The first decade I tinkered with this novel, I never thought of it as historical fiction. I thought of it as a story about three specific people. Such a story could easily be set today, but it’s easier for me to write about things when I have a little distance from them, and I decided that about eight hundred years was a nice comfortable distance. After culling possibilities, I chose the Welsh/English border near the end of the twelfth century.
But my research soon disheartened me: there were three kingdoms in Wales at the time, and on close examination, none of them fit the bill. I decided, feeling sheepish, that I’d have to invent a fourth kingdom. (It’s not like this was historical fiction, after all; it was just a story about three people.) I made up various things about this kingdom, including a feud between my rulers and the Mortimers of England. Then, wracked with guilt for faking it, I began frantically researching the period in greater detail so I could include something authentic.
That’s when I learned, to my surprise, that there actually was a seldom-mentioned fourth kingdom, exactly where I had set “my” kingdom…and its ruling family had suffered a long-running feud with the Mortimers. Several other details I’d invented also turned out to be true to life. (You can read more about this on my Web site, www.nicolegalland.com.) Fascinated by the coincidences, I shifted my focus to research what had actually happened in that part of Wales in the 1290s. Serendipity, incredible coincidences, and a few generously insightful individuals provided me enough information for a lifetime of writing historical fiction. It truly felt as if the universe was conspiring to make it possible for me to write the ultimate historical novel about medieval Maelienydd.
But what I wrote, in the end, was really a story about three people. And despite the cornucopia of historical detail I was able to put into the book, these three people are not inherently Welsh, nor inherently medieval—mostly because neither am I. Of course, they’re not modern Americans, but all I can say about them with any certainty is that they are mine. Virtually every historical novel I’ve read has revealed things about the period in which it’s set, but has equally revealed its author’s perceptions of humanity; I am no exception. We think we’re merely writing plots but we’re often writing personal metaphors of some sort or another. The use of historical detail simply makes a great trompe l’oeil.
This insight occurred to me again in a different way while writing my second novel, which will be published in 2006, and which, as of this writing, is still untitled. (Titles can be tricky!) It’s set in the court of the Holy Roman Emperor, and I did exhaustive research on the era. But it’s not about the Holy Roman Emperor. It’s about things that are hidden (information, objects, actions, birthmarks, lovers), and all the repercussions of concealment. As with The Fool’s Tale, the story could easily be set today, but it’s still easier for me to write about things when I have a little distance from them, and eight hundred years is still a nice comfortable distance.