Novels are either well-written or badly written. That's all.
| Posted on: Tuesday, June 22, 2010 |
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Category: 'Articles in The Guardian' |
Voltaire's biographer said of him, "I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it." Now Meg Rosoff says the same of Sharon Dogar, after the Sunday Times accused Dogar's novel Annexed of "sexing up" Anne Frank. Having been similarly accused of "sexing up" John Donne in my novel Conceit, I would agree that Dogar has the right to do as she wishes. Isn't that why book designers, nowadays, put "a novel" after the title on the cover--a warning to readers that it is, after all, fiction? As Oscar Wilde said, novels are either well written or badly written. That's all.
Here's more from Meg Rosoff's blog at guardian.co.uk:
Six hundred words were suggested to tackle the important question of whether it is "right and fair" to fictionalise real-life characters. I could answer it in 15. Do what you like, only do it well – and don't expect the relatives to approve.
The Anne Frank Trust's objections to Sharon Dogar's book Annexed – which should probably bear the subtitle Peter Van Pels' Imaginary Diary – are good and fine, and exactly what foundations are meant to do (though anyone familiar with the workings of PR might note that their outrage is likely to prove counterproductive). Their concerns with the memory and reputation of Anne Frank are completely valid, and I can well understand and sympathise with their annoyance in regard to Dogar's novel. "I really don't understand why we have to fictionalise the Anne Frank story, when young people engage with it anyway," said a spokesperson for the foundation, and she is, of course, completely totally right.
And, at the same time, wrong.
The question of whether authors have the "right" to write about living or real people is not one that should be answered by the caretakers of historical reputation. Fiction is a free-for-all, and as long as an author can find someone who'll publish what they write (or these days, publish it themselves), there are no actual rules about who or what can be tackled, give or take a few libel laws.
Where would Shakespeare's history plays be without the freedom to reinterpret historical figures? Though even the great man himself may have pulled a few punches with Henry VIII, written a mere 75 years after the king's death (which corresponds more or less to the gap between Anne Frank's death and the publication of Dogar's novel), and carefully edited to exclude the last four wives and the execution of Anne Boleyn. This may have had something to do with the fact that the daughter of Henry and Anne was still on the throne, and more influential than any foundation ....
continued at guardian.co.uk, June 22, 2010
Interview with Eric Forbes
| Posted on: Saturday, May 22, 2010 |
Blog
Category: 'Historical fiction' |
What are some of the problems or challenges of taking real characters from history and fictionalising them?
The biggest challenge is to wear the research lightly and not get sidetracked into slavish historical accuracy. I love peculiar facts, triggering images, but I’m not wedded to truth. As Michael Ondaatje says, “Facts breed, and what they produce is fiction.”
In Conceit, Pegge runs along Fleet Street past the Cock and Key, the Boar’s Head, the Star and Ram, and the Queen’s Head. All those taverns were on that street at that time. I didn’t want to kick readers out of the story by putting an alehouse on the wrong corner. Plausibility is needed to draw readers into the narrative. However, we aren’t on a tour of London. We only see the street Pegge’s on, how fast she’s moving, where she’s going. The lighter the research, the more fleet-footed the story.
Ivanhoe is an important historical novel, but it’s full of anachronism. You’d be foolish to read it as history. On the other hand, it’s dangerous for a writer to ignore the fact, especially if you’re in a dark stairwell, that some readers demand historical truth. In readings, there is often a moment—humorous if you’re in a plush seat, but awkward if you’re on stage—when a member of the audience takes a fictional event as the literal truth. Most writers waffle around trying to respond politely, but forthright writers insult the questioner by stating bluntly, “A novel is fiction. Not history. Not nonfiction. Not biography.” I suspect this is why book designers now put “a novel” under the title. Best to clear the air right from the start. It’s another way of warning readers, “anything goes.”
In my acknowledgements I say, “I have consulted the usual scholars and biographers but, after all is said and done, this is my 17th century and I have invented joyfully and freely. The characters entered fully into the spirit of it, contributing in surprising ways to their own fictionalization, John Donne most liberally of all. Perhaps this is fitting, for he confided to a friend, long after becoming a priest, ‘I did best when I had least truth for my subjects.’ ”
Did you know where you were going with Conceit as you were writing it or did it evolve on its own?
Very early on, I knew what happens when Pegge nurses her father on his deathbed, but even that changed as the book matured. Once characters spring to life, once they start talking to one another, you’re along for the ride. An example is Izaak Walton. Why did he make so many mistakes in his biography of Donne? He couldn’t really have known the family. His Compleat Angler has preposterous notions about how fish propagate. Was he naive? Quixotic? He lurked in the back of my mind causing mischief. He skulked in the nave of Paul’s, picking up crumbs for his biography and spying on Constance, Donne’s eldest daughter. Jealous of her sister, Pegge became desperate to win Walton’s love. And on it went, deeper into fiction. Conceit evolved organically in this way over the seven years it took to write. If you put my novel beside an authoritative life of Donne, they won’t contradict one another, but Conceit ventures into bedrooms, embraces intimacies forbidden to biographers.
from interview with Eric Forbes at the web news portal, The Malaysian Insider
Interview about Conceit and Muse with Kuala Lumpur blogger, Eric Forbes
| Posted on: Saturday, April 24, 2010 |
Blog
Category: 'Inspiration for my novels' |
Eric Forbes: What’s your writing process like, Mary? What part of it do you enjoy most as a writer?
The most exciting stage is getting the first draft on paper, the free flow of images, phrases, dialogue. It’s a feckless, hallucinogenic, adrenalin-charged trip. There’s a fear of losing even a single idea. Any piece of paper will do. Just hand it over before I have a tantrum. How many great poems began on napkins in restaurants? Ideas arrive in odd ways (the odder the better): when driving a car, submerged in a bathtub, or trying to avoid useful work.
Things begin to take shape from an image or phrase (such as “fish make her think of love”) that I can’t shake, and then lead by association to something deeper. I follow a scent, hoping it’ll get stronger. I walked paths in our local watershed, musing on peculiar fish in Walton’s The Compleat Angler. That led to scouring old maps for streams buried beneath London, then to the two genetic rivers converging in Pegge, to her belated menarche, to her sexual jealousy, and so on.
All at once, something acts as a catalyst and the scene arrives in a rush. You scribble crazily and hurry to the keyboard for hours of white-hot writing. However, you need to come out—to eat, sleep, spend time with family. The next morning, you suffer the pain of warming up, building a new head of steam, until you get back in the zone. Even in saying this, I am romanticizing a process that can be exhausting and depressing. Writing is bipolar. Sometimes you’re brilliant, inspired. Other times you’re a mere comma counter.
See more of Eric Forbes' interview with me at his Kuala Lumpur blog, The Book Addict's Guide to Good Books.
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