Toni Fuhrman authored The Second Mrs. Price, our recent Lagoon House Press publication. She joins us as our guest blogger to talk about the “drama of the mind” in contemporary novels…

“Novels do interiority and the drama of the mind infinitely better than TV and film do,” a New York Review writer says in a recent article. It compares the experience of reading a novel and that of watching a movie or TV.

I’ve often pondered the question of why I am drawn to novels—both reading and writing them. My upcoming novel, The Second Mrs. Price, dwells quite a bit on this “interiority.” Selene, the principal character, is continually examining her thoughts, her motives, and her actions.

This “drama of the mind” propels the narrative forward. It enables the reader to understand Selene’s mixed emotions, her divided loyalties, and her overwhelming attraction to Griff. Here is a brief passage from the novel:

Why the brother? she asked herself. They share the same last name; they emerged, bloody and enraged, from the same womb. There’s something similar in the stacking up of the features, the way the ears fit snugly against the head; but how at odds they are, otherwise. Alex so solid, so grounded, so cocksure of himself; this other one so tentative, so unsettled, perched on his chair as though waiting for, expecting an alarm—a signal to flap his wings noisily, heavy and awkward as he lifts himself up and flies away.

There is no doubt a talented actor could convey this comparison between Selene’s husband and Griff with little more than facial expression and eye movement. But it would be a general impression, without the narrative detail, or the opportunity for metaphor. In addition, it would be conveyed, first, by the skill of the actor, and then, indirectly, by the writer and the interpretation and additional consciousness of the director, the cinematographer, and the editor—not to mention the production designer and the composer of the musical score.

There is much discussion these days about the declining popularity of the novel, especially in view of the increasing popularity of the TV drama series, in which there are no time or viewing constraints. Viewers have an in-depth experience as they watch characters develop over time—one of the great achievements of the novel.

In a novel, however, there is nothing between the reader and the writer. The novelist provides the narrative, with or without authorial interpretation. The reader takes it from there. The story goes from mind to mind without filters.

The comparison between the novel and visual storytelling bears some resemblance to that of the artist versus the photographer, after photography made its debut. What could a painting or sculpture do that a photograph could not do better, and with more precision? Photography is, and was from its inception, an art form, because it involves making artistic choices. But the traditional artist is still very much alive and kicking, as is the novelist.

All art forms, in their essence, examine the soul. They do not so much compete with each other as add to the ever-evolving manifestations of creativity.

Historical accuracy is important to me when I read an historical novel. But it’s historical fiction, correct? So where do I draw the line between an accurate portrayal and allowing a writer (myself and others) the leeway to invent situations, conversations and events to tell a compelling story?

When Water Was Everywhere takes place in Mexican Alta California in the early 1840s, only a few years before California became a state. I based one of the four protagonists on John Temple, or as he was known in the pueblo of Los Angeles, Don Juan Temple. John Temple was an American sea captain from Massachusetts. Following a voyage to the Sandwich Islands, he settled in the pueblo of Los Angeles in the early 1820s, shortly after Mexico won its independence from Spain.

Although few Angelenos today know the name John Temple, his name is immortalized in Temple Street, a major thoroughfare in downtown Los Angeles. His ranch, Rancho Los Cerritos, is still attracting visitors today in what became Long Beach, California, in the year 1888.

In using John Temple as a character, I changed his name to Don Rodrigo Tilman. I left most of Temple’s early life in New England intact but placed the young Tilman in historic Deerfield, Massachusetts for a time. The bucolic town offered too many charms to resist.

How to portray John Temple/Rodrigo Tilman’s character bedeviled me at first. I began by portraying Tilman as I had seen a reenactor portray Temple at the rancho—reasonable, generous, kind, affable—all the best qualities of a Californio. As I kept writing, though, he took on the character of the successful American businesspeople I’ve known through a work life of business consulting and journalism: a person who is primarily concerned with business, focused on a goal, possessing a serious demeanor but willing to show good humor when he wanted to be “one of the boys.”

In changing facts of Temple’s life and speculating about aspects of his character, did I cross an invisible line that blends fact into fiction? Have you noticed the blurring of fact and fiction in other writers of historical fiction?

I’m interested in knowing what you think. To comment, please scroll up to the Leave a Comment link under the title.

“There are more valid facts and details in works of art than there are in history books,” Charlie Chaplin is reputed to have said. I believe it. His films certainly preserve the flair and fashion of the 1920s just as surely as Renoir’s paintings reflect Parisian life in the late 19th century.

Believing in Chaplin’s insight before I had ever seen it, I have always used historical fiction as a touchstone to understand a person, event or ethos of a time in history. As a child, I devoured historical novels about the U.S presidents. They may have leaned heavily on myth, for example, Abraham Lincoln was portrayed as reading by firelight in his Springfield, Illinois log cabin. Or they may have omitted the most damaging aspects of a president’s behavior. For example, Andrew Jackson’s story didn’t mention the great tragedy he brought about, The Trail of Tears, when his executive order forced thousands of Cherokee Indians to walk from Florida to Oklahoma.

But these novels and others apparently whetted my interest in history, because I had no trouble choosing a major when I went to college. History, of course, with a minor in English.

Over the years, I’ve read historical fiction or simply fiction written at a particular point in time or in a setting that showed me how life was lived at that time. These books have often made excellent companions on my travels. The novels of Gabriel García Marquez helped me to understand the magical mysteries of South America during my travels there in the 1980s. Naomi by the Nobel nominee Junichiro Tanizaki was my entry to early 20th century Japan when I traveled there in the last years of the 20th. The Twentieth Wife by Indu Sundaresan transported me to 17th century Mughal India—what a joy ride that was and how much I learned about the early days of the Rajasthan region of India I visited in 2011!

So, can you understand why nearly every piece of fiction I’ve written has required days, months or years of research to “get the history” right, even as I concentrated on a novelist’s tasks of character, plot and setting?

Share your favorite historical novels and tell us what they’ve meant to you by leaving a comment. More about History as Fiction in later blogs.