I’m sure all of you have seen the latest dust-up over at AAR, since you don’t live under a rock like I currently do (my rock suspiciously resembles the LSAT Superprep *weeps*), but in case you haven’t, here’s my 100%-accurate-or-your-money-back executive summary of the high points: reader posts opinion about what readers really want, writer of historicals posts a bunch of random, half-cocked crap about Ellora’s Cave and something that comes dangerously close to sounding like anti-intellectual pablum in the course of defending wallpaper historicals, and gets kinda pissy when people point out that she’s kinda fulla crap.
My favorite post so far, however, is by Lydia Joyce. I’ve never read anything she’s written—Veil of Night received excellent buzz but flunked my 15-page test, and now I’m contemplating Music of the Night, but my rock, it is very insistent I stay here for several more weeks—but holy cow, she knocks it out of the ballpark, in terms of expressing exactly what bothers me about a lot of historical romances.
I’m going to take the liberty of quoting her at length here:
“Wallpaper” historicals are, essentially, costume dramas. Yes, the characters dress up in clothes that more-or-less resemble clothing of the period. Yes, characters sip warm lemonade and dance at Almack’s. But the reader can’t really believe for one minute that these people could have actually existed in 1813 (or whenever), nor did the world of the book ever exist. In essence, the readers just can’t believe in the book.
Jane Austen’s books, being entirely rooted in the mores, customs, and foibles of the time, would not be “wallpapers” if written now.
I think the wallpaper effect happens most often because many writers use other romance books as their primary research tool, with a secondary reliance upon books like What Jane Austen Ate… They’ve read tons of historical romance and love the genre, and so they think they really know the time period. Unfortunately, if I restrict my reading to those kinds of sources, the experiences of my characters will rarely deviate from what I’ve already read because that’s as big a world as I could understand. Hence a derivative story with no historical substance and characters that might be my next door neighbors in fancy clothes.
(…)
When people dismiss complaints about “wallpaper historicals” by putting up a “history lesson” as the alternative, I get a little…tetchy. It’s an attack out of left field with nothing at all to do with the issue at hand. Don’t care about accuracy in books? Fine. But don’t imply that anyone who cares about accuracy likes to be lectured or that Judith Ivory and Loretta Chase write “history lessons”.
*insert Candy fistpumping in the air with joy*
That’s not to say that I haven’t read and enjoyed wallpaper historicals. The queen of the wallpaper historical is, in my opinion, Mary Jo Putney. (Authors like Julie Garwood and Johanna Lindsey don’t count, in my opinion, because they didn’t write historical novels so much as novels set in some sort of wacky alternate reality. And we won’t even speak of authors like Connie Mason and Cassie Edwards because…we just won’t.) Putney gets many of her historical details right, but many of her characters behave, speak and think in modern ways.
But despite the exasperation I’ve felt over her characters, I still have a few of her books on my keeper shelves, because damn, that woman knows how to write a compelling love story. The wallpaper historical element, while it may interfere with my enjoyment, isn’t necessarily a dealbreaker for me.
On the flip side, nothing beats a historical that gets the feel right. part of the reason why I enjoy Loretta Chase as much as I do is because she gets the voice dead-on—or, perhaps more importantly, what I perceive as dead-on. I hear a very dry, witty British voice every time I pick up one of her books, and it’s not something I’ve seen any other American romance author accomplish. I enjoy her love stories, but it’s her voice that gives her books that extra zing, and what keeps me coming back for more.
So, where you do you stand in all this? Do you give a shit? Don’t give a shit? Think those of us who care about accuracy are nitpicking prigs? Think those who don’t care about accuracy are troglodytes with compromised palates? Something in between? Let ‘er rip in the comments.
>The heroine is, in fact, ruined and that was the original title of the book. She’s as far gone as she can get. …
So is it a trick? A quick way of packaging her and giving the hero a very bad impression in the first pages of the book? (He doesn’t find it cute at all. He thinks she’s an utter whore.) *shrug* Maybe. But I also thoroughly enjoyed it.
Unmarried women, even duke’s daughters, were pretty expendible. There were a lot more daughters to go around than future dukes. It a surprise she hasn’t been shipped off to Naples and quitely given a small stipend and forgotten!
That said, if she’s doing it to give the locals a heart attack and spite her brother, well, that’d certainly do it…
It a surprise she hasn’t been shipped off to Naples and quitely given a small stipend and forgotten!
Hmm. That gives me an idea for a book.
Second, why does “an incredible ambition and a commitment to do whatever is necessary to sell†necessarily lead to the conclusion that such an author does not love to write? Why are the two ideas mutually exclusive?
I don’t think they’re mutually exclusive, at all. But even in what LauraV quoted from her website, that other side doesn’t really come out strongly to me. As a writer myself—not in fiction, but professionally, nonetheless—I do idealize the process of writing. A sense that a writer doesn’t feel the same way—fair or not—doesn’t *incline* me toward their books. It doesn’t completely deter me, either. And if the books are wonderful, I could care less. But I have to get over the hump to *buy* the book first. One of the reasons I avoid going to lots of writers websites, etc., is that I don’t want to get too mixed up in all the rhetoric around them and their books—I want them to be faceless entitites to some degree when I read, especially if I’m reading a new author. I’ve had several doses of LLG on AAR now, and they’ve each have made me feel like I’ve been slapped across the face (although I thought she was really great in the way she responded to my question, even if I disagreed with a couple of her conclusions). Fair or not, when an author posts on a readers’ messageboard, I get an impression of the authorial persona, and sometimes that impression will stay with me for a while. In LLG’s case, it’s an impression that emerges from multiple variables and that—while not a comment on her as a *person* since I don’t know her—*does* have implications for whether or not I am drawn to her *writing*, especially since I have already been on the fence in terms of purchasing her books.
Imo, nothing LLG said on AAR necessarily leads to your interpretations. And even if her comments did, so what? Again I go back to why that should affect your experience of the text. We are readers. The story is all—well, okay mostly. And if ideally we want the story, the writing, to be all to the author, then the the story, the writing should be the main/sole basis for our own judgements.
I agree; but before I can make a judgment about her *writing* I have to make a judgment about whether to spend my limited book budget money on her books, and *that* judgment can be initially influenced by online behavior. I’m not making judgments about her books based on her political affiliation or whether or not she supports choice or the NRA or whether or not she’s a natural blonde. I’m responding to comments she made about the Romance industry (and the memory of previous comments she’s made on the board) that turned me off, both in tone and content. It’s going to take a while for all that to wear off and for me to go back to disassociating her comments from my decision to pick up one of her books. I’m not running toward Jaid Black’s books right now, either.
For me, this is one of the downsides of authors posting on sites like AAR. Some authors, like Karen Templeton or Kathryn Smith (neither of whom I’ve read, BTW), seem really graceful about how they handle it. Some aren’t. There is one particular incident in which I was involved that ruined, absolutely ruined one particular author’s books for me. In fact, another author (not LLG) who stood up for that author in question was also involved in the recent AAR deal, and neither appearance in any way determined my decision to buy or read her books. My recent run in with Ashworth (well, her run in with me, I think is more accurate) hasn’t turned me away from her books because I’ve already read two that I’ve liked and my opinion hasn’t changed about that. Another author whose books I love but who had a bad day on AAR didn’t—in her defensiveness—turn me away from her books, either. I even recently read an early Bertice Small historical after loudly declaring my total lack of respect for her current work, and you know what? I didn’t love it, but there were elements of the book I really enjoyed. But that initial prompt to buy a book has to be there, and if an author inervenes in that decision in a way that gives me an unwelcoming first impression, well, it may take me a little longer to shake that feeling and be able to approach the work on its own terms. Like I said, this is why I don’t like to visit a lot of author’s websites, especially before I’ve tried their books. It may not be fair, but I think it prevents me from actually judging a book by an author’s online behavior (positive or negative). Even authors whose classy comments or behavior prompt me to buy their books generally have to go through a “cool-off” period on my shelf to keep my impressions as text-based as possible.
I want to explore how attraction and lust blossom and morph into love and friendship. THAT’S the thing that I find interesting enough to keep me reading and writing.
Tonda, what’s the name of your book and has it been published yet?
HEY! someone tell those authors to quit bitchin on the internet and get back to writing!!!!!!!
I WANT NEW BOOKS!!!
i love crackin the whip. lol
So she embraces her reputation and goes with the scandal and pushes it even further. I’d never try to protray her as socially acceptable. Never.
Then you’d have to explain why would she disregard her own family enough to wreck their reputation as well. It’s grossly unfair but that was the way it went in this country years ago. You know, if it’s known that your sister has a very wild reputation, you’d be denied access to certain circles. It doesn’t matter how rich or highly placed you are in the society.
So, you can either a) lock your sister up in your home, hidden from the public for the rest of her natural life, b) marry her off to a willing bridegroom who would do it in return for a lot of money, c) knock common sense into / knock selfishness out of her head, d) murder her, e) shrug it off and live on your estate in seclusion, f) embrace her reputation knowing that you’re also wrecking the entire [present and future] family’s reputation as well as making difficult for you to find a bride of your own, or g) publicly disown your sister and banish her from your estate, leaving her to fend for herself by surviving as – if she wishes to retain her independence – a mistress or an actress.
Historically, g) was a very popular option. FWIW. 😀
Unmarried women, even duke’s daughters, were pretty expendible. There were a lot more daughters to go around than future dukes. It’s a surprise she hasn’t been shipped off to Naples and quitely given a small stipend and forgotten!
I’m fully with you on this, Lydia. There is one real-life case of a daughter, after being publicly disowned by her duke father for being ‘wild’, left in poverty. [Her father made it clear that if anyone in the society would dare to help her would be blacklisted by him and his ‘circle’.] I believed until her death, she tried to survive as a street prostitute but she didn’t make it. She was about 23, I believe. This was during 1830s or thereabouts. [I’d dig up the info if anyone’s interested.]
This is an extreme example, but yeah, daughters in England were pretty expendible.
For Robin: It’s being called LORD SIN (no, I DID NOT get to pick my own title, I wanted to call it INCARNATE). It’s due out next April (I’m hip deep in rewrites and must go off to run a search for “focus” when I can rip myself away from SB).
The “cast off” woman is something I play with in the MS that I’m hoping will be my second book. Accused of adultery, divorced, family won’t have anything to do with her. She takes up with a boiling scandal of a man and her family goes ape shit about how it reflects on them . . . I love this book. My old CPs—who don’t write historicals—railed constantly about why she didn’t just tell them to fuck off and go get a job . . . *SIGH*
If I’m remembering Vicki’s plot well enough, the woman is pretty much hidden away on one of the family’s estates in Scotland; not disowned, but not parading about on her brother’s arm like nothing happened. She’s RUINED and everybody knows it. Are the breeches a short cut for readers . . . probably. I would have kept her in a habit, but then I LOVE historical clothing, love the ins and outs of it. Love how sexy you can make it if you understand how people moved in it. Felt in it. A habit in a Regency setting is HOT, cause it’s one of the few chances you’ll have to show off the heroine’s waist, to have all those skirts riding up (no pun intended), the let your hero get a flash of leg . . . love it.
I always worry that in Romancelandia we go too far in locking our characters out of adventures and behaviors because we’re afraid our readers won’t go along with stuff that ACTUALLY HAPPENED. Truth being WAY stranger than fiction. Of couse, I will readily admit that many of the choices I’ve seen in books over the years were simply silly (and I hate “feisty†heroines *insert sound of me retching here*).
In a medieval romance playing havoc with the male clothing. The 1100 must have for a male was esentually a dress unless in battle. Now I’m broad minded, but I can’t imagine my alpha males pouncing about in a dashing dress. So I fib a bit. I know it a lie but… The same with females actually, in that I hate hats! that is strictly personal, but i also fudge that.
Fudge it how? What they wore is what they wore. Medival clothing can be fun. And it can totally be sexy. Ever gone to an SCA event where one of the serious historical households (like the Company of St. George) were present? Let me tell you, a six-foot-something guy in a cote and surcote with a sword on his hip . . . pretty damn hot.
focus
1644, from L. focus “hearth, fireplace,” of unknown origin, used in post-classical times for “fire” itself, taken by Kepler (1604) in a mathematical sense for “point of convergence,” perhaps on analogy of the burning point of a lens (the purely optical sense of the word may have existed before 1604, but it is not recorded). Introduced into Eng. 1656 by Hobbes. Sense transfer to “center of activity or energy” is first recorded 1796. The verb is first attested 1814 in the literal sense; the fig. sense is recorded earlier (1807).
Getting off the subject of my own book. . . See? I’ve learned from the discussions about AAR and author involvement.
I’m interested to hear what others have to say about societal strata in nineteenth-century England. Because my gut tells me that people were the same then as they are now. And a rich duke (rich!) with a scandalous sister/wife/lover is not the same as a poor baron with the same problem, which is not the same as a local vicar with the same problem. Or a filthy rich merchant who’s trying to marry his family up. Old money. New money. No money at all. New title. Old title. IMHO, there were differences. BIG differences. It was part of what made it so difficult and stressful to work your way through the ton.
But I don’t pretend to be an expert. I mean, not compared with others I know and love who LIVE for the research. People who devour nineteenth-century texts and treatise. That’s not me. But I love what I do and I’d love to hear more about it.
Maili said, ”(…) This was during 1830s or thereabouts. [I’d dig up the info if anyone’s interested.] (…)”
*raising hand timidly* Pretty please?
>>habit in a Regency setting is HOT, cause it’s one of the few chances you’ll have to show off the heroine’s waist, to have all those skirts riding up (no pun intended)<<
Heehee. Riding up. I’m happy to report, Tonda, that she is wearing a riding habit and even a corset(!) in the first sex scene. Mount up! And that lecture you once gave us about how much more heightened sensation can be when having sex in a corset. . . Well, you inspired me, girl. I’m totally going to play with that in my current book. Shallow breath and rising emotions. Oh, yeah.
So, good work, Tonda!
I second azteclady’s request.
Oh, Maili, won’t you please tell us more about the ruined dukes’ daughters? *bats lashes winningly*
Also, Victoria: your comment equating Sarah and me to a hawt BDSM top made me laugh until I snort.
Look, if you have to be tied up, whipped and disciplined, wouldn’t you rather that Sarah and I did it? We’ll at least make it fun.
I always worry that in Romancelandia we go too far in locking our characters out of adventures and behaviors because we’re afraid our readers won’t go along with stuff that ACTUALLY HAPPENED.
I agree, but the problem is far too many authors have their heroines on adventures without any consequences. I don’t mean in a bad way.
For example, if the heroine enjoys playing a game of billards, some of her peers might consider her an outrageous whore while some might shrug and say, “Ah, well, that’s her for you”. A range of reactions, say.
I think having this range of reactions will create a sense of believability. I think for a historical novel to lack these reactions is why some readers might find it hard to believe that it’d happen [even though it *had* happened in real life].
I mean, if you were to buck against an accepted social convention of your time, you have to be prepared that you’ll suffer, one way or another, social consequences, positive or not.
So, if you were caught shagging a hunky duke, you have to accept that there is a very good chance that whether you ended up marrying the duke or not, some will amused, some feel sorry for you while some will shelter their children from you as if you have some kind of a horrible disease.
In Georgian era, gay men were accepted as part of a daily wallpaper while in early Victorian era, they were seen as the Devil’s spawn who deserved to be hanged, and during WWI and slighly onwards, gay men were seen as the mentally ill. It’s a life/social cycle of acceptability, basically.
Likewise for young unmarried women of the Georgian era to have fun with archery, mixed with men, was considered the social norm while later on [mid-Victorian] it wasn’t, yet much later on [the Edwardian era], it was accepted, but with certain conditions.
I think in a way, historical authors don’t always take these factors into account. Hang on, why am I saying all this to you? Based on your comments in the past, Tonda, you do know what you are talking about. Oh, well, I hope someone else will enjoy this. lol!
Meanwhile, I’ll dig up the info on the daughter for you later on. 🙂
Thanks, Tonda, for the info on your book; I’ll look for it next Spring.
I always worry that in Romancelandia we go too far in locking our characters out of adventures and behaviors because we’re afraid our readers won’t go along with stuff that ACTUALLY HAPPENED. Truth being WAY stranger than fiction. Of couse, I will readily admit that many of the choices I’ve seen in books over the years were simply silly (and I hate “feisty†heroines *insert sound of me retching here*).
In addition to Maili’s excellent points, I would also add that an author’s note is sometimes helpful in these situations—at least for me. I agree with you that Romance history seems to shape reader expectations in certain ways, but I always love those little notes authors throw in attesting either to the liberties they’ve taken with a certain history or the fascinating stuff they’ve dug up that really happened.
BTW, medieval beds? Rope, definitely, but the high middle ages. Taking off one’s chemise/smock and sleeping maked was a cultural indication of a willingness for sex. “I have a headache, dear,” was signified by leaving the chemise on. The last layer was typically taken off in bed and shoved under the pillow until morning—and if you want to know how freaking long it took to find THAT out, well, it was s darned long time.
>I’m interested to hear what others have to say about societal strata in nineteenth-century England. Because my gut tells me that people were the same then as they are now.
Yes and no. Social position in 1807 was determined a good 95% by birth, except at the very lowest levels (lower middle class was permeable to the low class, and anyone who didn’t inherit could FALL to the lowest class). Around 1840, things had changed very little in the noble classes, but at everything below, there was some major moving and shaking going on. By the 1860s, the first rich heiresses had fully permeated the highest levels, and by the 1880s, they were a fairly common sight and, in fact, were usually richer than the nobles. By the 00’s, the mixture of nobility and the merchant/industrialist rich was a fact of life, but it didn’t mean everyone was happy about it.
>And a rich duke (rich!) with a scandalous sister/wife/lover is not the same as a poor baron with the same problem, which is not the same as a local vicar with the same problem.
AbsoLUTELY. Dukes married actresses now and again. A vicar could never get away with it.
>Old money. New money. No money at all. New title. Old title.
Depends on how new “new” is for the title and what the recipient was before.
Nobility, county gentry, large farmers, small business owners (shopkeepers, butchers, etc), the enterprising classes, the non-enterprising white-collar classes, the laboring classes, the very poor… Not only were they stratified, groups of approximately the same level separated themselves, too, though the farther down you go the less separation there tends to be.
>It was part of what made it so difficult and stressful to work your way through the ton.
Actually, the age of the “ton” was probably the simplest (if you were in the ton, that is) because it was so very exclusive. You didn’t see any industrialists daughters (unless they happened to be runaways who turned into actresses and married a duke 😉 ).
Likewise for young unmarried women of the Georgian era to have fun with archery, mixed with men, was considered the social norm while later on [mid-Victorian] it wasn’t, yet much later on [the Edwardian era], it as accepted, but with certain conditions.
Ah, the vague whiff of history. It’s history-esque!
I see this problem with a lot of contest entries I judge (and less frequently in books, thank god). If it’s not dated I have NO idea what era (let alone what year) we’re in. Or I’m only able to figure it out because they drop one BIG clue (e.g. Brummell, Queen Victoria, etc.), rather than painting a full picture with lots of little clues that would help me along (and usually there are lots of wrong clues about the clothes, furnishings, and social mores that make me what to tear my hair out).
Don’t let me get started on the NYT Bestselling author who apparently has no conception that the flowing gowns of the first decade of the 19th century are long gone by the 1820s and 1830s, and that the waists have radically shifted back to, well, the waist.
So many people have their view of what women/people behaved like strongly coloured by Victorian ideas and sentiments. The wild women of the 18th century were very different from their descendants. Much like most believe that all corsets were designed to nip in the waist and shift a women’s internal organs about.
I’ve also been known to call this syndrome “history saladâ€.
I’ve tried to stay away from this discussion because I can get pretty gregarious when it comes to debunking the “history” held as the gospel truth in historical romances. Georgette Heyer is seen as the gospel truth even though her version of the Regency era was filtered through the era in which she grew up, not to mention her own personal stylistic tics.
The problem I have with the “Regency” Historical is that even 1800-1820 can be divided into separate eras with their own particular manners and modes. And like Tonda, I love and adore historical costume—part of the reason why I write within the Edwardian era—and costume actually is a better indicative of the mores and manners than reading secondary sources and even primary sources(I’m smug b/c I’ve been able to get my hands on memoirs written by late Victorians/Edwardians).
RE: Victoria’s Q: the lower the social circle, the more “prudish” one was. The lower classes were quite rigid in their mores and manners compared to the upper echelons of society. And much like many, many people think they know how people acted in each particular period(or worse, a grand, sweeping generalization that everyone acted the same whether it was an Elizabethan damsel or a Victorian lady,etc), the inhabitants of the lower circles aped the mores and manners they thought the upper circles assumed(which were natural to them, therefore they knew how to bend the rules)—and even then, the court circles were a lot more rigid than the circles around influential nobility or royalty(as in the case of The Marlborough House Set) and when there was a public fall from grace, the lower and middle classes pilloried that fallen aristocrat(or Bertie!) more than the aristocrats.
I’ve tried to stay away from this discussion because I can get pretty garrulous when it comes to debunking the “history” held as the gospel truth in historical romances. Georgette Heyer is seen as the gospel truth even though her version of the Regency era was filtered through the era in which she grew up, not to mention her own personal stylistic tics.
The problem I have with the “Regency” Historical is that even 1800-1820 can be divided into separate eras with their own particular manners and modes. And like Tonda, I love and adore historical costume—part of the reason why I write within the Edwardian era—and costume actually is a better indicative of the mores and manners than reading secondary sources and even primary sources(I’m smug b/c I’ve been able to get my hands on memoirs written by late Victorians/Edwardians).
RE: Victoria’s Q: the lower the social circle, the more “prudish” one was. The lower classes were quite rigid in their mores and manners compared to the upper echelons of society. And much like many, many people think they know how people acted in each particular period(or worse, a grand, sweeping generalization that everyone acted the same whether it was an Elizabethan damsel or a Victorian lady,etc), the inhabitants of the lower circles aped the mores and manners they thought the upper circles assumed(which were natural to them, therefore they knew how to bend the rules)—and even then, the court circles were a lot more rigid than the circles around influential nobility or royalty(as in the case of The Marlborough House Set) and when there was a public fall from grace, the lower and middle classes pilloried that fallen aristocrat(or Bertie!) more than the aristocrats.
oops! Delete post 1:22!
I’m still reading the latest comments, but I was reminded by Maili’s and Tonda’s and Robin’s posts—as well as Lydia Joyce’s—about foot and endnotes. For me, they can be the most interesting part of the book.
Gaelen Foley’s “Knight’s Miscellany” for example, is less ‘fluffy/wallpapery’ for me because of the historical precedent.
Aside: you know, I was an innocent just a few months ago when I started reading SBTB. Now my blog list numbers in the dozens and my ‘need to try’ author and book list grows daily. I need to work on winning the lottery…
(thank you, Candy and SBSara)
Ok, finally took my butt over to AAR to read some of the posts . . . all I can say is Robin and Lydia are my new queens.
God I love INTELLIGENT debate.
In case it wasn’t obvious before, I have no life, and here’s proof:
On accuracy (and some good ole copyediting!) check out what Miss Snark had to say back in August
http://misssnark.blogspot.com/2005/08/fact-checkingyet-again.html
Veeery interesting debate (Hi Kate!).
As a non-intellectual (by anyone’s definition!), I have to harken back to a high school English lesson to wade into this one. Dear Mr. Harvey presented us with the song “Mr. Tambourine Man”, and the supposition that the lyric “play a song for me,” was a code for buying drugs. Hmm. Then someone inevitably waved her hand and said that Bob Dylan (I think he wrote it but like some disparaged authors I am too lazy to research) had stated the song was, in fact, not at all about drugs. And so ensued a discussion about whether the only meanings to works of creative writing are infused by the writer (Ans: Of course not). The readers’ interpretations, as well as the attitudes and mores of the time of writing/publishing, come into play. Even if the songwriter did not intend the work to be about drugs, the subculture and time that he was a part of influenced the interpretation of it for decades to come.
Looking backwards, could an author in 2006 possibly capture the world of historical England without bringing in ideas and thoughts that reflect 2006? Could readers interpret it without applying modern reasoning and perception? Of course not. It’s bloody impossible (or so I say. darn it, I have fallen into the trap of putting IMHO as a disclaimer). No one – even the formidable Judith Ivory – can get it perfect. We have only interpretations of historical artifacts to help us determine what is realistic versus what is not. Some authors, admittedly, do not make very much effort. I went to school with Katidid and we had a derisive laugh together over the Katie MacAllister “Arctic Canada” gaffe. However, I concede it is possible that the author intended to show the character’s ignorance and lack of map-reading skills rather than her own. Maybe the author knows that Hamilton in August is a smoggy, sulphur-and- doughnut-scented oven, and folk young and old gather on Hess Village’s patios with beverages to combat the heat.
Truth is sometimes stranger than fiction. Someone once told me they couldn’t finish Linda Howard’s Mr. Perfect because the heroine drove a Viper in winter in suburban Michigan. You know what? I live in Toronto and see sports cars on the roads in winter. Just because I think it’s weird doesn’t mean it can’t happen.
So this is my point – what the reader can tolerate, in terms of “accuracy,” is a personal decision. Someone, somewhere, noticed the gaffe and still loved the book. If as a group we lump historicals into wallpaper or not, realistic or not, Austen-like or not, I think we’re fooling ourselves. None of us know, for 100% sure, what a “realistic” thought process was in 1800s England. It’s also unique to the character. Even good ol’ Jane might have bent the reality rules a teeny bit sometimes for the sake of character development and plot. It’s possible. And unless someone time travels from 1812 to correct me, I will refuse to believe otherwise! 😉
And after writing all that I looked through the posts again and realized that Camilla made this point much more succinctly and clearly with her reference to Georgette Heyer’s writing being filtered through her perceptions, but hey, after all that typing I’ve gotta post.
I can’t argue that we don’t know a lot of stuff . . . the never ending debate about what women did when they got their period is my favorite example of we just freaken don’t know.
But there are some things which are simply FACTS, such as laws. They can be looked up and verified. The bastard son of an English peer does not inherit the title even if his parents marry after his birth. I’ve seen this particular law contravened in more than one book . . . and while the author might simply have wanted to tie everything up in a neat package which would appease modern sensibilities, it could also be that she’s just so lazy that she didn’t bother to learn even the most basic rules governing inheritance in 19th century England.
Willful tampering or willful ignorance?
I’m not particularly forgiving of either. We suddenly shifted from an historical romance to a work of pure fantasy. It wasn’t what I’d been promised in the blurb. It wasn’t what I’d paid good money for. And yeah, I felt cheated.
The skill of writing historical romances lies in the ability to create a plot that both entertains the modern reader and is both historically possible and plausible. It’s that skill that I read for. That art. If history salad was good enough I’d just throw in the towel and read fantasy/paranormal romances, where the contract with the reader promises no such balance*.
*Please note that this is NOT a slight on paranormal historicals, or paranormals in general. It is simply that once you’ve crossed over into a “reality†that accepts ghosts, or time travel, or vampires, etc. you’re no longer firmly grounded in HISTORY and my expectations are likewise of a different variety.
Something I’ve been thinking about today dovetails with Jen D’s post. I still reckon that most writers fall somewhere along a range rather than being in one or other camp. It runs from an attempt at total faithfulness to existing historical evidence to Tonda’s wonderful concept of “history saladâ€: a few mixed Heyer leaves, some thinly-sliced Quinn and a handful of grated Cartland. Where they fit largely depends on the answer to the question why they’ve chosen to use particular historical setting. I’ll leave you to decide where “really pretty dresses†falls.
Even though I love a well-researched historical novel, I don’t treat it as a source of historical fact anymore than I would The Da Vinci Code. At the end of the day, it’s a work of fiction. As a textual source it will have more to say about the era it’s written in than the one in which it’s set (although footnotes and a bibliography are a wonderful thing, I’m jest sayin’).
At the end of the day, lack of evidence and the imprint of our own cultures mean that any interpretation we come up with of an historical period can only be approximate. Even if a writer managed to come up with a novel that was a completely accurate, right down to the tiniest placement of a comma, it would still be filtered through the experiences of its modern readers. We might try to emulate Austen but she was a contemporary writer. The experience I have of reading her books is bound to differ from that of her original intended audience. That her work still has meaning is a testament to her talent and skill.
From this point of view, it could be argued that every historical novel is a kind of fantasy, albeit one based on greater or lesser amount of evidence. For better or worse, I tend to keep this at the back of my mind when I’m reading one. It helps when I come across anomalies and anachronistic weirdness. It’s like the cock/rooster thing. I’ve come across the word rooster in a number of regencies, but as far as I’m aware it’s an American term from the Victorian period. “Cock†was more usual in England until the middle of the twentieth century, if not later. But “cock†might create the wrong impression among modern readers. What to do? Avoid it? Footnote it? Use another word?
The road to authenticity is filled with innumerable potholes, and I’m pretty tolerant of minor ones. On the other hand, what bothers me is when I don’t understand why the writer bothers with the setting at all; when the challenges it creates are trampled over rather than explored. If the society you write about is rule-bound, it’s rather disappointing to have the rules thrown out of the window for no real reason other than the requirement for a happy ending. If all a writer is interested in are muslin frocks and ringlets, that’s fine, but I’ll be looking for more substance elsewhere in the novel.
Also, it really disturbs me that the only possible alternative to the stereotype of pre-feminist women as meek and passive when they aren’t vicious and shallow is to have a heroine with the attitudes, behaviour and mindset of a late twentieth century American woman (apart from the virginity… or maybe not, she writes, thinking of a recent debate). What does it say when this behaviour is the only kind that is rewarded with “true loveâ€, while her contemporaries are condemned to miserable marriages of convenience? What does it say that men who wear lace or write poetry are often foppish figures of fun (unless they’re Byron) when contrasted with the clean-shaven, horse-riding hero?
I don’t object to these things in a book per se, but I dislike the way that this has become a shortcut to characterisation. Not only does it strike me as lazy, but thoughtless use of these stereotypes without thought runs the danger of fostering certain attitudes. When the hero dresses in black so that the feisty heroine in trousers can spot him easily without her glasses, my reading-brain loses the will to live.
(But if I ever know anyone who decides to write a historical novel, guess who I’m going to make them get to beta-read it?)
I can’t argue that we don’t know a lot of stuff . . . the never ending debate about what women did when they got their period is my favorite example of we just freaken don’t know.
No, but we have some *clues* that allow us to do some fair reconstructive work on the “period” issue (dumb pun intended). As EAP said, we’re already talking about fiction and the filtering of information through a number of lenses, so this is not about creating a polaroid moment. But still, with all the bits and pieces of entire societies across history, we have enough, what with all the factual data and the texts produced during various periods and not long afterward, to make some fairly educated suppositions about what the world “back then” (wherever that is) might have looked like around two fictional lovers. So I absolutely agree with your differentiation between the work of “pure fantasy” and the work of “historical Romance.”
I like to think of historical reconstruction as a series of conversations—between texts of the time, between historians, between readers and writers across time, etc.—and the author of historical fiction (whether it be Romance or not) one more voice to enter those conversations. While I certainly would never think readers should count on the perfect *accuracy* of historical Romance, I don’t think we should have to count on its historical element being counterfeit, either.
I realize that it’s hard for me to see this issue outside of my own love for history. Because to me, when I travel down all those windy paths and inconvenient and unexpected detours it’s never NOT a rewarding experience. Heck, I don’t know how historical Romance authors can keep from generating more story ideas than they know what to do with, just by reading primary and secondary historical sources. It’s already been said in this thread multiple times: the truth is stranger than fiction. How can Romance want for original stories when there’s so much out there in the historical records (and I don’t mean the stuff you have to dust off in the rare book room of the library)?
[W]hat bothers me is when I don’t understand why the writer bothers with the setting at all; when the challenges it creates are trampled over rather than explored.
This, in a beautiful nutshell, has been my longwinded point all along. As usual I salaam to EvilAuntiePeril.
No, but we have some *clues* that allow us to do some fair reconstructive work on the “period†issue.
And Robin, if you have ANYTHING about how women dealt with their courses pre-Victorian I’d LOVE to have the source. I teach workshops on the history of women’s undergarments and I get asked this question EVERY TIME. I’ve never been able to find anything earlier than about 1850 (not even by appealing to the medical history buffs on the Barber Surgeon’s loop).
I’ve read lots of stuff about medical pessaries, and people saying that “if they used them to administer medicine or prevent conception it makes sense that they’d have used them as tampons, too†but I’ve never found any actual documentation of them being used as such.
And Robin, if you have ANYTHING about how women dealt with their courses pre-Victorian I’d LOVE to have the source. I teach workshops on the history of women’s undergarments and I get asked this question EVERY TIME. I’ve never been able to find anything earlier than about 1850 (not even by appealing to the medical history buffs on the Barber Surgeon’s loop).
My understanding has always been that women fashioned their own sanitary napkins out of cloth (not disposable, obviously), but I can’t remember the source. I do remember thinking well of Janet Mullaney when she used that detail in Dedication, but damn if I remember where I read that little tidbit originally. I will look around, though, to see if I can find it and let you know.
>>I’ve come across the word rooster in a number of regencies, but as far as I’m aware it’s an American term from the Victorian period. “Cock†was more usual in England until the middle of the twentieth century, if not later. But “cock†might create the wrong impression among modern readers. What to do? Avoid it? Footnote it? Use another word?<<
You could use the word ‘cockerel’. That’s been around since the 1400s. It’s maybe not as common as ‘cock’, and it sounds archaic now, but it would probably do. I’d say ‘cock’, and I think that’s the term used most often today in the UK to describe the bird. If you wanted to mention the cockerels/cocks being used to fight, though, you’d have to call it ‘cock-fighting’.
There are also birds called tits (e.g. blue-tits, coal-tits etc) and shags (a bird like the cormorant), so perhaps avoid ornithologist heroes 😉 . And I’ve sometimes seen American plants and animals turning up in regency-set romances [and not as rare species or in a zoo], which is a bit annoying.
It’s gone, all gone! Laurie must have been counting the seconds until she could switch that topic out!
New ATBF column—writing from a male POV, featuring Bob Mayer and the male half of Tori Carrington. Hmmm. Do you think most readers notice that the male POV’s are overwhelmingly created by women? I wonder if that’s one of the reasons the romance part of Mayer/Crusie’s DLD didn’t work for me; it was a *real* male writing the male POV. Now there’s a revolutionary thought. How often does the romance in Romance depend on the female author reproducing the male POV? I haven’t read the Carrington books, but maybe in a collaborative situation you have to work together for a while to build a collaborative voice that allows for romance and not just sex. Of course I still think the Curtises are the BEST, but then again, they were married. Interesting.
My understanding has always been that women fashioned their own sanitary napkins out of cloth (not disposable, obviously), but I can’t remember the source.
This is the common assumption, and clearly what we would all do if magically transported into the past, but I’ve never found any documentation to back this up. Hence I have to leave it in the “we just don’t know†category.
Medical texts that speak about excess monthly bleeding talk about treatments, but don’t make any mention of how to deal with flow. The Museum of Menstruation site has quite a bit of Victorian reference that seems to imply that women did NOTHING, just letting the blood soak into their clothes (YUCK!). I’m highly doubtful of this theory not only because it just sounds too messy to even contemplate, but because if it were true I would expect a large portion of the extant chemises to be stained, and none of the ones I’ve ever seen are.
From the Online Etymology Dictionary
rooster: 1772, from roost (earlier roost cock, 1606), in sense of “the roosting bird,” favored in the U.S. as a puritan alternative to cock.
I DO know that one of the earliest uses of the process of waterproofing cloth with rubber was used for making sort of….aprons you wear backwards under your clothes. Argh, there was tons of Victorian info from that source, and now I can’t remember what it was.
I should have asked my grandmother about her mother and grandmother. She probably knew. I DID wask about when women started shaving their legs!
I know from my grandmother [born in the late 1910s] that ‘monthly rags’ were used in rural Mexico—does that help anyone?
There’s tons of documentation post 1850. You can find medical info, patents for belts, extant knit pads, etc.. What I can’t find is anything earlier. I can answer this for writers interested in the Victorian era. I’ve never heard of any kind of menstruation apron, but it wouldn’t surprise me. Sulfur-based vulcanization is invented about 1840 (years for the invention vary, depending on who you think invented it). By the 1860s (and maybe earlier) rubber condoms are available.
Personally, I’m interested in the Georgian era, but when I teach I get asked about menstruation back to Medieval times. And the attendees are not particularly satisfied with “I’ve never been able to document thatâ€, let me tell you.
Though I do have to say, I don’t plan on EVER addressing such a topic in one of my books. I may aspire to something more vivid than “wallpaperâ€, but I have no desire to be as gritty as The Crimson Petal and the White.
By the 1860s (and maybe earlier) rubber condoms are available.
I’ve read quite a few regencies where French Letters are mentioned. Were they available at that time?
When the hero dresses in black so that the feisty heroine in trousers can spot him easily without her glasses, my reading-brain loses the will to live.
Wallpaper vs. Historical accuracy, hmm…
I’m rather fond of historicals, though it isn’t what you would call love per se.
For me it is all about the story.
Sometimes I want stimulating conversation and seduction and sometimes I want to be ridden hard and put up wet (literally)… it really just depends on my mood.
If I want to enter another period of time I will read contemporary writing from that period. Austin, Wharton, James… but I won’t touch the Bronte Sisters because they bore me to tears.
When I read historical romance I want a ring of the authentic with an engaging story. I like Judith Ivory and look forward to reading both Lydia Joyce and Camilla Bartley, because I am interested in their stories and voice.
But there are times when I just want a lot of bodice ripping by alpha males and damsels sans knickers with mused hair, and I don’t care how you get me there.
In my mind, comparing the two is an apple and oranges conversation. A battle for equality while serving two different masters, there’s no win-win in that and there should be.
I think the problem occurs when those among us want to create a hierarchy, saying that one is “better†than the other.
Anti-intellectualism and snobbery are two sides of the same coin IMO.
In short I think that both should strive to know who they are and aim to be the absolute best.
There is room for both, but only if the quality is good. ~W
I’ve read quite a few regencies where French Letters are mentioned. Were they available at that time?
Yes. Those are made of intestines, and were readily available in Covent Garden during the Regency. They came in packs of 8 or 10, each condom in it’s own little envelope, all of them in a box.
Here’s a picture of one:
http://www.ingenious.org.uk/media/4.0_SAC/webimages/1032/6/10326141_3.jpg
It’s interesting to note that the French called them “English Overcoats:. LOL!