Biographical fiction: the pleasure and pain of writing about real lives

All historical novels, perhaps all novels, blur the edges of fact and fiction. Our characters inhabit places and periods defined by known geography and history, sometimes in very specific ways (say mediaeval York, or the reign of a particular monarch). But why do so many fiction-writers (including some very big names; Mantel, Chevalier, Harris) choose to create a novel out of an existing life story?

Mostly I think because we see something in that story that hasn’t been told before, something to explore, to uncover or to celebrate. Maybe you have some personal connection to the subject or are party to something that other people don’t know, or you glimpse an unsung character on the fringes of that life who may have exerted unknown power or influence. At any rate, once that subject has caught your eye, you want to bring this story not to readers of biography or history, but to your particular audience, fans of historical fiction.

Pleasure

So, you have your inspiration and you’re off to a flying start. I can predict, for fairly obvious reasons, that the first few chapters, maybe the first draft, will be plain sailing:

• This is a ‘found story’ with characters, settings and plot ready-made.
• Research is a joy: there may well be extensive primary sources to mine, maybe even surviving eyewitnesses to contact, as well as published biographies and other research, all directly relevant.
• Even if your subject is more obscure (with extra freedom to be creative!) there will almost certainly be some group of enthusiasts you can join. Instead of toiling alone, you’re suddenly part of a family who share your obsession (something I’ve written about here).
• Our research contacts form the backbone of our intended audience. We may have a readymade readership that could be huge and possibly international. Publishers are likely to take note.

Pain

Almost as soon as you fire up the keyboard, you step into the hornet’s nest of daring to write fiction ‘based on’ fact. Worries of this kind occur at every level:

• Very few life stories are tailormade for fiction. You know your subject is worthy of a novel, but what if that narrative arc fails to emerge? What is this story exactly, and how much freedom can you exercise to produce a satisfying reader experience without compromising ‘history’?
• On a smaller scale, your ongoing research (once you have started how can you ever give up?) may throw up the unexpected; dates, places, events are not as you thought. Do you ignore these googlies or redraft to stay true to the facts?
• In the end, when our book is published, that interested audience may withdraw their support, leaving historical experts, fellow fans or even surviving relatives lining up to challenge your account.

Suddenly this biographical project doesn’t feel like such a good idea!

Sensible precautions

If you still want to do this, what steps can you take to avoid disaster? First of all, I would recommend you choose your subject(s) carefully. I personally would avoid those with close relatives still around, unless they have sanctioned the project or you are very confident of your sources.

I would go so far as to say, be mindful of people’s feelings. In a note to his literary successors, Robert Louis Stevenson said , ‘it is never worthwhile to inflict pain upon a snail for any literary purpose.’ Readers might justifiably take your version as fact. Imagine if your book were the new The Crown. Would it inflict any pain? Could you justify it?

The closer we come to the present day, the more likely we are to offend, and in the case of recent history or current affairs, it’s common to differentiate between people who lived in the public spotlight (fair game for exposing or debunking?) and those who’ve lived more private lives, but while this could hold good for more distant history, let’s not forget that historical figures, famous or obscure, aren’t around to defend themselves. You’ll have to decide on the ethics of putting someone in the spotlight, for better or for worse.

Here are some more practical tips:

• Be transparent! Historical notes are your friends. Here you explain the history and where you have deviated from it. I was impressed by a recent read which put all of this at the front of the book rather than the back, giving transparency from the outset (assuming you can do this without spoilers!)
• Create a diversion! Suppose everything is just too complicated and worrying, or the story doesn’t quite work? Would it be better to change the character names and abandon your biographical intention for something that tells the same story without referencing your real hero/heroine directly? An excellent example of this is Tom Crewe’s The New Life, where character names are changed only slightly to allow creative freedom.

A balancing act

On the other hand, I have read biographical novels that feel clunky because too much history shows through. By pleasing the cognoscenti you may end up losing sight of your story, and a story is what readers of fiction want.

It comes down, I suppose, (and this applies to all of historical fiction) to the scale and significance of the changes made. I don’t think anyone objects in principle to our playing with might-have-beens, the detail of scenes and conversations which history has failed to relay to us. Changing a verifiable date or the known outcome of a major event, on the other hand, would feel wrong, unless of course we’re writing alternate history (in which case see above re transparency!)

Of course, between these two easily definable extremes, there will be grey areas. I confess to the odd sin of omission in ignoring an inconvenient character (usually minor). I might even use some elasticity in the timing of known meetings, journeys or conversations to improve the narrative flow. I have definitely inserted fictional characters into my historical cast. So, yes, I have written things I know did not take place. But I would argue only little things, and nothing that I think would bother Mr Stevenson’s snail.

Whose story is it anyway?

Here’s an anecdote which I hope illustrates a point. Over a year after publication of In the Blink of an Eye, I was alerted by a friend and expert to something in the life of my hero that neither of us had been aware of up to that point.

This wasn’t a matter of world history, but something that had I known about it, would probably have changed the ending of my novel if not its entire shape. I had got things wrong. I had unwittingly disrespected my subject.

But on reflection I put aside my vexation. In writing fiction we don’t just recreate characters, we create new ones. There are as many Henry VIIIs or Winston Churchills as we see on the page or the screen. My hero from nineteenth century Edinburgh has gained another life in the pages of my novel.

If I were to reissue the book, I might add a note, but I wouldn’t change it. This is ‘my’ D. O. Hill, this is my story now.

Stick or twist?

But once you’ve committed to this fascinating and challenging task, enjoy the ride, it’s sure to be fun. And there is a lot of satisfaction to be derived from amassing knowledge. Just think, if you don’t write a best-seller, you’re ready to take Mastermind by storm!