Truth or Consequences
- Jul 17
- 5 min read
An Author's Conundrum
I LOVE movies . . . almost as much as I love books. Almost. My husband Mark and I used to go to the theater nearly every weekend. Like many of us, a change in finances and COVID changed all that. Nevertheless, my fondness for cinema endures, and it naturally shows up in my fiction.
In Chapter 4 of my serialized historical novel Dancing at The Royal Jade, one of my main characters Gwen, and her friend Cheryl, attend an afternoon movie. For the draft, I used the James Bond movie “You Only Live Twice,” which seemed a good choice since it would allow the characters to chatter and titter afterwards about Sean Connery. It worked for the tone of that scene.
As I revised—and always the stickler for detail—I dove into IMDb (the online database of information about movies, television shows, and celebrities) and Wikipedia to make sure the movie was indeed on the marquee on the date of the scene: Saturday, April 6, 1968. Little did I know that this exercise in accuracy would bring to my attention an aspect of my writing that I hadn’t considered before. It actually had me ‘spinning out’ for a bit.
“You Only Live Twice” came out in June 1967 and, as I mentioned, the scene takes place in April 1968. Even though movies ran in theaters much longer in the 1960s than they do now and it probably took a while for them to arrive in small towns, I don’t think it would have been playing in Kent Creek, North Carolina (my fictional town), nearly a full year after its original release. (Any reader who has more knowledge or a source, correct me if I’m wrong!) I did wonder if I could justify using that movie by having the women see it in a second-run movie house. Was that a thing in 1968?
Since I couldn’t find anything to confirm how long “You Only Live Twice” stayed in theaters, I resigned myself to picking another, more credible, title. “The Graduate” was released in December 1967, so it’s reasonable that it would still be in a Kent Creek theater four months later. I liked that choice for several reasons.
First, in their after-movie conversation, Gwen and Cheryl would likely make reference to Mrs. Robinson’s seduction of Benjamin Braddock—but not in an explicit way since Libby, Gwen’s daughter, could overhear. Hmmm. That also could bolster some other elements of my plot (that I’m not ready to reveal here yet).
Second, “The Graduate” holds a special place in my heart because of its connection to one of my friends in junior high. Back then, she and I floated aspirations of becoming famous actresses. My friend’s father was the well-respected director of the Asheville Community Theatre. So she had connections! And . . . wait for it! Her uncle, Murray Hamilton . . . played Mr. Robinson in "The Graduate"! As a pre-teen, I felt important just knowing this. Six degrees of separation and all—I could touch stardom.
If I had to change the movie title in my novel for historical accuracy, “The Graduate” would be a suitable substitute. Problem solved...
Until I listened to an audio version of Fiona Davis’s novel The Address.
The setting of this dual timeline historical novel is the famous Dakota apartment building in New York City, the place where John Lennon and Yoko Ono and many other celebs have lived. I enjoyed the storyline, the characters, the history.
Then came the author’s notes, read at the end of the audiobook.
In those notes, Davis, knowing historians would call her out if she didn’t explain, describes three historical facts she intentionally altered—just slightly—in her book. For example, several characters witness the Statue of Liberty being brought into New York Harbor several months earlier than actually happened. Upon hearing about that and the other liberties she took with the timeline, I felt—for just a moment—a little… I dunno, duped?
I called myself out on my reaction: was I being too judgmental? naive? After all, this was a work of FICTION. None of the things Davis changed were vital elements in the plot.
Still, presenting a fictional date for a movie run doesn’t have quite the gravity as altering when the U.S. received one of the world’s most recognizable symbols of freedom. And, rather than time-travel, alternate history, or historical fantasy, Davis’s novel, from the beginning, leads readers to anticipate traditional historical fiction. But does that imply historical accuracy?
Wait, though! Dozens of authors have bent history in various ways or depicted events that never actually occurred in the lives of real people.
Consider:
The Mystery of Mrs. Christie, by Marie Benedict (2021), a fictional account of the eleven days just after the real-life disappearance of Agatha Christie.
The First Actress, by C.W. Gortner (2020), a portrayal of the 19th-century superstar’s rise from a challenging childhood to fame on the stage.
Z: A Novel of Zelda Fitzgerald, by Therese Anne Fowler (2013), which focuses on the wife of F. Scott Fitzgerald in a fictionalized account of their tumultuous relationship and her own ambitions and struggles.
Many authors besides these and Davis have changed history in their “traditional historical novels.” As a reader, I know this!
And yet . . .
This back-and-forth played out in my mind for days. I kid you not. It was exhausting. I needed to know why Davis’s author’s note had bothered me so much.
Eventually, I arrived at two revelations.
This time, I listened to the story from a writer’s perspective. Davis’s disclosure in her approach brought to my attention that, as an author, I have to consider whether I’m willing—or not—to do similar in my stories when it could help the flow, enhance a theme, or otherwise be . . . needed?
It literally took me weeks to arrive at the second revelation, and I still don’t fully understand it. In most cases, I seem to have no issue with fabrication of someone’s life experiences for the sake of powerful storytelling, the way Fowler does in Z: A Novel of Zelda Fitzgerald. But plant a significant historical event out of time and you’ll raise my ire. My reaction to, and discomfort with, Davis’s flavor of changes is somehow connected to my relationship with TIME. More pondering on that one is required!
Now, another half dozen books read since The Address, I still have lingering questions:
Are these types of changes (specifically, time shifts in otherwise “normal world” stories) merely for the author’s convenience? i.e., fitting history around the story instead of tailoring the story around history?
Even though they’re in a work of fiction, do such changes impact the author’s credibility in the eyes of readers . . . even when there’s full disclosure?
What about the individual who never reads the author’s notes, thus, would never be aware these events weren’t historically accurate?
Does altering historical details in fiction affect our understanding of history or historical events in any way?
Am I treating our history—and particularly, its timeline—too preciously?
Is this simply my perfectionism holding court—being the accuser, the defendant, and the judge all at once?
Ultimately, I must ask myself: as an author, will I be a purist and realist in my presentation of historical details, especially time? I’m not sure of the answer yet.
When a story is otherwise realistically presented (that is, is NOT fantasy, altered timeline, time travel, etc.), how do you feel about historical facts being altered in fiction?
See how this post relates to my novel Dancing at The Royal Jade by checking out Chapter 4: "Awkward Introductions.”
This post first appeared on my Substack publication.
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