Putting The Past in Context

Say you’re writing a historical drama where two noblemen of Henry VIII’s court. They engage in all kinds of nefarious plots to prevent the other from being appointed the Gentleman of the Stool. They scheme, poison, scandal-monger, and lie.

You may write a very convincing and even riveting tale of intrigue but it’s not going to catch the reader if he is puzzled as to why the two men want the position. Especially as the main duty seems to be wiping the King’s bottom on the toilet.

You need to contextualize the rivalry. Show the Gentleman of the Stool as the only courtier assured individual and private access to the King. To ask for favors, or turn the King against a rival. Then the rest of the story falls into place.

You may also need to contextualize the past even with more recent events. For example, the novel The Reader by Bernhard Schlink was first published in 1995 in German. A pivot point of the plot, set in World War II, is that the heroine goes to great lengths to conceal that she is illiterate. A literate 1995 audience may not understand why the shame was so great. The reader needs to understand how or why or if the context affects how open the secret is.

Putting context into the past

So, how do you do this?

Not, of course, by hitting the reader over the head by using a long passage of tell to provide the context.

But you might have one of the noblemen musing what he could do if he got the preferment he desired. Or show a boy being made fun of because he can’t read.

So take a look at the story you’re writing. On the one hand, being specific and tangible is a strength of any tale. On the other, it can be so unique that it is puzzling to the reader who has not been in that situation. Identify any things which might impede understanding of the story.

But also remember that readers can often pick up the meaning or context as they go along and take some pleasure in being able to figure it out. So, don’t go crazy with this context business. Only the really important bits.

Not just the past

Actually, contextualizing is appropriate in any situation where you think that your desired audience is not of the culture you are writing about. An LGBTQ story aimed at those outside the community may need to explain aspects of the context which might be unfamiliar to an outsider.

For example, in the translation of a Swedish (I think it was Swedish) novel, the hero says hello to a man on a ladder, painting a house. The painter almost loses his balance in surprise. The author kindly provided a footnote to explain that speaking to strangers was unusual in Sweden (Sweden?).

So, don’t go crazy but also don’t lessen the power of your saga by forgetting to provide the appropriate context.

Deus ex Machina: Robert Harris’ Munich

I love Robert Harris’ books but even such an accomplished writer can fall into the trap of Deus ex Machina.

Love Robert Harris’ novels

I just want to repeat this as I would not want to put you off reading Robert Harris. He is an exemplar in using research to illuminate and not drown the story (memoir and historical fiction writers, take note). Fatherland, one of his earliest, brilliantly uses what might have happened in Nazi Germany after the war. The Cicero Trilogy is another example of meticulous research turned into compelling reading. He also writes exciting contemporary novels like The Ghost, which has been turned into an equally gripping movie called The Ghost Writer directed by Roman Polanski. So, are you convinced that I like his writing? Let’s proceed.

What is Deus ex Machina?

Deus ex Machina is a literary term which loosely means that the writer writes himself into a corner. He creates a great dilemma for his protagonist but there is no way out. The hero is on a crumbling cliff and his enemies are waiting just below him on the mountain. Suddenly, a bomb goes off and blows up his enemies. Our hero makes his way safely down the mountain and lives happily ever after.

Which leaves the reader thinking, “Wait a minute—where did the bomb come from?” and/or “How come the blast didn’t destroy the cliff, too?” This is Deus ex Machina. The resolution to the story through an unexpected and often unbelievable event not engineered by the hero.

Robert Harris’ Munich

Munich covers the events which led to the signing of the Munich Pact in 1938. The Pact was negotiated between Nevil Chamberlain, the then Prime Minister of Great Britain and Adolf Hitler, Chancellor and dictator of Germany. It was Chamberlain’s attempt to stave off conflict with Germany through yielding to Hitler’s demands and is widely seen as an at least an ill-advised and at worst, a shameful piece of appeasement. Which did nothing to prevent the outbreak of war.

Hugh Legat is an ambitious but junior member of the British diplomatic corps who is taken to the Munich conference because of his friendship with Paul von Hartmann. They met at Oxford and Hartmann is now with the German Foreign Office but secretly opposed to Hitler. He has promised the British government a document damaging to Hitler only if he can turn it over to Legat.

He does so but it is stolen from Legat’s briefcase and it seems inevitable that Hartmann will be arrested.

Okay—spoiler alert but necessary.

All is saved because a British secretary, also in Munich, but barely mentioned in the rest of the novel, is a secret agent who stole the document for safekeeping.

This comes out of the blue. Harris is known for his clever and unexpected endings but this one, I think, slips into Deus ex Machina territory. Instead of “Oh, how clever—makes sense but I didn’t pick up the clues,” I thought, “What? Where did she come from?”

Next post: Let’s talk about how to avoid Deus ex Machina in your writing.