I’ve mentioned before how much I love Becky Levine’s book, The Writing & Critique Group Survival Guide. If you just joined a group, if you’re thinking of starting your own group, or if you’re wondering why the writing group you’re in works (or doesn’t), you should read this book.
Becky Levine’s expertise stretches well beyond writing groups. She’s an editor and freelance writer who also writes picture books and young adult fiction. When she speaks, I pay attention. Not long ago, she posted on Facebook about one of her current projects, a historical fiction, and I asked if she’d be willing to stop by and talk about research for such a project. I’m thrilled and honored she said yes.
Welcome, Becky!
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When Christi asked me if I’d write a guest post about research in historical fiction, my first reaction was pretty much: “But I SO haven’t figured that out yet.” Then I remembered that a lot of my favorite posts are ones where I sort of think things through, so I checked with Christi if that would work. Luckily (?!), she said, “Yes.”
The first thing you should know is that I am a fan of historical fiction that does not cover the page with heavy layers of historical detail. I much prefer books that use as few words as possible and still manage to give me a strong sense of time and place. (For some examples, see Sherrie L. Smith’s Flygirl, Joyce Moyer Hostetter’s Healing Water, and Kathryn Fitzmaurice’s A Diamond in the Desert.) Basically, I want more story than history.
The second thing you should know is that writing a historical-fiction novel that stays light on details does not, as far as I can tell, cut down the amount of research you have to do. Obviously, you can’t know which details are the perfect ones until you’ve found them. Which, on some days, makes me sigh.
Because, honestly, I have a love-hate relationship with research.
I love falling in love with my world. My current WIP is set in 1910ish Chicago, with threads of Hull-House, a possible cameo from Jane Addams, and questions about carving out a life in America as the daughter of immigrants, especially an immigrant mother who lives in constant fear of that world out there. Let me tell you, Chicago at the turn of the last century was an amazing place. If something was happening in America, it was happening in Chicago. And, probably, it was happening at Hull-House. Change was thick in the air, and, yet, when I stand at a distance and look at 1912 and 2012, it seems to me that too little has changed.
What’s the hate part? Okay, hate is probably too strong a word. Confusion? Lost-in-the-maze-itis? A strong feeling of Not-in-Kansas, anymore? Research can be a matter of looking for one specific fact that you’re sure you need to know. (Should I tell you how many pages I read trying to figure out whether, if you went to Hull-House, you knocked on the door or just walked in?) It can be a process of reading an entire book about one narrow subject. (Hey, I’ve got a great read for you on how electricity came to Chicago!) It can be trips to the library, browsing through their catalog, tapping your neighbor’s shoulder, and asking them if they can think up another keyword for your search on hospitals in 1910. (Forget cellphones: how did you get hold of an ambulance before there was at least a payphone on every corner?) There are days, truly, that the research is overwhelming.
So why do it? Because you never know what you’re going to find. (That’s the love and the hate part!) I’ve read several books on Hull-House and Jane Addams, and the details I can choose from are plenty. Hopefully I’ll use the right ones. They’re not, however, the most important thing I’ve learned from all that reading. What is? The feeling of the settlement house, the sense of women who really cared; who pushed their own limits to find a job where they could be useful; who made sacrifices so they could surround themselves with like-minded, intelligent, creative thinkers. The sense of a place where, if you did knock on that door, someone was going to open it, draw you inside, put you to work, and give you a home. A better one than the one you’d left behind.
So you turn pages, you browse the Internet, you read letters and diaries, you talk to people at museums. Gradually, piece-by-piece, you come to an understanding of the world you’re writing about. An understanding that I think, I hope, will seep into the pages of your story and create that feeling of a distinct, unique world. Without burying your reader in detail after detail after detail.
Yes, it’s important for me to know the facts about what happens at the Hull-House door. It’s even more important for me, and my reader, to feel the energy and excitement that was going on behind it. And research—whether you love it, hate it, or (most likely) both—is the path to it all.
Becky Levine is a writer living in California’s Santa Cruz mountains. She’s currently working on a young-adult historical novel, as well as her first picture book. Becky is the author of The Writing & Critique Group Survival Guide (Writer’s Digest, 2010) and works part-time as a grant writer for a local art and history museum.
*Blog photo credits: Dru Bloomfield on flickr.com and Cohdra on morgueFile.com