Oh Behave!

I quote Austin Powers. Yes, Austin ‘Danger’ Powers who is known to have said this occasionally when an erotic comment escaped some vixen’s lips on the silver screen. You’re right, absolutely nothing to do with ancient and medieval history or historical fiction. However, those two words not only denote Austin’s curious interest in the lewd but taken together they can also bring about a question:

When writing historical fiction, how much detail should one put into scenes that contain sex and nudity, be it a loving scene, a highly charged moment or in some cases, a scene of sexual violence? Opinion is divided, certainly in my own writers’ group. But really, where does one draw the line in historical fiction before it becomes more of an historical romance or an erotica moment?

I read an article the other day in one of the writing magazines that talked about the dos and don’ts of writing fiction. One of the don’ts included not underestimating one’s readership, not explaining everything in detail but rather leaving things up to the reader’s imagination. Makes sense but I am sometimes surprised, and not in a good way, by some of the things I read in historical novels; things like detailed rape scenes just don’t do it for me. They feel like the only use is for shock value. We know that rapine was a fact of the ancient and medieval worlds but such a heinous act, and the psychological effects upon the victim, can be related to a reader without going into the minute details of the whole thing. People know what it is and for most, the mere implication of such a thing happening is enough to convey the message.

One time, when I was looking for some new historical fiction, I picked up a novel set in the dark ages and began to read the first page. I had read one good review about this particular author so I thought I would check it out. To my horror, the very first scene was of a young woman being impaled upon a stake and it described in gory, perverted detail how here clothes were lifted and the stake inserted into genitalia as a large group of men looked on. I put the book down and will not pick up anything by that author again.

I may sound a bit preachy here but that does an injustice to historical fiction. I am certainly not a prude by any stretch of the imagination but I do feel that with all the suffering in the world authors have a responsibility to convey messages that will encourage humanity to goodness. Yes, evil is present, bad things happen but spare us the details at times.

On the other hand, someone, a reader or writer, with Mr. Powers’ cheeky view on life might enjoy a bit of randy detail in a scene and why not? They did know how to party it up in the ancient world. A bit of skin shown by flute girls at a banquet could be a bit of all right. Or you could add to the intrigue by having pairs of folks coupling in the wings while the Emperor is distracted. Sexy and dangerous. A bit of fun is good, but do we need to go so far as to see up close and personal things going in and out of other things? Probably not, this is historical fiction, not Penthouse Letters.

What about if two characters are deeply in love and you want to portray that to the reader? Remember the ‘show don’t tell’ rule but also remember not to show it all. The true love between characters will be apparent in how they interact, how they treat each other at all times, how they are when they are apart. If your two love birds are in an intimate moment, set the scene and give them a bit of privacy. The reader’s imagination will do the rest.

Basically, there are many ways to look at it, and many genres in which sexuality and violence are expressed in different ways. Historical fiction has recently garnered the respect it deserves and that momentum should be maintained – we are not writing true crime or erotica, we’re writing and reading well-researched and hopefully well-written historical fiction.

To finish off, I would like to relate an incident that occurred in one of my writing classes several years back. This was an evening class at a community centre. Everyone in the class had writing aspirations and many had short stories or first drafts of novels. The class had about ten to thirteen people in it, mostly women (old and young) apart from myself, twenty at the time, and an older English gentleman, a veteran working on a memoir. Once a week, the teacher would ask one of us to read another person’s work out loud and then everyone would provide input. My work of short fantasy had been read out the previous week so I was off the hook, content to sit back and bask in the positive vibes and constructive comments everyone had given me.

That week the teacher had selected several pages from one of the ladies’ romance novels, something set in the Wild West, complete with cowboys, banditos, covered wagons and women with names like Clementine and Annabelle.

“Adam”, the teacher swivelled her chair to face me, all the heads around the table following suite. “Would you like to read for us today?”

“Sure…” The lady sitting directly across from me was the author. As she sat there, apprehensive, wide-eyed, anticipatory, the teacher slid the sample pages to me. The teacher, I should say, did not like to read the samples ahead of time, preferring to rely on first impressions and initial impact. I accepted the pages, cleared my throat. Everyone except the author was staring at the table or ceiling, waiting for the blank canvas of their minds to be filled.

“Where the Sun Sets,” I read the title and pressed on. The setting was fantastic, romantic. The purples, golds and greens of the plains came alive and we were all drawn in. The characters were likeable, heroic, flawed, human. I tried to read well, to do it justice and glanced up occasionally to see the author brimming with pride and everyone else smiling at some far off place and time of happy memory. People gripped the table edges and chairs when the banditos rode in, grimy and destructive as in a Clint Eastwood movie. The hero, a cowboy, a cool dude with feelings, saved Ms. Annabelle from certain shame and a life of hardship when he rode after her and her captors for two days, tracking them like a wolf.

Ms. Annabelle was in danger, no doubt and we weren’t sure if the hero would reach her in time. But he pressed on. Oh yes, this author had her audience hooked. Even I forgot that I was reading in front of an audience. They didn’t care about me or my voice, they cared about the words, their rhythm, the images they conjured so magically. To make a long story short, the hero dispatched all ten banditos with stealth, skill and shear cohones. Ms. Annabelle was weeping but ever so grateful. The pair were taken care of by a doctor at the closest town. The hero insisted on sleeping outside Ms. Annabelle’s door because he wanted to make sure she was safe from any more suffering. Ms. Annabelle, unable to sleep because of the heat, the sweat and the man outside who had saved her, tossed and turned and finally went to the door.

As I read the words it started to feel warm. Something in the back of my mind said, Should I stop now? Why isn’t the teacher stopping me? I’ve read so much already! I could feel my neck getting warm. The Englishman beside me started to cough. Then, different words started to appear: sweaty, longingly, caresses, kisses and even licking. Intimate parts were being explored in the sweaty sheets of this bed on the south-western frontier. The hero stood above Ms. Annabelle who could not take her eyes off him and scanned his beautiful face, shoulders, torso and hips until her eyes fell upon… Oh, shit, do I have to read this? Really? The author stared at me and, my face red as a Roma tomato, I forced myself to finish, to get it over with.

…until her eyes fell upon his…swollen member.

“Ok Adam. That’s enough. Good reading.” The teacher sat back in her chair and I sank as far as I could go into my turtleneck, the Englishman beside going through a full-on coughing fit now. I wondered if anyone would loosen his ascot for him because was so utterly red, choked by embarrassment. “Well,” the teacher continued, “it sure is hot in here!” Everyone allowed themselves an uncomfortable chuckle. “Feedback?”

Some folks pointed out the beautiful descriptions of the landscape. Others highlighted the build-up between the characters, how they eyed each other along the wagon train but always within the bounds of propriety. The teacher nodded. I said nothing. I’d done my part. When the input from students was done, the teacher leaned on the table and smiled, looked at the author.

“This is a great romance novel, fits the genre archetypes very well but had your own unique style. Very good.” The author relaxed visibly but the rest of us knew it was coming. “However, an author should never, EVER, use the phrase swollen member.” Thank god she said it. “Leave that kind of detail to the reader’s imagination.”

Olympic Youth

Today I wanted to draw your attention to something that many might not know about. In an e-mail newsletter I received from

the International Olympic Committee (IOC) I received a link to a video of the lighting of the Olympic Flame for the inaugural

Youth Olympic Games, a new initiative intended to get youth interested in sport and the Olympic spirit.

I love the Olympics and how it brings the world together like no other event (sorry World Cup fans!). The historian in me loves the tradition of the Olympics, the sacredness that, though today is somewhat dulled by marketing, for thousands of years was adhered to. It was something that blanketed the ancient world in peace for a time. The Olympic Games were, of course the most sacred of the four major games in ancient Greece, the other three being the Nemean Games, the Isthmian Games, and the Pythian Games.

Ancient Olympia was, and to my mind is, a most sacred place, a place of peace. I have been there a few times and, despite the hordes of tourists and idling buses outside the ancient sanctuary, I am always awed with the sense of peace that falls over my person when I set foot among the temples, columns and remnants of ancient arcades. The visitors seem to disappear and all I hear is the thrumming of cicadas in the light of Apollo’s sun. Yes, I do get carried away, but you can’t help that in a place like Olympia. When you walk the gravel pathways between the ruins, along the fallen column drums of the once-great Temple of Zeus (whose statue was a wonder of the ancient world) or walk down the barrel-vaulted tunnel to the stadium, the ghosts of past Olympians walk beside you. It is as though they are welcoming you to join them on their eternal stroll through the sanctuary, whispering to you to pass on the wisdom of the Olympic spirit, warning you to respect that most sacred of places.

If you have not been to Ancient Olympia, go. It is truly a wonder and a feeling to be tapped into. And if you do go, push the bustling, noisome tourists from your mind (because not everyone gets it), find a quiet corner beneath the shade of an olive tree and listen for voices of the past, the roar of the crowds that rang out for millennia. It is truly special.

The IOC has posted the flame lighting ceremony on their website for the Youth Olympic Games and if you have a bit of time it is definitely worth watching. http://www.olympic.org/en/content/YOG/YOG-news-face/YogNewsContainer/yog-enter-history-in-Ancient-Olympia/
This will give you a taste of an ancient ceremony, undertaken with the sincerity that it deserves. The Olympic flame begins its journey here every time, lit by the priestesses of Olympia by the light of the sun that shines on this place.

It is very exciting that the Flame has been kindled in Olympia to herald the dawn of a new tradition. Good luck to the youth of the world and may Nike (Victory) be with you.

(Photo credit: Associated Press)

Living History

Summer is now upon us and that means a plethora of outdoor events at historical sites around Europe and North America. The Ermine Street Guard and Antonine Guard in the UK as well as other Roman re-enactment groups will be out in force to dazzle spectators with precise military formations, cavalry tactics, firing of ballista bolts and replicas of everyday items Romans would have used. Members of The Society for Creative Anachronism will be touring the Renaissance Fair circuit entertaining fair goers, trading goods and washing down greasy turkey legs with pints of frothy ale. English and American civil groups will be re-enacting famous battles etc. etc. Every period of history has its own fans and enthusiasts who go that extra league to immerse themselves in an era for which they likely feel they are better suited than our current one.

These events and displays are usually a great time and in some cases highly educational. Re-enactments can stimulate interest in a particular period, further research and even help academics figure out the use of a newly-discovered artefact. Other times, its all about folks dressing up and having a great time.

For writers like myself, living history re-enactors and re-creations are an invaluable source because of the thorough research that has been done before hand and on an ongoing basis. In the case of Roman re-enactment groups, some authors have trained with them to get a better understanding of the feel, the mechanics of a certain weapon, pieces of armour and even a Roman cavalry saddle which, of course, did not have stirrups but rather four horns for bracing the thighs against. The latter is actually much more comfortable and utilitarian than one would expect.

A good friend of mine has been a member of the Antonine Guard in Scotland for several years (www.theantonineguard.org.uk - the group does regular talks at schools, documentaries and also trained the actors and extras for the new film CENTURION). When writing Children of Apollo and Killing the Hydra, I was able to read over a copy of the group’s field manual which details troop drills and all the Latin commands that were used in the Imperial Roman Army. What a great source to add detail and accuracy to a historical tale. Teachers, if you are listening, rather than having your students slug their way through the usual, dry history book, invite a period re-enactment group to your school and see what a difference it makes to knowledge retention and learning enjoyment. And while you are at it, assign your students a good historical novel!

So, next time you are out touring and you see a sign for a historical demonstration, don’t be so quick to dismiss it as a gathering of oddball history freaks. Drop in and see what it is all about. Yes, you may be confronted by a band of greasy, chicken&chips-eating yobs sporting a mish-mash of period costumes and bad accents but, on the other hand, you may also be in for a real treat, a chance to learn some fascinating facts about life in a by-gone era from people who truly value the past and accuracy in their portrayal of it.

History vs. Vampires – Battle in the Marketplace

No, this is not a new book but rather an ongoing concern for historical novelists and readers of the genre. I’ve just read an article in the latest edition of SOLANDER, the magazine of the Historical Novel Society, which warrants a bit of discussion.

The article, entitled "Recession Reading" takes a look at the state of historical fiction in today’s market, a market that has been hit by the economic downturn of the last few years. Some genres are booming however, and the one on top right now seems to be Teen Vampire Novels! Sure, I can understand the draw of the paranormal as something inherent in human beliefs – the unknown, the mysterious and inexplicable, something bigger than ourselves. But what does the rise of the vampire novel mean for the fate of historical fiction?

Not much, as Vampire novels are a fad and, like ‘chick lit’ or other catch phrase genres, it will have its time in the spotlight (maybe the dark since vampires don’t like light). Historical fiction can be long lasting. Look at the Iliad and the Odyssey, thousands of years and still going strong! The trick, whether you have a ‘marquee character’ or not, is to have themes, conflict and a range of emotions that resonate with readers, things that our humanness can tap in to. And who’s to say that you can’t combine history and the paranormal. Elizabeth Kostova wrote a historical novel about Dracula, and the Historian was a massive debut novel that garnered much praise and commercial success even though it wasn’t that mainstream. Alice Borchardt, Anne Rice’s sister, also wrote some historical fantasy novels about Romans and werewolves. The two genres can indeed live in harmony.

Some writers, agents and publishers however, take a darker view of the market and today’s readership. Said article quotes maritime historical novelist James Nelson as saying that “Historical fiction for men is dead.” Mr. Nelson is also reported to have suggested that the historical novels that end up on the store shelves may be an issue of gender rather than the market or the emergence of new formats. I’m not quite sure I agree with this and though it may be true of maritime historical novels, there are other historical novelists who are quite successful such as Steven Pressfield, Simon Scarrow and relative newcomer, Christian Cameron. These three write novels that appeal to, and are purchased by, men. Ok, women account for a much larger portion of historical fiction readers, but men are certainly in there. Historical fiction for men is certainly not dead.

Here’s a question: Can historical fiction overcome gender boundaries? And if so, could that be the key to revival and success?

I would argue, YES, of course it can! Having worked as a bookseller I have had numerous conversations with store patrons about what they like, what they don’t like and what they want to see more of. In my experience, some authors appeal equally to both men and women; writers such as Jack Whyte (Dream of Eagles series), Guy Gavriel Kay (historical fantasy), Bernard Cornwell (his Arthurian cycle), Lindsay Davis (Falco novels) and Steven Saylor (Rome sub Rosa series). There are just a few examples of many that I have noticed appeal to both men and women. There are many more. In North America we sometimes have trouble looking beyond our borders to read things over seas as well. When I was living in Scotland and England, I was constantly amazed by the number of men I spoke to at the pub or elsewhere who were interested in archaeology, Roman and medieval history and the knowledge with which they spoke about these subjects. This is due to the nature of television programming there and the fact that the remnants of those periods of history are right in their own backyards, quite literally (watch Time Team!). For my own writing, my test readers for CHILDREN OF APOLLO have included both men and women and both groups have been interested and want to read more, read on. That is encouraging and perhaps indicates that I have not written with one specific sex in mind. I’m just writing about the human condition and hopefully, victory will follow.

But I digress. The SOLANDER article mentions a conservatism on the part of publishers in this current economic climate that is worrisome for writers at the moment. They want what is popular, they want vampires! I think that what is forgotten at times is that the trends are created by those publishers who will take chances, just like the publisher who took a chance on wizard stories written by someone named J.K. Rowling, or even Vampire stories by a certain Stephanie Meyer. I don’t think I need to say much more than that. Historical fiction is always on readers’ radar in one form or another, sometimes peppered with the paranormal, sometimes with hardcore scholarship. Be it ancient Egypt, Rome or Greece, medieval England, the Wild West or World War II, there are people out there who want to read this stuff, on paper, on the internet or on an e-reader. Young and old audiences both are ready and waiting for something old to be given a fresh new face. Historical fiction definitely has staying power and will not be yielding in the battle for the marketplace any time soon.

(Roman Cavalry painting by Peter Connolly - great historical re-creation artist)

CHILDREN OF APOLLO - excerpt 2

It has been a while since I posted the first excerpt of CHILDREN OF APOLLO and so, as a few folks have asked for more, I am posting another little bit. This does not come immediately after the first excerpt but rather a few chapters into the book.

The main story begins in A.D. 202 and after a lengthy, dangerous patrol from Aegyptus to Numidia our hero, Tribune Lucius Metellus Anguis, is on furlough with his men for games at the amphitheatre of Thysdrus (modern El Jem in Tunisia - this photo). This is a magnificent site in the middle of plains of olive groves and the structure itself is better preserved the the Colisseum in Rome. While exploring this site, you can certainly hear the crowds, see the skilled displays of the fighters, hear the pain of their defeat or the roar of their victories. The following is one of the fights witnessed by Lucius and his cohort of men.

(from Chapter VIII - Iugula!)

The tribune stood there, lost in thought until he was brought to by the clanging of swords and the renewed roar of the crowd. The final combat had begun, the previous one all but forgotten. Lucius decided not to go back into the theatre but rather to watch from one of the empty corridors that led to the arena floor.
He could see the two heavily armed gladiators moving about the sand in their dance of death. A murmillo and a thraex or Thracian fighter. Lucius watched as the two heavy-helmed gladiators pummeled each other relentlessly to the droning of drums and the cries of bloodthirsty spectators. Lucius wondered what drove these men and where they found their strength. Was it made easier by the fact that each was fighting a faceless foe? They dazzled the audience with an incredible array of slashes and parries, displaying their skills with incredible determination to win and live. Both were bleeding profusely, the murmillo from a cut to the right leg and the thraex from a gash across his muscular chest.
The sand went red about their shuffling feet and in a barely perceptible instant the murmillo’s shield flew from his sweaty hand allowing the thraex to parry a desperate sword thrust and land a heavy kick to the vulnerable man’s chest with the bronze greave covering his leg. The murmillo tumbled onto the ground, winded. He moved to get up but the thraex was upon him, knocked his sword from his bloodied hand. He made to get up yet again but the thraex smashed him in the centre of his face with the boss of his small shield, ripping his helmet from his head.
He groaned as he lay there on the clotted sand and raised his right hand in a sign for mercy and surrender. Lucius’ heart began to pound, the blood flowing to his head and ears, as if he could feel the adrenaline from every person there present. Inwardly, he hoped to hear the word that would save his life, missum, missum, enough death for today. The thraex stood above the fallen murmillo, flipped him over onto his stomach and grabbed him by his bloody hair. He glanced up and around at the standing crowd. They cheered. Then, almost in total concert, they began to chant aloud, “Iugula! Iugula! Iugula!”, Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!
The thraex looked to the editor who nodded gravely. The victor pulled the murmillo’s head back to expose his neck and pulsing veins. Lucius could hear the shouts of his troops as the lethal blade was drawn slowly and cleanly across the fallen man’s neck. His blood spilled out to soak the sand of the arena one last time before his head was released and he fell to the ground. The thraex made his way to the editor’s platform to receive his prize, the palm branch for victory. Upon his head was also placed the valued corona, a laurel wreath for outstanding achievement; he had won ten consecutive fights and for the day he was the people’s hero.
Dressed as the thraex, this man had appeared invincible and imposing, but with his head bared and his weapons shed, he was no longer a gladiator but a young man, no older than Lucius. The youthful innocence of his face and curly black hair betrayed the sight that all had just witnessed, adding to what Lucius thought to be the incredible juxtaposition of the Roman arena. Lucius turned to go out and wait for his men in the open air, away from the amphitheatre.

Unveiling the Obscure

Some time ago, in my entry entitled The Hundredth Book about Caesar? I talked about a member of our writers' group whose book is set during the reign of Emperor Maximian and how he was told by an agent that people would rather read the hundredth book about a well-known historical personage than about an obscure emperor no one knew anything about.

A book I finished recently has helped, in my mind, to combat the narrow view outlined above. In my last entry I mentioned that I was about to start the historical novel Family Favourites by Alfred Duggan. Having finished said book in a short period of time I can say that Duggan sets up a sturdy shield wall in the face of the ‘hundredth book about Caesar’ theory.

Family Favourites, written by Duggan in 1963, takes a close look at the reign of the teenage Emperor Elagabalus, a descendant of the Severan dynasty and the Syrian priests of the sun god at Emesa. The story is told from the point of view of a Gaul who ended up serving in the Legions during the civil war at the end of the second century A.D., a war in which Septimius Severus was the victor. Family Favourites throws the reader headlong into the third century Roman Empire and gives an intimate, human, amazing and sometimes distasteful view of Imperial politics in which every action, decision, had to be weighed in order for a foreign ruler to maintain the loyalty of the Praetorians, the regular Legions and the people of Rome, the mob. The fact that Elagabalus was only thirteen when he came to the purple adds a palpable uncertainty. His family included Julia Maesa (sister to Julia Domna, Severus’s brilliant Empress) and her daughters Julia Mamaea (mother of future Alexander Severus) and Julia Soaemias (mother of Elagabalus); these ‘Syrian women’ were some of the most powerful women in history to that point, intelligent, strategic, caring and sometimes ruthless. And sadly, they are little-known to most of today’s readers.

I won’t summarize the story because only the book can do itself justice. It does strike me however that even though most readers would be unaware of these historical personages or this period of Roman history, they would still thrill to this novel that puts the inner imperial workings under the lens. Good historical fiction can and should transport the reader so that they can experience time and place unlike our own, no matter the ruler at the time. I think (and this is just my opinion as a reader, writer and former bookseller) that most people read historical fiction not only to learn about people of the past, but also to feel, experience, the past. When I read, or write for that matter, a bit of good historical fiction I want to hear the roar of a crowd at the amphitheatre or hippodrome, feel the rumble of their feet pounding in unison. I want to smell the incense that might be burning in a corner brazier of a room used by an Emperor or the aroma of a stew a poor Suburan family might be eating at meal time.

Many great writers have taken on Caesar, but they have also tackled more obscure characters. The strength of the tales is in how they are told, I think, more than what exactly is told. That’s the beauty of historical fiction, that it can pump new life into old tales, give new perspective and almost reincarnate heroes, villains and villagers.

Ave Marcus Antonius!

I am always on the lookout for new historical novels or novelists that I have not yet had a chance to read. After reading an article on historical fiction in the Historical Novels Review, I had a few names of past writers that I took with me to my local library. The trip was quite successful.

One of the authors I came across was Allan Massie, who writes the rugby column for the Scotsman. As it turns out, Mr. Massie has written several novels of ancient Rome including, Augustus, Tiberius, Antony, Caesar, Caligula and Nero's Heirs. Not all of them were available but of the ones that were, I decided to begin with Antony.

Gore Vidal says of Allan Massie that he is "Master of the long-ago historical novel." Well, you would have to read more to decide that for yourself but I can say, having just finished Antony, that Mr. Massie has taken an exceptionally unique approach. The novel is Antony's memoir, written after the battle of Actium but before Octavian (later Augustus) takes Aegyptus. Most everyone knows the story of Antony and Cleopatra so I won't go into it here. The character that Massie creates of Antony is of the type of man that was able to approach the greatness of an Alexander. Where the latter heralded the beginning of the Hellenistic age, so did Antony prove to be the final hero of that same age. He was victorious in battle, loved by Rome and by his Legions, and known the world over as the possible provider of a golden age and even as Dionysos incarnate. Truly an amazing character that Mr. Massie has managed to portray with humour, bravery, honour and pathos. Godlike and yet vulnerably human as well.

I would certainly recommend this book just for its portrayal of Antony however, the picture painted of Cleopatra is certainly unflattering. This historian in me was cringing whenever Mr. Massie's version of her would appear as she is a spoiled, conniving woman who just comes across as stupid. This flies in the face of what historians such as Michael Grant and writer/historians such as Steven Saylor have been saying which is that Cleopatra was nowhere near stupid but was a highly intelligent woman who spoke countless languages, had a keener political insight that even Caesar himself and had a vision of the future that required an equally great partner such as she had in Caesar or Antony. To balance out Massie's sad adaptation of Cleopatra, one should definitely read Michael Grant's biography of her which is not too long but loaded with helpful information and great research.

Truth is, we all have different perceptions of how things should or should not be, even in hindsight. Unless a personal diary emerged from either Antony or Cleopatra, we will likely never know the true story of their rise and fall, their loves and hates. The reality may not be Shakespeare but it may not be that far off either. Remember, history is almost always written by the victors and in this instance, the victor was Octavian, later Augustus, who had launched a masterful propaganda campaign against Cleopatra and Marcus Antonius, one of the greatest Romans of the age. Perhaps this is an example of how fiction can indeed become history?

Despite a couple of little dislikes, I will definitely pick up another of Mr. Massie's Roman novels. The other novelist I picked up at the library was Alfred Duggan who wrote some Roman novels earlier in the 20th century. I now have Mr. Duggan's novel, Family Favourites which is about the Severan Emperor Elagabalus who was one of the successors of Septimius Severus and Caracalla in whose reigns my own novels are set. I'll let you all know how that one turns out.