By Nina Romano
Historical fiction should include all the elements of any good piece of literature—strong characters, interesting and intriguing plot, obligatory scenes that comprise pertinent dialogue, action, and the five senses. However, besides these literary techniques, it’s essential to do profound research into the era in which the novel is being set. Research should include: dress, food, drink, customs, mores, religion, socio-economic details for the characters, superstitions, geography, history, politics, means of transportation, etc.
The unequivocal beauty of writing an historical novel is that the author submerges him or herself into a different time period, an unfamiliar epoch in which the author will learn to live and breathe—exactly like the characters. This enables the writer to obtain a complete education! However—and this is a biggie—the research should not show, but rather be worked in seamlessly. At least this is what this author attempts to accomplish with all of the three novels of the Wayfarer Trilogy and my latest novel, The Girl Who Loved Cayo Bradley.
Because my novels to date have been written lyrically and I have a great affinity for poetry, I have used poems or parts of them in expanding my prose. Whether the poems are my own, or whether they are another poet’s—usually someone famous—what the poetry does for fiction is “open it up” to escort the reader to other profound realms. It elevates the work. A verse or stanza which is inserted into a scene becomes a literary device or a design performance to illustrate or embellish the characters’ development—how they change and grow. It’s especially handy to denote how a romantic relationship deepens.
In my forthcoming novel, Dark Eyes, an historical romantic thriller set in soviet Russia, I used a poem from the Russian poet Yevgeny Yevtushenko, entitled: “Stantsiya Zima. Zima Station.” What purpose did it serve? It enriched the scene I was writing and helped sketch a deeper understanding of my character Andrei. It didn’t hurt that my main character, Anya, was smitten with him and this bit of insight into his personality and emotions as he recited made her fall more in love with him.
Here is some of the poem in partial scene from the novel where Andrei recites to Anya:
“They were early birds and never waited for crows to wake them up at dawn, but all was vain: however hard they sweated they would be swallowed by the harvest grown. They mowed, threshed grain, made hay and weeded, they did the house-chores and cleaned the shed; sufficiency of bread was all they needed— the truth, they thought, was in the daily bread. My great-granddad believed in bread devoutly, and, having gone through miserable days …”
Andrei’s voice was low and sweet with something akin to honeysuckle wafting on a summer breeze on the words he recited. Then he stopped abruptly, like summer’s end with a sudden autumn chill in the air. “It’s extremely long and I only know little bits of it.”
“Say some more of it. Please.”
He kissed Anya’s forehead and continued reciting.
“I’d go fishing, fly a kite, and often alone, bareheaded, I would take a stroll, I’d wander, chewing clover, out in the open, my sandals green from grass, from top to sole. I’d walk along beehives and fresh black furrows and watch the clouds floating, soft and white, I’d see them, slightly trembling, stretch as far as horizon, where they’d drown, filled with light. I’d see a farmyard and, walking by it, I’d listen to the horse’s neighing, and would fall asleep, tranquil and tired, relaxing in a stack of hay. I had no worries living life of ease then …”
Notice how the lines between Andrei’s recitations of the two stanzas describe Andrei’s reading in poetic language in order to maintain the mood of the scene and further enrich it.
In Lemon Blossoms, my second novel of the Wayfarer Trilogy, I used the following two of my Christmas poems because I wanted to capture the feelings of the main character Angelica at Christmastime in Sicily. The first poem is entitled “Icicles at Christmastime.”
Icicles at Christmas We went to buy our Christmas tree, but fir trees aren't half as big as I remembered them to be. And red is not the red of Christmas bows! nor tinsel bright, nor does it shimmer like the brilliant stuff we threw by fistfuls. And icicles! Daggers of ancient Siculi. Props for the sword swallower at the circus. I break a jagged stalagmite, dangling from a slanted roof, watch sun glitter through it in your eyes. Enchantment. Magic. Alchemy. You make me look inside deep within the icicle’s heart where snow castles soar in the sky and the winter court of Princess Snowflake floats on clouds, and there! Jesters cartwheeling, somersaulting, spinning round giant fir trees sparkling with silver slivers and cranberry bows. Harlequins pirouette, dizzying me till I shout, Stop the earth! Caught up in your arms, you twirl me slowly, a top winding down. You kiss my nose, cold as a puppy’s, calling me angel fallen from above and say, Stay forever in these arms past icicle season, beyond gifts wrapped with fabric, tied with satin ribbons as you loosen one from my hair and set me down. In my ear, the whispered words, Be my Christmas ever after.
The next poem, “The Christmas Market” comes in a different scene. It is a sign of deference and takes on greater meaning because Angelica obediently recites the poem as a command performance for her Papà, but also due to the fact that she has seen her love interest, Giacomo, at the market.
The Christmas Market As the sky’s light dims to allow The dusk of eve to take its bow, The market bustles with an air Of Christmas business everywhere. The hawkers’ cries do jar our ears As cold stings eyes that brim with tears. The brazier’s chestnuts heat to steam Warming hands, giving hearts a dream. The old ones wrapped in shawls and muffs, With booted feet and fur-trimmed cuffs, Take refuge when the snowflakes fall Upon the large umbrella’s stall. Some carry bread beneath an arm. Or juggle fir trees picked for charm. A bell is rung to spread good cheer: Joy, health and prosperous New Year!
Later on in the story, I employ a poem I wrote and thought I’d probably never use in a collection but that it might fit perfectly in a dream sequence the main character, Angelica, has. The scene doubles as fearful memory which is overcome and also as a frightening foreshadowing concerning imminent danger. Angelica had been reading Shakespeare’s Romeo e Giulietta (Romeo and Juliet) and had seen a puppet play. In her unconscious mind all of her feelings and emotions converge. It’s a dark poem entitled: “Lorenza and the Merchant.”
The year that rains came to flood the city, When houses were lost and sacked, There came to the home of Don di Medici A merchant named Sem Simonetti. This Jewish lad had his heart set On the pure hand of Lorenza, The youngest daughter of the household; Sweet and fair as she could be. They were at the dinner table; The merchant’s eyes caught Lorenza’s. Now guest and daughter both were lost In a love world all their own. Down narrow halls and secret paths Love’s sweethearts dared meet and kiss, While thinking all the household slept, Were caught embracing one dark night. The merchant was held with cruel words While the father bade his daughter go, And called his son to come to his aid. The quiet household no longer slept. Don de Medici’s voice grew enraged As the Jewish man begged mercy For loving the Christian maiden; And asked for her beloved hand. The father, implored by the son, Let the guest go out unharmed Only to swear a sweet revenge— A duel on the following day. Lorenza’s brother (an obedient son) Did fight his best friend Sem. The merchant’s blood spilt on the ground; He lay dead in his lover’s arms. Lorenza crossed the earth in blood, And swore to avenge her betrothed’s life. Then quietly stole her brother’s sword, And took her life that morning.
In my debut novel, The Secret Language of Women, I chose a few lines from the Chinese poet Wu-Men to emphasize how intensely Giacomo loves the main character Lian that he’s trying to learn some Mandarin Chinese by practice reading poetry.
Here are the lines of the poem: One instant is eternity, eternity is now, when you see through this one instant, you see through the one who sees.”
Later on in the same scene I employed these lines from the same poet to show the friendship between Giacomo and the boy Shen is developing.
Ten thousand flowers in spring, The moon in autumn, A cool breeze in summer, Snow in winter. This is the best season of your life.
There are many numerous and clever ways to utilize poetry in fiction and non-fiction. The trick is to find or create a poem whose theme or subject contributes to the scene the author is constructing.
Instead of a Prologue as a way to introduce my first Historical Western, The Girl Who Loved Cayo Bradley, Book 1 of the Darby’s Quest series, I used a poem that I wrote for a poetry collection entitled: Westward: Guided by Starfalls and Moonbows. The poem functions as a prelude for what will develop in the novel. The poetry spells out in no uncertain terms that this is a love story set in the west. Here’s the poem “Cayo Bradley.”
Oh lady, lady love,
I’m consumed by your image in a locket
escorting me down corridors of time
where facts and fictions kaleidoscope into verse,
letters, long in the longing, written only in my head.
The taste of mesquite on the air, juniper on my tongue,
I’m leaving the one who loves me, back-tracking,
leading my horse in the direction of the one I love.
In reveries and pipedreams, I drift along—
dry sagebrush, tumbleweeds blowing past
with serene zephyrs, though at eventide rainfall scatters
and nothing remains save the sultry, summer night
when the swift pain of loneliness starts again.
I’m sure you know it hurts to leave,
to cross this river wild, wishing I could stay to comfort;
yet as I depart, faraway reveries beckon on the distant shore,
the broad expanse of onrushing waters. At the top of the bluff,
lighter in the embrace of soft, sun-warmed air where bees
rejoice summer, grasshoppers travel farther, I sleep less,
watch the zithering beetles flit-flying to narrow-escape
landings on the escarpment.
By nightfall, a starry backdrop
of sky appears
whilst a curtain of haze halos the moon to shine
in the lee of the hill on the cabin;
as I step up to a pillared porch,
a view of the valley stretches below
and behind me in harmony and in tandem
with every fiber of my being.
A spirit in an afterlife image ...
you
opening the door.
