It’s not surprising then that historical fiction forms such a large subgenre of fiction.  Just think of some of the greats of the genre and how influential they have been -- books like Willa Cather’s My Antonia (a book which we used to kick off a good healthy book discussion over at the place where I originally started blogging, hosted by this blogger), Gone with the Wind, Faulkner’s The Sound and the Fury, Pearl S. Buck’s The Good Earth, or the way Mark Twain always seems to capture life on the Mississippi in his time so beautifully in his stories.  The list could go on and on (and you can find good lists at places like BookSpot.com, Danny Yee’s Book Reviews, or the Franklin Library’s list, which gives a chronological list, according to when the books are set -- though it would be nice it that one were updated a little more often).

That’s one of the great things about being a reader -- how one can visit any place or any time, without ever leaving one’s home.  Historical fiction can be so fun because it can make us believe we actually have a glimpse into the world of the past, or even the past that might have been, if we read much alternate history fiction.  It can even allow us to poke fun at the hallowed institutions of our own culture and heritage when we read a book like Forrest Gump.

What sets historical fiction apart from “real history” (and for me makes it so much more fun) is the artistic license that is a recognized and accepted part of the genre.  Unlike “real” history, we might see the story through the eyes of the losers, or the downtrodden, or just an average old guy (or girl) who might seemed to have mattered little in the big, grand picture of historical fact.  It allows us to dream a little, to get out of our comfortable associations with timelines and big events, and to think a little more carefully about the types of people who might have lived then -- people, perhaps, just like me.  Our recently discussed The Mists of Avalon is an example of one such narrative, which seems to want to put us into a time and place that we thought we knew, but then force us to see it through different eyes, and to give value to events that might have all too often been treated as insignificant.

I love the genre for its concern not so much with accuracy, but with authenticity.  To miss a little on dates or details of the events here and there might be forgivable in historical fiction, but to make the place and time feel cardboard and unreal is just not acceptable.

History.  Fiction.  Sometimes it can be hard to tell the difference.  It’s nice, then, to have a genre that doesn’t seem to be too bothered by making the distinction.

©2007 Shelly Bryant