 70 heads as a "tithe" of his prowess. This seeming contradiction relates to the first concept of "religious intolerance," and adds a little more dimension to the kings, knights, and soldiers of this age. For many, killing Christians was unacceptable while killing infidels was praiseworthy.

The fourth subject Ms. Penman addresses is the status of women in the MA. A current trend in historical fiction is to have "strong women" be the protagonists, women who exemplify the twenty-first century feminist ideal. Ms. Penman denounces these sort of characters as unhistorical:

Yes, there were those rare rebels like Eleanor of Aquitaine and the Empress Maude, but they paid a great price for their independent spirits. It is obvious that both Eleanor and Maude chafed under their matrimonial bonds, wanting more freedom than their world was willing to allow. But there is no evidence that they viewed themselves as part of an oppressed sisterhood; they wanted power and autonomy for themselves, not for all members of their sex. So it would be unrealistic if I were to write of a female character resentful of male dominance, one eager to prove herself as capable as any man.

This point is one I especially appreciated. I have recently read three different novels by three different authors all of which featured the character Eleanor of Aquitaine. Two of the three tried to do the very thing that Ms. Penman deplores, making Eleanor the champion for the rights of womankind against a male-dominated society.

Ms. Penman's last point is about the treatment of animals in the MA. She acknowledges that while a few rich people did have pets, "when daily life is so hard, few can spare sympathy for hungry dogs. This is especially true in a world in which people believe that God has given them dominion over the earth and all in it." It is interesting to note that she traces harsh treatment of animals back to Church. If it is a result of Christianity, then it is a misapplication of it somehow since Proverbs teaches that "the righteous man regards the life of his animal."

I would contest that the medieval view toward animals is more derived from being an agricultural society. When you live on a farm, you don't cry if a sheep gets slaughtered. Your dog is there to hunt and protect the house, and while you may feel some affection for him, the reality of frequent mortality makes you less sentimental.

Sharon Kay Penman's post is an excellent reminder to historical fiction authors to consider well what ideas we are carrying in our pockets when we time travel. She clearly identifies the five different ways of viewing the world between our era and the Middle Ages and provides so much food for thought that I'll be munching on it for some time to come.

Historical Fiction by Century, Part III

As the old year ends and the new year begins, many take the opportunity to use that time for serious reflection. I have chosen to reflect on my favorite historical fiction books. It is my favorite genre to read--which doubtless explains why I also love to write it--but I have never tried to list out all of my top picks before now. This post concludes my list of favorites ordered by the century in which they are set. In Part I, I shared my favorites from BC through the eighth century AD. In Part II, I continued with the ninth century through the fourteenth. Today I am pleased to begin with the fifteenth century.

Fifteenth Century

Men of Iron
by Howard Pyle

For several years during my later childhood, Howard Pyle took first prize in my favorite author category. I loved his retellings of the King Arthur stories accompanied by his beautiful pen and ink illustrations. But the story that most captured my imagination was Men of Iron. Myles Falworth, the son of an English lord wrongfully attainted with treason, learns the trade of arms so that one day he can challenge his lifelong enemy and clear his father's name.

Fifteenth Century Runners-Up: The Black Arrow, by Robert Louis Stevenson; A Bloody Field by Shrewsbury, by Edith Pargeter

Sixteenth Century

Prince of Foxes
by Samuel Shellabarger

When the story begins our dashing hero, Andrea Orsini, is a captain/spy in the employ of the notorious Cesare Borgia. The illegitimate son of the pope, Cesare's plan is to conquer all of Italy and bring the independent cities under his control. At first Andrea is a willing tool in Cesare's hands, but when he falls in love with Camilla, the lady of Citta del Monte, he begins to sympathize with those who stand for freedom against the Borgia tyranny.

Sixteenth Century Runner-Up: Captain from Castile, by Samuel Shellabarger

Seventeenth Century

Captain Blood
by Rafael Sabatini

When doctor Peter Blood provides aid to the men from Monmouth's rebellion, he is condemned to a life of slavery in the colonies. Using his wits and skills as a physician, he finds a way to freedom and becomes the captain of a pirate vessel, the terror of Spanish galleons up and down the Caribbean.

Seventeenth Century Runners-Up: The Scarlet Letter, by Nathaniel Hawthorne; The Three Musketeers, by Alexandre Dumas

Eighteenth Century

Scaramouche
by Rafael Sabatini

When an arrogant marquis murders Andre-Louis' best friend, the clever and spirited Andre-Louis goes on a path of vengeance that carries him through the theater, fencing school, and into the very heart of the French Revolution.

Eighteenth Century Runners-Up: Lord Vanity, by Samuel Shellabarger; The Last of the Mohicans, by James Fenimore Cooper

Nineteenth Century

Master and Commander (series)
by Patrick O'Brian

Patrick O'Brian's superb naval books are set during the Napoleonic Era and star two of the most lifelike characters ever penned. Big, bluff, impulsive Jack Aubrey is a natural on the sea commanding a ship in the English navy, but he is a little less than competent when it comes to dealing with women and money. His close friend and foil is Stephen Maturin, a broody and sensitive doctor who moonlights as a naturalist and a spy.

Twentieth Century

Every once in a while you will run into a nearly empty page in a book with a few words printed in the center: "This page purposely left blank." That message might just as well be applied to this section. I've only read two or three books set during the twentieth century, and none of them jump out at me as being particularly excellent. If you know any must-reads that would fit here, please tell me about them!

Historical Fiction by Century, Part II

Last week I began to share my list of favorite historical fiction by century. Today I'm pleased to pick up where I left off, beginning with the ninth century. Feel free to comment and share your favorite historical reads from these centuries.

Ninth Century

Byzantium
by Stephen Lawhead

Although this is not my favorite of Lawhead's books (that honor goes to The Song of Albion trilogy), it is probably my favorite of his historical fiction. A group of Irish monks from Kells are tasked with bringing an illuminated manuscript to the Byzantine emperor, but their mission goes terribly awry when they are captured by Viking raiders. 

Tenth Century

Eaters of the Dead
by Michael Crichton


It has been quite a few years since I read this book, but I remember being struck by what an interesting take it was on the epic poem Beowulf. Told through the eyes of the cultured Arab Ibn Fadlan, the story follows a group of barbaric Viking warriors traveling to the North to combat something even more barbaric than themselves--a mysterious terror that strikes the mead hall by night leaving a trail of bloody corpses.

Eleventh Century

The Story of Rolf and the Viking Bow
by Allen French

Sometimes the best historical fiction is in the "juvenile" section. Allen French was a professor who wrote historical fiction for young adults to illustrate how different kinds of government functioned throughout history. The Story of Rolf and the Viking Bow does show how the Icelandic Althing governed society in the tenth century, but it is also one of the most exciting stories I have ever read. Rolf's father Hiarandi the Unlucky tries to stop his neighbor Einar from taking over his land; he foolishly strikes out at Einar's servants and, as punishment, is forbidden to go beyond a bowshot from his home. When Einar lures Hiarandi away from the house and kills him, it becomes Rolf's goal to prove that his father was unlawfully slain. In order to clear Hiarandi's name and get back the family land, Rolf must find a bow capable of shooting farther than the tree where his father was killed.

Twelfth Century

One Corpse Too Many
by Ellis Peters

What happens when a hundred traitors are hanged by the king and a murderer takes advantage of the opportunity to throw an extra corpse in the ditch? While the English civil war rages between Stephen and Maud, one clever herbalist from the Shrewsbury monastery uses his powers of detection to make sure that the murderer is brought to justice. This is the second book in the Brother Cadfael mystery series, and in my opinion, the best of the lot.

Twelfth Century Runner-Up: The Heaven Tree Trilogy, by Edith Pargeter (who also uses the pen name Ellis Peters)

Thirteenth Century

Ivanhoe 
by Sir Walter Scott

In Jasper Fforde's Thursday Next series, the heroine's grandmother is not allowed to die until she has read the ten most boring books in the world, and strangely enough, the author puts Ivanhoe on that list. This is a gross slander. While the prose may be a bit more flowery than today's writing (and the plot somewhat predictable because of all the subsequent books and movies that stole from it), Ivanhoe is a great story and a seminal work in the historical fiction genre. Sir Wilfrid of Ivanhoe is a Saxon knight who served with King Richard on the Third Crusade. When he returns home, he must stop the Norman plot to put Prince John on the throne and save a fair Jewess from a Templar knight.

Thirteenth Century Runner-Up: The Brothers of Gwynedd Quartet, by Edith Pargeter

Fourteenth Century

Katherine
by Anya Seton

As time advances, the quantity of historical fiction available expands, and this makes picking favorites a hard task indeed. Out of my three favorite novels set during this century, I'm choosing the one I've read most recently. Katherine tells the life story of the mistress to John of Gaunt, the third son of Edward III. Anya Seton paints a well-rounded picture of a convent-raised girl thrown into the world of kings and courtiers, desperate for escape from an unwanted marriage, blissful in her illicit love affair with the prince, then tormented by stings of conscience. The historical setting is one of the richest I've ever seen in a novel, especially one that focuses on a romance.

Fourteenth Century Runners-Up: The Name of the Rose, by Umberto Eco; In a Dark Wood Wandering: A Novel of the Middle Ages, by Hella Haasse

Lord willing, I will be posting the third and final installment of historical fiction by century later this week. Stay tuned....

Historical Fiction by Century, Part I

The other day I amused myself by coming up with a list of my favorite historical fiction books set during each century. It was an interesting project. Some centuries were overflowing with books that I loved. Some were completely bare--I couldn't think of any books I had read that were set during that time period. Here is the first installment of that list. Feel free to comment with your favorites and note the time period in which they occur.

Before Christ

The King Must Die 
by Mary Renault 
Retelling of the story of Theseus in ancient Greece and Crete. Very interesting portrayal of fertility cult worship and how the king was expected to give his life to renew the life of the ground and of his people.

Till We Have Faces 
by C. S. Lewis

Retelling of the myth of Cupid and Psyche in Asia Minor. Also an interesting portrayal of fertility cult worship set in the context of a Christian allegory.

Anno Domini

First Century

Ben Hur: A Tale of the Christ
by Lew Wallace
Story of a wealthy, first-century Jewish prince, his persecution at the hands of the Romans, and how his life was changed through interaction with Christ. Even more epic than the epic movie based on it.

Second Century

The Mark of the Horse Lord
by Rosemary Sutcliff
An ex-gladiator masquerades as the king of a Celtic tribe in Roman-occupied Britain, ends up adopting the people as his own, and learns what it really means to be a king.

Second Century Runner-Up: The Eagle of the Ninth, by Rosemary Sutcliff

Third Century

This was one of those empty centuries--I was unable to think of a good book that fit here. Do you have any favorites set during this time period?

Fourth Century

Frontier Wolf, by Rosemary Sutcliff
Another great book by Sutcliff, this one about a Roman centurion who must keep the peace with the British border tribes and keep from making the same shameful mistake that clouded his past.

Fifth Century

The Lantern Bearers, by Rosemary Sutcliff
Sutcliff again here--are you noticing a trend? When the legions pull out of Britain, a young Roman stays behind to face the Saxon hordes and his own bitterness. Provides a glimpse of what the real "historical" King Arthur might have been like.

Sixth, Seventh, and Eighth Centuries

These centuries were very hard for me to fill. Yes, there are more Sutcliff books I could stick here, but to be honest, I can't really consider them my favorites. I have a book on my Amazon Wish List set during this time period--Paths of Exile, by Carla Nayland--but I haven't read it yet, so I can't judge its merits. I googled some historical fiction lists to see if there were some great books out there that I was missing. There weren't. These centuries seem to be a great void for historical fiction, which is sad because someone could take some of the stories from the Venerable Bede and turn them into a top-notch novel. Maybe that should be my next project, once I finish my novels about the First Crusade.

Stay tuned for more posts to finish out this list. Don't forget to comment and share your favorites from Before Christ or from the first through eighth centuries Anno Domini.

Cover Story - The Missing Faces of Historical Fiction

One of the book blogs that reviewed I Serve commented on how unique the book's cover was--the solid black background with the stark contrast of the red gloves. With only a few conceptual ideas from Rosanne, layout designer Masha Shubin used themes from the story and her own artistic genius to come up with the cover for I Serve. But just how unusual is it? A short tour of recent releases in historical fiction can answer that question.

First, take a look at The Confessions of Catherine de Medici, by C. W. Gortner. Just released in May, Gortner's book features the middle two-thirds of a woman's body in lavish period costume with the top half of her head obscured. One wonders, but will never know, what sort of eyes the woman has, what color hair, what expression on her face.

Alison Weir's latest release, Captive Queen: A Novel of Eleanor of Aquitaine, has nearly all the same elements on the cover, the main difference being that the heroine's dress is a captivating shade of blue. The reader is also treated to a glimpse of the heroine's nose although the eyes are still obscured by the author's banner across the top.

Moving out of the Middle Ages into the ancient world, you can see that the same formula holds true. Michelle Moran's new book Cleopatra's Daughter shows the chin, torso, and upper legs of a Roman maiden with an outfit every bit as elaborate as the clothes of the medieval queens.

One of my favorite historical fiction authors, whom I discovered nearly fifteen years ago, is Edith Pargeter. When I first read her quartet The Brothers of Gwynedd, I remember the distinctly medieval feel of the cover with the gold calligraphy and illuminated initial.

Just this year, Pargeter's Brothers of Gwynedd has been reprinted. The cover has been modernized to fit in with current trends. The hero of the book, Llewellyn of Wales, is a distinctly masculine protagonist and all the women in the story are relegated to supporting roles, but even so, we have the headless bodice of a medieval beauty on the top half of the cover, while a band of armed men on the bottom half make a halfhearted attempt to represent the actual plot.

So, is I Serve's cover unique? Most definitely. But whether that is a desirable quality, I will leave to the taste of the reader.