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April 28th, 2008
03:17 pm - “Messing with” historical figures
When I first moved to New England almost three years ago, I tried a book group that met at a nearby library. Their book choices intrigued me. When I arrived at the first meeting I discovered thirteen older adults (I was younger by more than twenty years than the youngest among them) who’d been meeting for years. I liked the way they dug into the chosen book, unafraid to express opinions, to disagree, to say things erudite or outrageous. After that first meeting, I was invited to join them for lunch. I’d been adopted, and have enjoyed this particular book group ever since.
Today I led that group’s discussion on Afternoons With Emily by Rose MacMurray. Two participants in particular were appalled that this author had chosen to present Emily Dickinson in what they perceived as an unflattering light.
“I felt protective of Emily,” one woman said. She felt that her beloved poet had been maligned, misinterpreted, misunderstood.
“What gives an author the right to make up stuff about someone just because they’re dead?” another person asked. "It's not fair to mess with their lives when they can't defend themselves.
I explained how I love reading and writing historical fiction because the novel can sometimes draw a reader into wanting to know more about the real person or time period. For me, the inclusion of people who actually lived provides a fascinating backdrop to any work of fiction.
“Why can’t a writer just write about what is known to be true? Or can’t they just leave real people out of their fiction?” one book group member protested. “Readers of this book won’t want to read Dickinson’s poetry. They’ll remember her as controlling and unstable, not as a great poet.”
I confess that I did not warm to MacMurray’s characterization of Emily Dickinson, which I will add to the body of other works (including her poetry) that help me discern who the poet might have really been. Since we live near Emily’s own stomping grounds, I encouraged everyone to visit the Homestead, Emily Dickinson’s home in Amherst. I’ve found it quite moving to see her small bedroom and to gaze at the pint-sized gauzy white dress the poet wore.
Is “making stuff up” just something that those who don’t write will never comprehend about those who do write? Any of us who include historical figures in our work research diligently to assure accuracy, yet the fact remains: we did not personally know these people, and even if we had, what we write would only be our own interpretation even of a good friend. Fiction is biased by what details we choose to include and our own take on the world about which we are writing. Good nonfiction should present a balanced view of its subject, yet even there, doesn’t the author’s point of view sometimes color the voice?
The author can never know how the book, or its message will be received. All we can do is tell one truth (whether 100% fictional, or including realistic, historical details) in a way that makes sense to our story. Isn’t it up to the reader to read with a critical eye and ear, to expand from one book to other sources that provide differing viewpoints? To search out their own understanding of Emily Dickinson or Sitting Bull or Queen Elizabeth?
Writing plus Reading: an unpredictable amalgam.
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