How do authors keep history fresh?
Authors of historical fiction have a problem: Readers know how the story ends, at least the historical part, but the writer still has to keep them reading.
How do they do this?
Here's what John Lawton does in A Little White Death, third of his novels about Frederick Troy. A physician has come to the United States to treat John F. Kennedy for Addison's disease and has met up with a fellow Brit just before returning to England. Here's how the doctor who has just treated Kennedy ends the meeting with his friend:
That's a powerful little chapter-ender. The speaker of that line carries the weight of the history that the reader already knows about. And he does this without ever ruining the illusion that he exists in a world innocent of that history, which had not yet occurred at the time Lawton portrays. At the very least, that's a neat bit of fun on Lawton's part.
He does something similar in Black Out, the first novel in the series. I won't give that example because it's a bit spoilerish, coming as it does near the end of the book. I will reveal, for those who have not read the novel, that it reinforces the series' status as a social history of mid-twentieth-century England, critical, personal and unsparing.
In other words, you should read the book. Until you do, ponder this question: How do historical novelists get around the annoying fact that the reader knows how the history turns out?
© Peter Rozovsky 2010
How do they do this?
Here's what John Lawton does in A Little White Death, third of his novels about Frederick Troy. A physician has come to the United States to treat John F. Kennedy for Addison's disease and has met up with a fellow Brit just before returning to England. Here's how the doctor who has just treated Kennedy ends the meeting with his friend:
"`Fine. I understand. Now why don't you hop in a cab. We can have one last drinkie before I dash to Idlewild.'"
That's a powerful little chapter-ender. The speaker of that line carries the weight of the history that the reader already knows about. And he does this without ever ruining the illusion that he exists in a world innocent of that history, which had not yet occurred at the time Lawton portrays. At the very least, that's a neat bit of fun on Lawton's part.He does something similar in Black Out, the first novel in the series. I won't give that example because it's a bit spoilerish, coming as it does near the end of the book. I will reveal, for those who have not read the novel, that it reinforces the series' status as a social history of mid-twentieth-century England, critical, personal and unsparing.
In other words, you should read the book. Until you do, ponder this question: How do historical novelists get around the annoying fact that the reader knows how the history turns out?
© Peter Rozovsky 2010
Labels: Frederick Troy, historical crime fiction, historical mysteries, John Lawton
posted by Peter Rozovsky at 3:11 PM
24 Comments:
Two things I dont like about the world pre 1950. No antibiotics and people said "drinkie".
Don't you have even a shred of nostalgia for a time when people had to take responsibility for their own infections?
And that guy is supposed to have said "drinkie" in 1963. Typo on your part, or anachronism on Lawton's?
Adrian
Oh, I see... I thought we were still in the realm of WW2 but I suppose there wouldnt have been an Ildewild then would there? Where was it that the Hindenburg met with its unfortunate accident?
Hmmm drinkie in 1963? I'm a little skeptical but who knows? Also how come this mysterious physician didnt appear in American Tabloid? I though James Ellroy owned the whole JFK thing.
I suppose that a writer can have a character say anything they wish, within reason?
Nursery slang was general in the 1960s and is only now found recorded in dictionaries.
Also, Australians put "-ie" onto many words and have being doing so for a long time.
I think providing some additional, previously unknown (or even fictional) information that is peripheral to the known fact can help a lot. James Ellroy isn't everyone's cup of tea, but he writes nothing but (recent) historical stories, and you have to pay attention to keep what's real and what's fictional straight in his conspiracy-based world. A lot of it seems outrageous on the surface, then you think about similarly outrageous stuff you later learned to be true and you have to wonder.
Also, making characters bit players in the actual events can go a long way. For example, what if a character happened to be someone Officer Tippett asked, "Which way did he go?" while chasing Oswald, and became involved in the story through it? (That's a weak example off the top of me head, but I think it makes the point.)
Dana, the Tippett example may not be as weak as you think. It seems comparable to Lawton's invocation of Idlewild -- a reference that the reader recognizes as momentous but the characters necessarily do not.
Yep, I'd say Ellroy integrates the historical and the outrageous pretty seamlessly. It helps that he has his historical characters act so outrageously, at least Howard Hughes.
Idlewild's first commercial flight was in 1948, and the Hindenburg caught fire over Lakehurst, New Jersey. And now I'm going to check Ellroy's dates of publication and also A Little White Death's.
A Little White Death: 1998.
The Cold Six Thousand: 2001.
Did Ellroy use the Kennedy assassination in American Tabloid?
And could drinkie have been a rakish allusion to hostess bars?
AMERICAN TABLOID ends minutes before the Kennedy assassination; THE COLD SIX THOUSAND begins minutes after it.
P à D, my quick search found no etymology for the -ie ending. I suppose I'd assumed nursery slang had been aroudn forever but then, I was an infant and then a child in the 1960s, so I'd have heard it all my life.
I had noticed lots 0f brekky and such in Australian crime novels and, I think, New Zealand ones as well.
Thanks, Dana. I knew The Cold Six Thousand begins with a cleanup following the Kennedy assassination. I didn't know American Tabloid's plot.
A physician has come to the United States to treat John F. Kennedy for Addison's disease
I've only read one of Lawton's books but I was impressed by the quality of his writing and his humour, although not so much by his narrative skills.
I don't know who the doctor was who treated Kennedy for Addison's disease but I think Lawton has missed a trick in not featuring another of Kennedy's doctors, a man far more dramatically interesting: Max Jacobson (Dr Feelgood, Miracle Max) who treated his patients with his own concoction, the main ingrediant of which was amphetamine. There's an interesting article on the good doctor here.
Lawton's doctor was just a minor figure, and my example is from a prologue.
I think Lawton is at his best as a social commentator, as in this bit from Second Violin. I liked both that book and Black Out better than I did A Little White Dearh. Perhaps wartime is a better setting for examining national character.
I haven't read any Stieg Larsson but I've noticed the amusement of some commenters at how frequently the women end up in bed with the male character in Larsson's books.
I can't say Lawton's Blue Rondo was much different. The word incontinent originally referred to sexual appetites and in that sense most of the characters in Lawton's books seem to suffer from incontinence to an unusual degree, even for the 60s. Still, I suppose a writer has to amuse himself somehow.
Solo, I have also noticed Lawton's tendency to hop Frederick Troy in and out of various beds. I haven't noticed a similar tendency with other characters except in A Little White Death. But then, that book revolves in large measure around a Profumo/Keeler-like affair.
A search for "drinkies nursery slang" leads to quite a few international usages. It seems to be a banal word, with none of the exciting connotations that you indicated.
One of the earliest written appearances of "drinkies" was in 1982.
The only way to be certain is to contact the author.
It's worth nothing that the word is usually plural and this is an interesting occurrence.
I've never been a fan of the -ie suffix. Among other things, it points up English's poverty when it comes to diminutives.
Italian has -ino and -ina, Yiddish has -nik, -chik and -ikl, Dutch has the ubiquitous -je, and English makes do with a stinking -ie?
But I'm not going to get on Lawton's case over one lousy little syllable.
You may be right to ignore this little matter, but it set me thinking and I posted about what I found.
I was subjected to a rigid classical education which encouraged us to leave no stone unturned.
It passed the time nicely in the 1960's and, unlike the misfortunate participants in the story here, kept us off the streets.
I remember the Christine Keeler story very well as it ran for weeks on TV.
I felt really sorry for her, as the men round her seemed so very strange.
No, your comments are of great interest. I like the idea of Petronius, Juvenal and Aristophanes keeping your mind off scandals.
I'm from the wrong country and not quite the right time to have experienced news coverage of the Keeler/Profumo affair. I also don't know how much use John Lawton made of the affair in his novel. But A Little White Death surprised me with its sympathetic treatment of the young women at the heart of its own scandal -- two sisters, one of whom is touchingly protective of the other.
So glad to see someone talking about Lawton, one of my all-time favorites. One thing I love about him is that the mystery that would normally be the novel's core is often shunted into a corner so Lawton can explore a much broader canvas - this is especially true of the Troy books.
Great writer, and a really interesting take, Peter.
There can't be too many better social historians of mid-twentieth-century England than Lawton. The bit with the "Cockney" tailor Billy Jacks in the internment camp in Second Violin must be the funniest, most touching look at national character ever set to paper.
English writers are still fascinated with the early 1960's. I have never lived in England and it is probably as mysterious to me as to you. The French find the sexual mores of "les anglo-saxons" bewildering in the extreme and are amazed at the lack of chivalry that often seems to characterise life in the British Isles.
The one thing that is not surprising (though you say it surprised you) is the solidarity between women in Europe.
I have noticed how competetive American women can be, especially in the workplace.
We ladies have to stick together...
Tales, I was less surprised by the solidarity between the women than I was by the involvement of two women in the affair rather than just one. I don't know if the protective sister is meant to evoke Mandy Rhys-Davies.
The other thing that surprised me was the extend to which the vulnerability of the character presumably based on Christine Keeler. But that aspect talled with the account to which you linked
Have you read A Little White Death? Lawton appears to have based a character closely on Stephen Ward. But I assume it's easier to base minor and supporting characters closely on real people than it is major characters.
Considering that this post is gradually moving down your blog page and is unlikely to be read by many, I answered you question on "Writing in a Twist".
The whole question of creating a character is one that will occupy me for the rest of the day as I hack my way through the jungle in my back garden.
Libel would be especilly close to a British writer's mind, since British libel law places notorious burdens on the defendant, from what I understand, as opposed to U.S. law. As I recall, Lawton goes out of his way to play down similarities between A Little White Death and the Keeler-Profumo affair.
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