Before I start this – please remember I’m talking generalisations, about the zeitgeist. There are always exceptions to the rule, always exceptional people and situations, but citing their examples doesn’t make it the norm. Authors generally work with the fringes, with the exceptions, so there’s a real danger that they can become regarded as the reality.
The problem with historical novels is hindsight. There are so many expectations about the historical novel, and they’re based on relatively modern schools of thought. Much like a Regency gentleman in a novel calling another Regency gentleman “paranoid.” It sounds normal to us, but that’s because we’re the other side of the great psychoanalysis revolution.
I write historicals set in the mid eighteenth century, and even the word “class” wouldn’t have come naturally to the average Georgian. The term “working class” was meaningless. Everyone did some kind of work, didn’t they? Aristocrats worked hard to maintain their estates and build their reputations and that of the country. The farmer worked hard to enrich the land and enrich himself in the process. Oh yes, there were slackers in every part of society, but on the whole most people knew their place and worked to make the best of it.
And in those days, ‘knowing your place’ didn’t carry any sense of superiority or inferiority, it meant what it said. You knew where you belonged but that didn’t stop you aspiring to improve your situation, mainly by making more money. There were no legal barriers preventing you from going as high as you wanted and had the ability for. The British were always proud of that. In theory a beggar could become a duke, and over time, some did, although it might take centuries. However, the family of an upstart Cit went from adventurer to Prime Minister to Earl in the breathtaking space of two generations, so it could be done, and of course, in Charles II’s time, several women went from the streets to becoming duchesses. The Pitts, older and younger, were hugely wealthy and hugely powerful, but until the older Pitt was given the title of earl as his reward for being Prime Minister, they remained commoners. Nell Gwynne, actress and prostitute became the mother of two dukes. The ancestry of many of Britain’s most influential families had their roots in the gutter. And may were proud of that, too.
So many modern writers have assumed that the duke didn’t have anything to do except enjoy the wealth and title, and the title often seems as important as the holdings that went with it. There were very few dukes in Georgian Britain, and they weren’t always as powerful or wealthy as some earls, or even misters. Dukes would also have no time to be a spy, and wouldn’t have considered it if they were. The person who rehabilitated the spy and made it seem glamorous was Ian Fleming. Before that, the spy was considered not a gentleman because he had to lie and cheat to obtain his goal. Even in the army, the spying was played down and not made much of, although at times it was important to the country.
The first person to use class analysis in any way was the social reformer William Cobbett, born in 1763, whose description of the country in “Rural Rides,” published in the 1820’s, including the phrase “the middling sort” – the first reference to the middle classes, who by the 1820’s were more of a cohesive whole and the rising influence in the land. The gulf between richest and poorest was growing into a yawning chasm.
The concept of class and the attached connotations of “better” and “worse” didn’t really emerge until the Victorian era, when hypocrisy and moral condemnation came in with the rise of the bourgeoisie. Social reformers like Friedrich Engels, Mrs. Gaskell and the Manchester group began to question accepted norms, as a result of seeing the suffering of the poor in the newly industrialised cities. Engels corresponded with Karl Marx, and he undertook a formal model of British society as he knew it – and we’re now well into Victorian times.
Basically, Marx developed the notions of class that we have today from a series of disparate notions that were floating about at the time. So applying the idea to a pre-Marxian time isn’t exactly accurate. And I’m speaking here about Marx as a social historian, not Marx as a social reformer. In British schools and universities, his historian aspect is a compulsory course of study. In the States, because of the Cold War, mention of Marx brings up visions of communism and extremism. Modern Marxist historians like John Berger have added to the body of knowledge about history, and while Marx is banned, Berger is often a set text.
In the Georgian era, if the average British person hated anyone, it was the foreigner. They weren’t trusted, were seen as wrong-headed, and the Brit always considered himself superior to the people across the 20 odd miles of the English Channel (or La Manche, depending on which side of it you were). In France, unlike Britain, there were clear legal barriers why a peasant could never become a duke and an intimate of the King. The Brits were always proud of that fluidity in their society.
And let’s be clear – the English did not hate the Scots, or vice versa. Scottish noblemen mostly saw themselves as part of the nobility (their accents, habits and way of life were identical). When the Clearances came to a head in the early nineteenth century, most of the Acts of Parliament were initiated by Scots noblemen and opposed by English ones as inhuman and cruel.
The Jacobite rebellion was led by a man who was as much Italian and French as he was Scots, and as soon as the 1745 failed he went back to Italy and never returned. He didn’t answer any petitions from the people he’d helped to ruin, and turned into an alcoholic wife-beater. The Scots were abandoned. But there were a lot of Englishmen ruined, too. The Jacobite rebellion drew in the strongly Catholic county of Lancashire, and other Catholic strongholds, and many Scots refused to take part, as they were Protestants and had no desire to bring back the Papists. It was observed that Scotland could have been a great nation, if its people weren’t so busy fighting each other. Clan against clan, the despair of every monarch, whether lowland Scot or Englishman (or even German) who tried to rule them.
In the Georgian era, Britain’s relationship with Ireland was relatively smooth. Only relatively, though, and I don’t even want to begin on the headache that is the Irish Question, as Gladstone put it. Being married to a second generation Irishman, I kind of straddle both worlds, and even thinking about it hurts.
It’s amazing how much of our own baggage we bring into what we write without even noticing, and the American concept of equality and democracy all factors into it. To a European, the differences jar and are obvious, but since most of the readers are Americans they don’t notice. And why should they? It’s not a matter of schooling, it’s a matter of understanding, and as I learned when I started to write contemporaries, it’s damned hard to ‘get it’ if you’re not brought up to it.
Since I started writing contemporary romances, albeit paranormals, and writing American heroes and heroines, I’ve become even more aware of the differences in attitude and approach. The big difference is that I have American editors who never hesitate in putting me right (thank goodness!). But American writers of historicals tend to have American editors, so not only inaccuracies of fact get through, but attitude and assumptions. Then I discovered that Americans have classes, and they are so complex that I can’t get my stupid British head around them.
When I wrote Chemistry of Evil, I wanted to make my hero, Evan Howell, New York old money. Although born in the class of rich WASP easterners, he went to jail, and several sources assured me that would make him unacceptable, although he might have been accepted by West Coast old money, as they were a completely different set of people. Argh! I got so confused by the arcane never-written-always-understood rules that I gave up and made Evan a different kind of person altogether. I studied a bit more and I’ve tried again, in the upcoming Red Heat. Please let me know if I got it wrong. I had never realised that American society is as full as classes, albeit of a different kind, than the British, and it wasn’t all based on money. If Evan was as rich as Croesus, I was assured that he wouldn’t have been acceptable to the upper echelons of New York old money.
Ten years ago Laura Kinsale, Mary Jo Putney and even Jo Beverley, who is after all British by birth, were completely new names to me. Thanks to a wonderful lady I will refer to as The Duchess, since she’s a bit shy of putting herself out there, I was introduced to the wonders of the American authored historical romance. I wallowed in Liz Carlyle, the ladies above and many others, and since she didn’t send any guidance in her ‘care packages,’ boxes of books I opened like it was Christmas, I discovered for myself which I loved and which I didn’t. There are authors lauded for their accuracy that I just can’t read because the assumptions are so wrong. They get the historical details right, but not the way society worked. Maids as best friends, dukes as spies, ladies posing as servants, well born virgins falling into bed with the nearest man with no mention or consideration of marriage, people disappearing from society for months on end with nobody wondering about them: none of these work well for me. Below stairs was as stratified, if not more, than above.
But in the interests of accuracy, I have to say that of course some people considered themselves superior to others. It could be brain-power, it could be wealth. It could be family and in Britain, family networks often superseded anything else. It could be “birth,” but that’s where one of the misunderstandings
arise, and it’s a subtle and tricky difference to understand. You were as good as your social network, and that depended on family influence to a great extent. In the county, the gentry were a tight-knit network of nepotism and influence, blending with other officials, like the vicars and bishops, and the lawyers. They weren’t, however, a homogenous class and they didn’t view themselves as such. The prosperous shopkeeper, the farmer and the country vicar might have similar interests. The aristocracy were similarly linked, and then there were the wealthy Cits, a very underplayed section of society in the modern romance novel. (Would you read a book about a Cit, one of the wealthy London merchants and bankers? I’ve long wanted to write one).
And where do I get this from? The historian’s friend, primary data. The letters, books, parish records, journals, newspapers, diaries, novels, poetry, account books and legal records written at the time. Pope’s “Rape of the Lock,” the collections of the letters of society gossips Horace Walpole and Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, novels like Fielding’s Tom Jones and Richardson’s Pamela, the scandalous Newgate Calendar, periodicals like The Spectator and The Lady’s Monthly Museum, accounts of the proceedings of Parliament, parish records and court rolls. And many of these have been put online, so that makes it even better. Sometimes I stop long enough to write something. And because this is primary data, I have to form an opinion on them in order to write a cohesive book.
As they say, your mileage may vary. But this is mine.
Fascinating piece, Lynne.
One of the reasons why I decided not to write about the British Isles was the fear of not getting it right and I’m one of those that wants to be right!
I think I was one of those that responded when you writing about Evan. I worked for several years at a nursing home in DC that was connected to the British Embassy through its establishment over 130 years ago. It counted the wives of several presidents, senators, etc as volunteers.
We had so many volunteers named Mitzy and Bitsy and Muffin and Chip and Bobo — that it was a joke. The wealthy give each other these silly nicknames. They called the residents inmates and spent as little time as possible actually in contact with them. So much easier to merely write the check.
You had , of course, the “lace curtain Irish” of the Kennedy clan, the Hyde Park crew, and that Eastern moneyed bunch.
I’m a tenement gal myself. So I decided that those would be the folks I’d write about.
OT, cracking up about “The Tudors” on Amercian cable. Still, it’s fun to watch some of those pretty boys. And the writer did say he was creating “entertainment” not a documentary.
Yes, you did help, Jeanne, and I’m forever grateful. I ventured into the world of the WASP again for Red Heat, and I called the hero’s mother Bunny. It seems so strange, all these cutesy nicknames for such formidable women!
The Tudors! (smacks hand to forehead). I lasted 20 minutes. And why should “entertainment” not be accurate, too? What makes accuracy boring? Going on and on about it, yes, sure, that would be pretty tedious, but you know, just getting it right? #epicfail.
The Tudors — American audiences do not want to know that Henry VIII was obese with a festering wound by the time he met Catherine Howard. They’d much rather believe he was about 30 years old and looked a bit like Elvis, the only King we recognize! LOL
Everything about it drives me nuts except it’s so pretty looking! LOL
Interesting article, Lynne. I wonder though if the majority of readers ‘care’ about some of the historical accuracy. Is it not just those who really understand the country and the period who are bothered? I don’t like phrases used out of the period in which the story is set but the idea of dukes spying or virgins throwing themselves at the nearest handsome man doesn’t bother me. If we only wrote the truth it would be so dull. I should add that I don’t watch TV so I haven’t seen the tudors. I have read nearly all of Phillipa Gregory’s books though. Are they historically accurate? Do I care? Not really. They were great stories and I was entertained. That’s all I ask for in a novel.
Barbara, I write for me first and foremost. I have to, otherwise I’d never finish! I want to take pride in my work, so I do make sure that when I use historical facts, I get them as right as I can.
One of the best ways is to look at history and find an example. For almost everything I write about, I’ve found a real life example, which I’ve taken and dramatised. There were no spying dukes. You don’t really have to know why, although it helps, but because it wasn’t done for whatever reason, the book enters the realms of superficiality.
I’m not against reading it, and let’s face it, I’ve read and enjoyed lots of superficial but fun books myself, but I won’t write it.
This isn’t a fantasy world, or it shouldn’t be, it’s a world with reality attached, and with that comes depth. One of the reasons so many fantasy worlds don’t work for me is the shallowness of the world. Dig deep and – nothing.
The truth was far from dull. If anything, I tone things down for my books. Who would believe the life of Elizabeth Chudleigh if it wasn’t real? Who could believe that a commoner fooled the whole of society when she wore a veil and called herself Princess Cariboo? How about Mary Blandy, who killed her father because a stranger hoodwinked her into doing it?
When Laura Kinsale wrote “Flowers From The Storm,” critics thought she’d taken liberties with history by introducing a strict Puritan sect in the centre of London. But they hadn’t heard of the Shoreditch Community.
You can’t replicate the sheer depth and complications of a rich, integrated society and a system. Not unless you’re Tolkein and you’re willing to devote a life’s study to it. So why not use what is there, and then why try to twist it into something it isn’t? Take what’s there and you have material for life. Impose modern mores and standards on it, and you’ve turned it into wallpaper.
Great article, Lynne.
I was just wondering the other day why so many of us American authors choose to set our novels in Britain, where we’re betrayed by our “Americanisms” whether we know it or not. Even spelling can betray us. I realized as soon as my latest book was published that I had used the American spelling for the word “Honorable.”
However, American historicals just don’t appeal to me, and I imagine other writers feel the same. Maybe it’s in our blood to write about Britain because so many of our ancestors originally came to this country from yours. But I do agree with you that those of us who do choose to write something set in a particular historical era should try to get it as right as we can. Anachronistic behavior by one of the characters will jolt me out of a good story. And if the author wants the characters to have modern morals and habits, why not just write a contemporary romance, instead?
Hi Lynne – great piece. As a native Brit but almost 30 year US resident I sometimes get confused myself when writing my Regency set novels. Yes I try to be accurate and get the English “feel”. But the audience is largely American and the genre has developed its own conventions. Georgette Heyer is regarded as a mistress of period accuracy, yet she made a lot of stuff up (much of which readers now regard as gospel truth) and her voice is mid-20th century English upper middle class, not early nineteenth century upper class (if I may use that phrase in the early nineteenth century context ).
So if people want to read/write about noble spies or pirates, good luck to them. It’s fiction, folks.
I really enjoyed this piece – it sums up a lot of the issues that stop me from enjoying 95% of the historical romances I’ve read.
I think Barbara and Miranda raise deeper issues about books that go to the heart of why romances are marginalised – the ‘it’s fiction’ approach denies one of the basic reasons that we humans need stories. The whole point about fiction is that the really great books (whether poetry or plays, novels, short stories or novellas) tell truths that are deeper than the superficial issue of accuracy. Plato famously regarded fiction as the least noble of pursuits precisely because he felt it was a form of lying. He was being provocative, because the whole point about the best fiction is that it shapes and gives meaning to human endeavours and actions. But that depends on the skill of the story-teller to sustain the world in which the story is set.
While I think romance is gaining increasing validation (thanks to professors like Sarah Frantz and Eric Selinger who are teaching romance as part of studies in genre fiction), I still think it has much further to go compared with crime fiction or spy thrillers, say. I would say that a major aspect of this is the fact that romance is regarded as less well crafted – maybe not by readers, which was Barbara’s point, but by critics. Certainly, based on my own reading, I encounter a higher proportion of wall-bangers in the romance genre, primarily because something jolts me forcibly out of the world the storyteller is building. Maybe my expectations are created by the historical fiction market, where period feel is an essential component of plot and characterisation, and where conflict is created by historical circumstances rather than the Big Mis. But I think this is an issue that romance writers could address – if you look at the critical esteem for and success of writers like PD James, John Le Carre and Ruth Rendell/Barbara Vine, and across the pond, Sue Grafton or Paretsky, Kennedy or Alan Furst there is a fine history of really excellent writing in genres like crime and the spy novel, and romance at its best could and should be competing at the same level. I don’t think it is and I think in part that is the wallpaper nature of so much of the worldbuilding that occurs in romances.
The best romances tell us truths about the most chaotic, passionate, vibrant relationships that we humans have, and the journey we all make beyond our families to the place where we start creating our own families – but that truth has to be built on a sound foundation, otherwise the important, fundamental truths that romances tell will simply sink into oblivion.
One thing that you mention Lynne is the Duke as a spy and spy books, while I read them, I hardly ever think they’re really great (I think the exception are Joanna Bourne’s books, but her characters make the books more than the spy stuff). I’ve done a bit of research into military intelligence in the 19th century and it’s perceptions and it wasn’t until after WWII with Ian Fleming did spies move into the spotlight as a sexy sort of thing. Spying was the dirty side of war because any person there had to lie, cheat, steal and do everything a gentleman wasn’t supposed to do. On top of that, even James Bond is a fantasy himself, as spy work isn’t generally what he did in the books or movies.
The setting of historicals in general is starting to burn me out, not due to inaccuracy per se, but the lack of diversity in historical settings in the genre. While I’m sure there are plenty of good stories still to be told in the Regency or Victorian England, there are so many more exotic and interesting settings that can be the setting for a great story. Until then I concentrate on reading about great characters and plot than I do historical accuracy.
Wonderful piece, Lynne. I’ve been reading the genre for 30+ years and it seems that books published in the last 10-15 years aren’t as well researched as earlier works. I’ve oftened wondered if the research has been limited to other romance writers.
I look forward to reading one of your books. I’ll be sure to search for one of your historicals the next time I’m at the bookstore.