That was an interesting entry. I think what she's talking about can be generalized to any time someone talks with enthusiasm about something that has intrinsic sadness or horror in it--quite apart from history.
I do sometimes talk with morbid delight or fascination about something horrible. Not because I don't understand the real horror. Not because I genuinely like, oh, freezing to death, or dying in a volcanic eruption. Not because I don't care about how people who die like that must suffer, and how those who know them must suffer. Just because... I don't know. It's a kind of bravado, maybe. Kind of daring the horror to try to horrify me? I don't know. I do know that when I've upset people with talk like that, I've been truly sorry for the pain I've caused. I try to avoid inflicting that talk on people who might be hurt by it. .... But I will probably keep doing it, when I think there's no risk of someone being hurt.
Lots of writers have a kind of ghoulish, morbid streak. (God knows I do.) But yeah, there's a problem when you show that streak to people who have been personally hurt by the thing that fascinates you.
I don't know. I don't want to post there because I'm not looking for an argument. But I really doubt Willis meant "who doesn't love death and destruction?" I think she probably meant it was a rich subject because of the things she mentioned. There was a lot of horror and heroism and everything in between. Who wouldn't want that as a backdrop for a story? It's a fascinating period of history
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That's a tough line to draw, totally. I myself won't read any of the Jane Austen continuations or detectives because I haven't read one yet that didn't have errors within a page or two. But other readers find them wonderful and they sell in zillions. So who is right?
Perhaps this is why many writers consciously create alternate worlds, so they can tell their story, but the moral imperative toward verisimilitude isn't quite as harsh.
In the case of Connie Willis, it would seem to me (from my distance) that she earns well enough to pay a British historian to do a Britcheck of her ms--but it's always easy to point fingers.
Yes, totally! I think it'd almost be "easier" to write fantasy, because at least people can't tell you you're wrong. They probably will anyway, and of course I put "easier" in quotes...
That is true of Willis - she certainly could pay a historian to read her draft. I always thought of her as a fantasy author, though, rather than a historical fiction writer, so maybe I give her more slack because of it. (And I'll freely admit I have not read the Blackout books, so maybe these tread closer to historical fiction.)
I stick to a universe of my own creation so I can make up all the history I want. And I play around with parallel universes to boot to make things even more interesting. I have a real world story I'd like to write someday but the amount of research and intimate knowledge I would need of two major league subjects is rather daunting. Much more fun to simply make up my own major league subjects. :-)
This is being cast as a question of appropriation and cultural insensitivity, which is a perfectly legitimate way of looking at it. However, I also see Willis's remark ("What's not to like?") as raising a more general question than that - one about the ruthlessness and instinctive opportunism of writers.
I stand looking at my father's dead body in the Chapel of Rest. Tears - perfectly genuine tears, tears of grief - are running down my cheeks. I am deeply sad. Meanwhile, the hind-brain stenographer is busy taking notes, exclaiming "This is great material! What's not to like?"
This doesn't make me a bad person, or even a shallow one (I hope). I don't suppose that Connie Willis is either. She just let her stenographer grab the mike for a moment.
Yes--I am quite sure she meant it exactly in that way, and every single writer among us has thought about, or researched, or experienced some scene that to another horroric to the max to someone else.
The question of historical research is a vexing one because it seems to simple on the surface, but it isn't, really.
It's not just writers who can have that sort of reaction, though. In my work (software quality assurance) our job is to find the problems, so we delight in every complication we encounter, sometimes to the dismay of those around us. I would guess that other investigators and researchers might react the same.
Back when I was a scientist, I loved it when my experiment didn't come out the way I expected- that meant that my theory didn't match reality and there was more there for me to learn.
It's certainly a hard question. I do not think any would argue that when reading a historical novel, one expects it to be reasonably accurate. That's why I like Sharon Kay Penman so much compared to Elizabeth Chadwick. She only changed minor things, and noted these changes at the end. Her greatest fiction in all her novels that I've read was a fictional character who was a bastard son of Henry I of England, and served as a useful tool to show us many of the actual happenings by being in the correct position and class. Considering Henry I had over 20 bastards, I don't think it's over the top anyway. But Elizabeth Chadwick consulting 'Akashik Records' and some psychic transference from the past and using it to invent scenes that did not happen bothers me, and not only because she insists that they may have happened. Because they are so ridiculous and out of character for any person living in that time that it breaks the whole feel of the time
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You're making sense, Koby! And I agree. (I thought Pillars of Earth was disappointing, for exactly the reasons you say, though I loved Eye of the Needle)
I would suggest to ask the question in a different way: With historical fiction, it isn't so much about the historical accuracy - it is about the author being AWARE of their limitations
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Well, Voltaire cared! Didn't he complain bitterly about how much his room stank? *g*
But yes, I agree, it really does come down to awareness. And not everyone can be aware of everything--we don't have the time. (So I tend to avoid novels written about periods I know well, if the author is just venturing into those waters.)
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I do sometimes talk with morbid delight or fascination about something horrible. Not because I don't understand the real horror. Not because I genuinely like, oh, freezing to death, or dying in a volcanic eruption. Not because I don't care about how people who die like that must suffer, and how those who know them must suffer. Just because... I don't know. It's a kind of bravado, maybe. Kind of daring the horror to try to horrify me? I don't know. I do know that when I've upset people with talk like that, I've been truly sorry for the pain I've caused. I try to avoid inflicting that talk on people who might be hurt by it. .... But I will probably keep doing it, when I think there's no risk of someone being hurt.
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Perhaps this is why many writers consciously create alternate worlds, so they can tell their story, but the moral imperative toward verisimilitude isn't quite as harsh.
In the case of Connie Willis, it would seem to me (from my distance) that she earns well enough to pay a British historian to do a Britcheck of her ms--but it's always easy to point fingers.
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That is true of Willis - she certainly could pay a historian to read her draft. I always thought of her as a fantasy author, though, rather than a historical fiction writer, so maybe I give her more slack because of it. (And I'll freely admit I have not read the Blackout books, so maybe these tread closer to historical fiction.)
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I stand looking at my father's dead body in the Chapel of Rest. Tears - perfectly genuine tears, tears of grief - are running down my cheeks. I am deeply sad. Meanwhile, the hind-brain stenographer is busy taking notes, exclaiming "This is great material! What's not to like?"
This doesn't make me a bad person, or even a shallow one (I hope). I don't suppose that Connie Willis is either. She just let her stenographer grab the mike for a moment.
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The question of historical research is a vexing one because it seems to simple on the surface, but it isn't, really.
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Back when I was a scientist, I loved it when my experiment didn't come out the way I expected- that meant that my theory didn't match reality and there was more there for me to learn.
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But yes, I agree, it really does come down to awareness. And not everyone can be aware of everything--we don't have the time. (So I tend to avoid novels written about periods I know well, if the author is just venturing into those waters.)
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