A question that Jack and I often get about writing historical fiction is, how accurate do I need to be about, well . . . everything?
I can be flippant and say you must be accurate about absolutely everything in your novel, but the odds are against you. Our novel, The Bottle Conjuror, is set in 18th-century London. We’re old authors but we’re not that old. Neither of us were present in 1749 when the riot broke out at the Haymarket Theatre and the building caught fire, so we relied on our imaginations to recreate what it would have been like to have been involved in that event.
But imagination alone is not enough when writing historical fiction. It needs to be combined with verisimilitude and that comes from being accurate with historical facts and details. And accuracy comes from adequate research (we’ll talk about research in a subsequent blog post).
Jack and I are not professional historians although we obviously share a love for history. We find doing research to be a fun adventure—and if you don’t, you probably shouldn’t be trying to write historical fiction—and do the best we can to get the facts and details right, to be accurate. We frequently stumble down fascinating rabbit holes that lead to amazing stories that may, or may not, end up in the novel. But even if they don’t make it onto the page, they have expanded our knowledge of the time, the place, and the people of which we write.
Still, no matter how much you research, no matter how hard you try to be 100% accurate, you will still make an error or two and, very likely, one of your readers will call you out on your mistake. I remember reading an historical novel in which the author described a medallion her protagonist wore around his neck. The medallion depicted a mounted knight slaying a dragon. She identified the knight as St. Christopher, when in fact, it was St. George. A minor point? Yes, but I was surprised by how many readers pointed out her error in online comments.
To our chagrin, a reader of our novel who is a professional musician pointed out to me that the clarinet, which we show being played by a musician at the Haymarket Theatre in 1749, had not yet been developed as the musical instrument we know today. We were early by a couple decades. Was that reader outraged by our error? Did he burn our book? No. He was forgiving in understanding the impossibility of a writer—even two writers—being experts in every aspect of the time, the place, and the people.
And he loved the novel and eagerly awaits Book Two.
I guess the take-away for you is this: do your homework and write the most accurate novel you can but be aware that you will not be perfect.
And that’s okay; just write a damned good story.
What are your comments about accuracy? We’d love to hear them.
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