World-building-Historical fiction - part 2

photo by Bernard Tuck on Unsplash

This is Part II of the posts on “world-building.” (Part I—fantasy/spec fiction—is here, and Part III—contemporary/realism—is here.)

Digression?

I just finished reading an historical novel, set in Richmond, Virginia, just pre-civil war. (A book club read; I’m always curious to see and read what others choose.)

It made me think about how deeply the writer has to absorb the soul of a place before she publishes an historical work. This story read as a fleshed-out outline, really. There were some sound structural choices, yes—for instance, I thought it was a solid trade-off to have two tertiary characters end up “happily ever after,” even if the main characters didn’t. (And shouldn’t—it would not be realistic. I did appreciate the fact that something positive happened for other characters. It showed some thought to balancing an otherwise sad book in which the only hope handed to the reader is to know that history and daily reality has changed since that time.)

But it was the writing itself that left me scratching my head. So I’m going to leap ahead to:

The voices of places

I’m speaking here of the “telling” of a story, word choices and phrasings. Musicality. One phrase, “busy as a moth in a mitten” stood out in this book, because it was the only phrase of its kind in the entire book. And if there is only one of those, it might have to be let go: such phrases need friends and cousins. (But not too many.)

Every geographical part of the world has its “thing” in terms of language and story-telling. Can we write and evoke the story we’ve chosen to, in the setting in which it is? This is for all fiction, but even more so with historical: voices of Place and Time.

Maybe this is why, in many respects, fantasy and spec is “easier”—we get to create the world, its consistencies, and its voice and spirit.

This feels like a digression, but isn’t. So much of writing is building these layers. This is the layer that elevates a story beyond “story.” This book was a reminder that many books are published without this layer. This layer of “voice” can come later, after the story is assembled, if need be. It might be the most time-consuming and obsessive layer. It’s the voice that elevates a work from being a book with a story, to being literature—something readers will return to for generations.

Research

To access the historical world and do the building, we need to do thorough research on all levels.

The physical—maps, buildings, realities of living (e.g. plumbing, water, heating)—are just starting points.

There’s also the intellectual; how did people think at that time? what was “faith” about? learning and education? what was encouraged or discouraged in terms of the human imagination? What was the difference between mores then, and now?

And the emotional world at the time. What happened to those who lived with mental health issues and/or differences? What was expected of institutional pieces such as marriage or education? or societal pieces, such as the time to have children, and how many? and so on… the lists for all these components of human life are long.

Again, that caveat not to get utterly mired in this world-building and research part of the work! But to write, to learn what we need to know… then write more.

Maps—again…

Maps are so significant. But they’re also flat. Seek out topographical maps. Seek out being able to go and spend time in the place… even if everything that was there at the time is no longer.

Consider weather. Or is it pre-record times? From other readings, we might be able to discover something about what it was like at the time, or of the changing seasons.

And go the distance. Even if I can’t get to a place I’m writing about, I consider modes of travel; if something measures half a mile, and a character walked it, I go walk a half mile. Did the character ride a bike? What was the character’s physicality? What was their half-mile bike ride compared to mine? What was the street or path like at that time? Questions grow…

We use only 10% of research

It’s always useful to remember this.

A wall

I build something of a mental wall after the time period I am working in. That is, I don’t read on with research, unless I must for some reason. It can become very difficult to know of an incident or historical piece that my character would have no knowledge of. As much as possible I want to inhabit the world of my character as it was at that time.

I try to read fiction (and nonfiction, too) written at the time. Are there any published journals from that time? A personal journal from the time is invaluable in discovering the daily language used and many details missing in “history” books.

An old history major…

A long time ago I was a history major. After taking a breadth of first and second year classes, I opted out of the usual writerly choice of English classes, and chose history as a major. Why? Because when I sat through lectures, my margins would be filled with notes for potential stories; I found it almost impossible to listen to words and stories about some long ago time, without my mind conjuring characters, situations, and responses to events.

My first published novel started life as such a scrawl, with “How would two friends get through this?” next to notes about how, across the country of Canada, towns vied for railway contracts—they wanted the rails to come through their community, and the sense of competition fueled some serious stuff. The “friends” in my story, a middle-grade novel, were cousins, I realized later, once writing.

There is nothing quite like writing a novel to begin to understand all the gaping holes in the recording of “history.” Who cares about all the wars and explorations, when you don’t know what hot drink someone might have on a wintry afternoon in 1526 London? Tea was not happening in England until the mid 1600s. It wouldn’t be coffee. It’s now on my list to discover, and currently looks like this _______ on my page. A gap.

This is my current project for young people—another middle-grade novel. My list of research questions grows daily. As I wrote in the Fantasy world-building piece, my MO is always to write and research in tandem.

So my manuscript pages have words in red and asterisks. I often use CAPS to write my question right there in the text, and in my process journal, I keep a running list of questions.

My search for library books is constant throughout the process. I just read through a lengthy history of St. Paul’s Cathedral, an old tome published in 1952. (It has that long-closed-book smell!) I read through probably 150 pages of it, including the preface and forward for overview…then up to and just past “my” time period, and then flipped through to see if there might be later and summative material I’ll need.

TREASURE

I found a description of a book burning that took place not even half a year after when does the one in my story. The details on the page were excellent. It described the way the fire was set up, the entrance to the church that was closest, the rood over the doorway (I did not know what a rood was, either, and had to look it up.)

I learned that most of the building was destroyed in the great fire of 1666, but that during the time period I am writing, there was a spire, but not the dome we associate with the cathedral. Not long after my story, though, there was a fire too, and the spire burned and for decades the church was without any noteworthy lofty presence. While this goes beyond, this is something I needed to know.

I cannot say enough: take notes! scan pages! keep track of EVERY book you use for research.

There is nothing worse (not in research terms anyway!) than at a later point realizing you need something, but you can’t remember where you read it.

Strangeness

The historical-fiction-research process can get really strange, in my experience. There’s something about digging into the past and then spending large chunks of time there on a daily basis.

For that first novel, I researched the two towns of Fort William and Prince Arthur’s Landing which together became what we now know as Thunder Bay in 1970.

I was researching back in the days of micro-fiche. I looked through street maps, and old photographs of buildings. Of course, the photos were black and white. Lots of snow. I was doing the writing/research tandem thing.

At one point I wrote about how all the buildings in Prince Arthur’s Landing were painted white and stood out starkly. I kept writing, even as something knocked inside my head and said, “You’re going to have to re-write that bit!”

Several weeks later, reading more research, I stumbled over a line in a book about how Prince Arthur’s Landing was known for… its white buildings!

I have to admit to a shiver going through me then. But what was that about?

Had I read it somewhere and forgotten? Had I just read so much, and seen so many photos that I’d absorbed this? And it was now sitting in my subconscious?

I’m not sure about the explanation or if there is one. Such writing (all writing really) is an immersive experience.

Since that time, I’ve had a number of such moments when working on historical projects. It’s a little unnerving, but I’ve now come to expect them.

Calendar

Review the post on working with calendar pages. This is even more necessary when working with historical fiction. If you’ve chosen to include any real events, start there, find those days and mark them. Determine what day of the week they fell on. This is key. Before conferring with a calendar, I had used one day for an event—a nitroglycerine blast—that happened on another day. This caused some major shift in a time when a Sunday was quite a different day from a Wednesday.

Now with the internet, you can look up so much in minutes.

Expect the “holes” in knowledge to be with the most everyday-life details. If you’re a writer who feels you have a responsibility to your reader to “get it right,” then it’s hours of work.

Modern paradigms

Tempting as it may be, go with caution taking our modern mores and more, and placing them over the story. People have changed. History lets us know that. Ideas have grown, and pushed out other ideas. There were times when people did not understand what we now know, and often take for granted. There’s a real need, in writing historical fiction, to start with a most open mind—no easy thing.

The immersive piece

This is a real piece of world-building, and creating historical fiction: I find entering into and coming out of my workday to be a little strange when working “elsewhere.”

Once you are inhabiting a different world, there is a transitioning in and out. Be aware of it, and allow for it. Go gently with self. You might begin and end your work-time with a walk; call it your commute!

Thoughts? questions? post away…