Should we care about the accuracy of historical fiction?

I’m a historian by education and a voracious reader. However, I don’t read much historical fiction – or watch historical movies, for that matter. Every student of history knows why. The incorrect historical facts and details mar the enjoyment of a good story.

I used to read plenty of historical fiction though, back before I studied history. It’s what got me to studying it in the first place. I was able to immerse myself in the past worlds without a care for the accuracy. I was rather sure, actually, that authors made up most of the details anyway. Not everyone things that way though.

It seems the word ‘historical’ makes readers assume a certain level of accuracy in books. Readers of historical romances, which often are more story-driven and less limited by the accuracy of details, are as unforgiving about wrong details as readers of more serious historical fiction. Readers trust the authors of historical fiction. Georgette Heyer has taught generations of readers and writers about the life in Regency England. Even if there were incorrect details in her books, no one would care at this point; her world is accepted as the truth.

But what about the kind of historical fiction that comes with the authority of academic learning and exhaustive research? The Guardian brought up the issue in a recent column, “How true should historical fiction be?” The writer, author Stephanie Merritt, has a clear view:

novelists are not history teachers. It's not our job to educate people, and if we start using words like “duty” and “responsibility” about historical fiction – or any fiction – we’re in danger of leaching all the vigour out of it with a sense of worthiness.

While authors “have a responsibility to not present readers with deliberately false information about a historical character or period”, the story should come first.

The trouble for an ordinary reader, or even a historian, is that we don’t always know when the author invents characters or events, or adds details simply because they fit the story. Even if readers assume that everything is invented, they can’t help but learn, the narrative helping with the process. And occasionally we learn things wrong.

Pretty much everything I know about the fall of Constantinople (1453) I learned from Johannes Angelos (English: The Dark Angel, 1953), a 1952 book by Finnish author Mika Waltari. Finnish literary tradition maintains that he did exhaustive research for his historical novels and that all details are accurate. But he was one of the most prolific writers of his time – of any time, really – so how much time did he actually have for research. His historical fiction is so rich in detail, however, that it takes a dedicated reader or a specialist to detect the inaccuracies. Like with Heyer’s books, the sense of historical accuracy is strong in his books, which trumps all other concerns.

I’ve never really needed what I learned from Johannes Angelos anywhere, so it doesn’t actually matter if I’ve learned something incorrectly. Most of what we learn from the historical fiction is purely for our own enlightenment. Nonetheless, it would be nice to be able to rely on that learning. A reader should know when the author deviates from historical accuracy:

if you are going to play fast and loose with historical fact for the sake of a good story, you'd better have done your research thoroughly if you want readers to take you seriously; only then will you have the authority to depart from those facts.

In the end, even historical fiction is bound by the rules of fiction, not fact, but also liberated by them: “By making clear that you're writing fiction, you claim the freedom to speculate, to stray beyond what is known, and so breathe new life into long-dead characters.”

As all historians know, “any attempt to recreate the past requires a leap of imagination.” This is doubly true for historical fiction. So perhaps I should get over myself and start reading historical fiction again for good stories, not for exercises in my learning. Who knows, I might even enjoy it.

(All quotes from the Guardian article How true should historical fiction be?)

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I’ve been on an urban fantasy reading binge recently. I’ve read books that were published ages ago, but I haven’t had time for, such as the latest books in Patricia Briggs’s two series. I read Dirty Magic, the first book in a new series by Jaye Wells called Prospero’s War that came out a couple of months ago. All were very enjoyable reads. I read the latest Anita Blake book too, which didn’t reach the greatness of the earlier books in the series, but was much better than the previous book.

This week, I started a new series – new to me, the first book was published in 2006 – called Quantum Gravity by Justina Robson. The first book is called Keeping it Real. It’s urban fantasy set in the near future where some kind of quantum explosion has torn open the borders between various realms or dimensions, forcing humans to interact with elves, fairies and demons. The heroine, Lila Black, is a human cyborg, which makes her a fairly unique character. I’ve read about a third of the book and I like it so far.

I’ve also began to read a collection of short stories by Pete Langman called Black Box. Good, but grim, read. I have a hunch some of the stories may be well beyond my comfort zone.

Georgette Heyer, my author addiction

The other day, I read a Guardian post about how readers sometimes become addicted to authors. Georgette Heyer was mentioned and I immediately realised I’d been an addict too. Heyer (1902-1974), an English author of over thirty Regency romances and as many historical novels and detective stories, has definitely been, not merely one of my favourite authors, but my addiction too.

The addiction built slowly. When I first discovered her books, I could only read books in my own language and just four or five of her Regency romances had been translated to it. I read them so many times I practically knew them by heart, but I didn’t consider myself addicted, or Heyer as a favourite author. Once I began reading books in English, I found a couple of more of her books, but that was all my local library had.

This was before Internet, I should mention, specifically before online bookstores. My addiction was unleashed after I discovered them, or – actually – after Amazon was founded. I became an Amazon customer solely in order to buy all Heyer’s Regency novels. Well, I meant to buy only one or two that sounded the best, but … well, addiction.

It took me a while to buy all of them. I was studying at the time and didn’t really have that much money. The books were out of print and were being issued anew so I had to wait for them to show up on Amazon catalogues. The books shipped from the US to Europe, an excruciating four to eight weeks wait for each book. And every single book was worth it.

I’ve tried to analyse many times what makes Heyer’s Regency romances so great. They have the spirit of Austen with more modern sentiments. Her heroines are more likely to go against the society’s dictates than in novels written in earlier times, but with such finesse that they don’t feel analogous. Her heroes are dashing, often rogues who are redeemed during the course of the novel, but not solely. She has a couple of particularly delightful young heroes, like Freddy Standen in Cotillion (1953), who are good-natured and somewhat clueless. Equally, she has heroines who are silly and not always likeable. She regards all of them with an amused but beginning smile that allows the reader to smile understandingly with her and root even for the silliest of them.

Her books are full of historical details, too, that offer endless information without being dull. To this day, most of my knowledge about Regency England comes from her books – and I have a degree in English history. She made all the details in her books seem perfectly plausible and, what’s more important, alive – something most modern authors of Regency romances fail at.

I have my favourites among her books, those that I have read more often than others – and I’ve read them all more than once. They’re too numerous to bring up in detail here, however. There simply isn’t a weak book among them. Even the dullest, either The Toll-Gate (1954) or April Lady (1957), are good and worth reading again.

The book I’ve reread most often is perhaps Regency Buck (1935), a story of brother and sister who travel to London to force their reluctant guardian to bring them into society – a theme of many of her books. It has everything that is perfect in her Regency novels, a beautiful heroine, a dashing, slightly roguish hero, a lot of society nonsense and a mystery to boot.

Another great book is the aforementioned Cotillion, a delightful book I often read simply to feel good. Venetia (1958), The Grand Sophy (1950) and Devil’s Cub (1932) are among the top ten too, as are Arabella (1949), Lady of Quality (1972) and The Convenient Marriage (1934) – a book that has a heroine who stammers, only one example of many among Heyer’s heroines who aren’t utterly perfect and thereby lifeless.

My addiction subsided eventually. I had all the books that I wanted – I have never been interested in her detective stories – and had read them many times over. I haven’t stopped loving her books, though. She is still my go-to author, the one I pick up when I have nothing to read. It doesn’t matter which book I choose, or whether I read all of it or just parts, I’m guaranteed a wonderful time. I’m even considering buying all the books I already have as e-books. Partly because the Arrow imprints I bought in the 90s were such poor quality that the pages fell off after only one reading. Mostly, however, so that I would always have her books with me.

Do you have a favourite Heyer book, or hero or heroine? Please, share in comments.