Hit the Reading Road with '12 Amazing Bookmobiles'
Wisteria 4/16/15
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Loving Research (for
Bookworm’s Dinner)
by Patricia Bracewell
"I’m going to share with
you a little secret about researching a historical novel: Novelists LOVE the
research. We swoon over it, bathe in it, and struggle to tear ourselves away
from it long enough to write our books. There. Now you know.
My own research process, I
regret to admit, is helter-skelter.
Most of it is done at my desk or in a university library taking notes on
whatever academic tome is open in front of me. Often there are several books
open at once, scattered on the table and even on the floor when I run out of
room.
Sometimes I’ve been more
creative: I’ve taken a summer course in Anglo-Saxon history at Cambridge
University; I’ve exchanged e-mails with a thatcher in England; I’ve gazed
across a tea table at an eminent historian of Anglo-Saxon textiles and whispered,
“Let’s talk about medieval women’s undergarments.”
I was very shy about
approaching experts to ask for help when I first began my research. I’m less so
now. Having a novel published in four languages has done wonders for my
self-confidence.
Some of my research is
done on the internet: consulting databases of articles about the Anglo-Saxons;
studying Old English charters; or exploring the histories of places that I want
to use as settings – whether towns, villages, ancient pathways or stone
circles.
The facts about people’s
lives, though, are not so easy to come by a thousand years on. For example, we
know the names of King Æthelred’s children, but not much more than that. The
dates of their births are historical guesses, not facts. The eldest son,
Athelstan, left a will, and every single thing that we know about him is
contained in that 2-page list of bequests. It isn’t much.
Academics are willing to
speculate a bit about the activities of the historical figures of England’s 11th
century, based on whatever tiny hints they can glean from the historical record
– the chronicles, the charters, the wills, even the Norse sagas. Information in
such documents, though, is often contradictory, leaving even the historians puzzled
about what actually happened. And then there’s the when and the how and the why
to try to establish. That’s where a novelist can give her imagination free
reign while an academic has to be more guarded. For the fiction writer, that’s
where the fun comes in.
Researching
Emma’s life during the years covered by my trilogy, especially in Shadow on the Crown and The Price of Blood, was difficult because
there is almost no record of her at all in those years. Her name is mentioned a
few times in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle and she signs several charters,
indicating that she was at court beside the king on those occasions. One
charter in 1012 is a grant of land from the king to Emma, so historians
conjecture that she gave birth to a son at about that time. But where was she
the rest of the time and what was she doing? Because there was no other direct
reference to Emma, all I could do was bury myself in the history of and make
some conjectures of my own based on what I was able to learn about a queen’s
duties and Emma’s later career.
Frequently
the vagueness of historical records forced me to invent. For instance, the
Anglo-Saxon Chronicle claimed that the Danes attacked London several times in
1009, and that the Londoners always repelled them. But there was no description
of what, exactly, happened when the Danes attacked. I had to make it up based
on my imagination and what I could learn of the military tactics of the time.
Sometimes
I’ve discovered a tiny bit of information that I find really intriguing, and
then I spend a lot of mental effort trying to figure out how to use it in my
story. I wanted to use that gift of property from the king to Emma in 1012 that
I mentioned above, but I couldn’t make it work. It just didn’t fit anywhere. The
information that the thatcher sent me resulted in a terrific scene, but it was
cut in a late draft. When I was at Gladstone’s Library in Wales a few months
ago I learned something fascinating about Swein Forkbeard (not saying what),
and now I’m trying desperately to find a way to include it in the next book. I
guess you could call that the heartbreak of research – all those lovely bits
that don’t make it into the novel. Research – much as we love it, sometimes we
have to let it go."
(by Patricia Bracewell courtesy of Meredith Burks, Viking Press)
Just fyi Pat will be tweeting out interesting #AngloSaxonFact throughout February. You can follow her at @PatBracewell.
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Children of the Jacaranda Tree by Sahar Delijani
BUNKER HILL: A City, A Siege, A Revolution*Ghosts didn’t have much substance; they were composed only of memories and heart. Atop one of Sept-Tours’ round towers, Emily Mather pressed a diaphanous hand against the spot in the center of her chest that even now was heavy with dread.
It had been her witch’s sixth sense that someone was in mortal peril that had steered Emily down the path leading to this moment. But the death she had foreseen was her own.
Does it ever get easier? Her voice, like the rest of her, was almost imperceptible. The watching? The waiting? The knowing?
Not that I’ve noticed, Philippe de Clermont replied shortly. He was perched nearby, studying his own transparent fingers.
Emily’s face fell, and Philippe silently cursed himself. Since she’d died, the witch had been his constant companion, cutting his loneliness in two.
Perhaps it will be easier when they don’t need us anymore, Philippe said more gently. He might be the more experienced ghost, but it was Emily who understood the metaphysics of their situation. What the witch had told him went against everything Philippe believed about the Afterworld.
Diana’s warm alto floated up to the battlements. Diana and Matthew, Emily and Philippe said in unison, peering down on the cobbled courtyard that surrounded the château.
There, Philippe said, pointing at the drive. Even dead, his vampire sight was sharper than any human’s. He was also still more handsome than any man had a right to be, with his broad shoulders and devilish grin. He turned the latter on Emily, who couldn’t help grinning back. They are a fine couple, are they not? Look how much my son has changed.
Vampires weren’t supposed to be altered by the passing of time, and so Emily expected to see the same black hair, so dark it glinted blue; the same celadon eyes, cool and remote as a winter sea; the same pale skin and wide mouth. There were a few subtle differences though, as Philippe suggested. Matthew’s hair was shorter, and he had a beard that made him look even more dangerous, like a pirate. She gasped.
Is Matthew—bigger? . . . Diana looks different, too. More like her mother, with that long coppery hair.
It’s not just Diana’s hair that has changed. Philippe’s face had a look of wonder. Diana is with child—Matthew’s child.
Emily examined her niece more carefully, using the supernatural grasp of truth that death afforded.
Endings. Beginnings, Philippe said with deliberate vagueness. Change.
Diana has always resisted change, Emily said.
That is because she is afraid of what she must become, replied Philippe.