Great March issue!!! I read your article “When A Spiffy Literary Vehicle Turns Out To Be A Book Of Lemons” and want to respond.

First of all, in my heart of hearts, I agree with what you said, especially for a time period like the Civil War where almost every detail is well-recorded (I know this, having sat through all 9 hours of the PBS series more than once.) My pet peeve is authors of medievals who use the term “Your Majesty” when addressing English monarchs, when that no king or queen before the Tudors was referred to in that manner. I had a judge in a contest tell me I was wrong to use the term “Your Grace,” then later discovered her period of expertise is the Regency.

On the other hand, don’t be so quick to judge Ms. Plain, as I’ve heard from at least a few authors that copy editors often take it into their heads to change details they believe are right. One author I know had to keep correcting the same change through a number of edits simply because the copy editor thought she/he knew better. Granted, that mistake should have been caught by the author, but if she really did have it right, then she might not have thought to double-check her copyeditor.

As for artistic license—it all depends on what you’re applying it to. Sharon Kay Penman readily admits that she does take license (and spells out what she did in her author’s notes), but her books are all set in the Middle Ages when documentation, especially where women were concerned, wasn’t as prevalent. Her idea, however, of artistic license does not include changing known dates or facts. And personally, I have to admit, I’ve found it frustrating with certain aspects of medieval research where different sources use different terminology when referring to the same thing—this is especially true regarding costume. Whenever I discuss research with other writers, I always warn them to triple check their facts and never depend on only one source for something, and to keep a bibliography of all sources in case they’re ever in a position in which they need to defend their facts.

I, too, will spend hours trying to track down seemingly obscure little facts. Case in point—while revising my full manuscript, I called my mother (a “Master Gardener” born and raised in England) to ask her what early-blooming, strongly-scented perennial would grow in a shady forest in the English Midlands. She was stumped at first, then suggested violets—I knew from reading other books about medieval flowers that they also would have been around in the Middle Ages, so went with that. Funny thing was I’d originally used primroses, but something kept nagging me to check that these flowers actually had a strong enough scent. I was glad I did recheck, because apparently primroses do not smell much at all. I also spent countless hours in the local university libraries researching medieval marriage laws in order to confirm that it would be possible for my hero and heroine to marry after receiving a papal dispensation (she had been married to his brother.) I know of several historical romance authors (of books set in later periods) who “married” their hero and heroine while ignoring the Marriage laws of the time, and were openly criticized by two of the big-name historical romance authors for ignoring historical fact. When I started the novel, I had just assumed that my hero and heroine would be able to marry with a dispensation, but after seeing these other authors brought up short, I knew I had to make absolutely certain that I had my facts straight. Fortunately, my research supported my assumption, so I didn’t have to rework my plot (though I had worked out alternate scenarios with one of my critique partners just in case.)

I seem to have rambled a little off topic here, but I think you see what I’m saying. When reading a novel, I’m willing to forgive one or two little mistakes—especially those that might have been changed by a well-meaning, but less than well-informed, copy editor. But, if the book is riddled with multiple and major errors, I’m likely to lose patience and give up, resolving not to read any more books by that author. One romance author in particular (who, as it turns out, actually does know her history) disgusted me so completely with her manipulation and compression of history that I’ve never read another of her books. I tried her most recent offering, just to see if she’d changed, only to find that she pretty much had the history right, but had inserted it in large paragraphs of narrative in between some pretty wretched dialogue. I didn’t make it through the second chapter.

I am amazed by those authors who defended the short story writer when he’d made such glaring errors because it was only fiction. I can’t imagine why they’d do that, as it was not helpful to him at all. 2 or 3 errors in a 100+ K book, while not ideal, is acceptable (to me anyway, again depending on how glaring), but 20 in a 2,000-word short story set during, what I believe, must be one of the best-documented battles of a well-documented war (including the very spelling of the name) is not just sloppiness, but plain laziness. His less-than-open response to valid criticism does not bode well for his future as a published author.

Hope this hasn’t made anyone’s eyes glaze over. :)

T.

Regarding your “Lemons” article. Wow. Could not agree with you more. When I decided to “write the book” I should have written 30 years ago, when the market was just starting for such fiction (1961) I came at it with a maturity gleaned from 25 years of teaching American history—the Civil War, my specialty. Thus, the historian in my soul, would beg nothing less than absolute accuracy. So intense was I upon this that I traveled to Missouri and spent 3 weeks in Jefferson City and environs, walking the streets that I mention in my book, perusing old maps to see if “such-and-such” a hotel could have existed on “that” corner at “that” address!

I have a library that the Jefferson City Library will be proud to receive when I’m gone from this mortal coil. Every tree, bush, and blade of grass is known to me, and the central question always is “could it’s ancestor have grown on the same spot?”

But I not only have a hotel, I have a Union and Confederate army in the Western Theatre to contend with. And they were very different from the Army Of The Potomac. Even the uniform buttons were different. Because I’m such an accuracy nut, I’ve become a reenactor : (stop smirking.) So in my 4-bone hoop and “camp dress” with corset squeezing my Yin-yan, and cohersing my poor hubby into both a Yankee uniform and a Rebel one, I am learning all about how the clothes actually felt, and moved, and breathed. I have made a pest of myself at the library at Fort Leavenworth and at Fort Riley—even catching one of their displays in an anachronism. They used the word “footlocker” for a setting of an 1863 cavalry officer. They should have used the term “camp chest,” since “footlocker” came later, when the cavalry rode the plains to chase the Indians. I didn’t write a serious line until after nearly 7 months of intense research. I am now in process—thanks to my brow-beaten family” of acquiring the full set of the Official Records.

Thus, when I show my Lieutenant Scarborough, Company C, 1st U.S. Cavalry on April 21st evacuating Fort Smith, Arkansas, you had better believe it is accurate : that specific company was there and did evacuate on that date in that place at that hour (9 P.M.).

My son suggested that I was perhaps overly concerned about accuracy because “nobody will know.” And my response was : “But I WILL know, and just as sure as Carter will get you pills, some Civil War buff will read it, catch my mistakes, and write a scathing article decrying the lack of accuracy in my historical novel!

The error you mentioned in your “Lemons” article is so gross that I am truly surprised Belva Plain didn’t catch it. But, then, I have always suspected that some of these books are written by “committee.”

Thanks for listening.

Meredith in Morgantown