Real Life Fanfic?
People have been writing about famous figures for a loooong time, but of late there seems to be a rash of historical figures teaming up to Solve Crime, or rampage about the fictiverse in ways that lie wayyyy outside their reported experience in history.
In Northanger Abbey sseventeen-year-old Catherine has this to say about history:
I read it [history] a little as a duty, but it tells me nothing that does not either vex or weary me. The quarrels of popes and kings, with wars and pestilences, in every page; the men all so good for nothing, and hardly any women at all--it is very tiresome: and yet I often think if odd that it should be so dull, for a great deal of it must be invention. The speeches that are put into the heroes' mouths, their thoughts and designs--the chief of all this must be invention, and invention is what delights me in other books.
Miss Tilney replies that she doesn't mind the embellishments--and I like them as much. if a speech be well drawn up, i read it with pleasure, by whomsoever it may be made--and probably with much greater, if the production of Mr. Hume or Mr. Robertson, than if the genuine words of Caractacus, Agricola, or Alfred the Great.
These new stories, using historical figures in adventures that do not cross over into actual experience very much, connect with fanfiction in my head because the enjoyment of the story depends so much on knowing the "canon" that is, the history. The thrill of good fanfiction is that you believe this story--it fits seamlessly, or nearly so, into your understanding of the story. Or history. Adds to it, and of course there is the glee of (here's a timely image) discovering Easter Eggs hidden in the text, overlooked by those not deeply familiar with the material, adding an extra flavor burst for those who are.
What set me down this track was an article sent to me by Gregory Feeley, who subscribes to the New York Times Book Review. Here's the link to a light-hearted
riff on this subject:
So...if I were to write one of these, what would I choose? The unlikely ones are easy to put together for the snicker of the incongruous, though difficult to imagine making them work. Supposing I could come up with a reason convincing enough to get Jane Austen into male attire (and that would be a challenge) it would be fun to have her end up on board one of her brother's ships in His Majesty's Navy, for some adventures on the high seas.
Then there would be the Writer's Colony, begun by Shelley & Company. To which I'd bring John Keats (we would preserve his life) and see how he and Shelley measure against one another. Bring the Lambs? But would poor Mary take a butcher's knife to anyone? Well, that would please the appetite for blood and emo if she did. How about bringing the Wordsworths? Dorothy deserves a trip away from the domestic scene . . . except, except, if we have to stick with verisimilitude, wouldn't all the women still be stuck with the scut work while the men are sitting outside, earnestly telling one another of the good work of the common man, and how working with one's hands is part of the social contract? (Byron, of course, would sneer with the best of his anti-heroes. He never pretended the least interest in the common man.) So maybe the women are stuck with the domestic stuff, but they were used to that--and one thing I feel certain about, what those women chatted about while weaving and sewing and seeing to the preserves would still be worth hearing. We'd just have to see that Dorothy (or better, Jane) wrote it all down.
In Northanger Abbey sseventeen-year-old Catherine has this to say about history:
I read it [history] a little as a duty, but it tells me nothing that does not either vex or weary me. The quarrels of popes and kings, with wars and pestilences, in every page; the men all so good for nothing, and hardly any women at all--it is very tiresome: and yet I often think if odd that it should be so dull, for a great deal of it must be invention. The speeches that are put into the heroes' mouths, their thoughts and designs--the chief of all this must be invention, and invention is what delights me in other books.
Miss Tilney replies that she doesn't mind the embellishments--and I like them as much. if a speech be well drawn up, i read it with pleasure, by whomsoever it may be made--and probably with much greater, if the production of Mr. Hume or Mr. Robertson, than if the genuine words of Caractacus, Agricola, or Alfred the Great.
These new stories, using historical figures in adventures that do not cross over into actual experience very much, connect with fanfiction in my head because the enjoyment of the story depends so much on knowing the "canon" that is, the history. The thrill of good fanfiction is that you believe this story--it fits seamlessly, or nearly so, into your understanding of the story. Or history. Adds to it, and of course there is the glee of (here's a timely image) discovering Easter Eggs hidden in the text, overlooked by those not deeply familiar with the material, adding an extra flavor burst for those who are.
What set me down this track was an article sent to me by Gregory Feeley, who subscribes to the New York Times Book Review. Here's the link to a light-hearted
riff on this subject:
So...if I were to write one of these, what would I choose? The unlikely ones are easy to put together for the snicker of the incongruous, though difficult to imagine making them work. Supposing I could come up with a reason convincing enough to get Jane Austen into male attire (and that would be a challenge) it would be fun to have her end up on board one of her brother's ships in His Majesty's Navy, for some adventures on the high seas.
Then there would be the Writer's Colony, begun by Shelley & Company. To which I'd bring John Keats (we would preserve his life) and see how he and Shelley measure against one another. Bring the Lambs? But would poor Mary take a butcher's knife to anyone? Well, that would please the appetite for blood and emo if she did. How about bringing the Wordsworths? Dorothy deserves a trip away from the domestic scene . . . except, except, if we have to stick with verisimilitude, wouldn't all the women still be stuck with the scut work while the men are sitting outside, earnestly telling one another of the good work of the common man, and how working with one's hands is part of the social contract? (Byron, of course, would sneer with the best of his anti-heroes. He never pretended the least interest in the common man.) So maybe the women are stuck with the domestic stuff, but they were used to that--and one thing I feel certain about, what those women chatted about while weaving and sewing and seeing to the preserves would still be worth hearing. We'd just have to see that Dorothy (or better, Jane) wrote it all down.