Of Portraits and Biographies: The Art of Biographical Fiction

 Two great works of biographical fiction.

Writing historical fiction in which real historical figures play a role creates the obligation for careful research. Biographical fiction requires an even higher standard of research, since the entire book must adhere to the known biographical data. Biographical fiction ought to be a biography -- written in a fashion that is easier and more enjoyable to read.

Yet any biographer can tell you that two completely accurate, non-fictional biographies can produce radically different images of the subject. There are always gaps in the historical record, phases of a person’s life that were not meticulously recorded, or events so controversial that no one version of them exists. Unless the subject of a biography also kept diaries of their thoughts and doings every day of his/her life, there is also the challenge of trying to understand motives for recorded actions. And even if the subject of a biography did keep diaries or write letters, there is the issue of how honest or self-serving such documents are. Biographers, like novelists, fill in the gaps, select which of several competing versions of events seems most plausible and speculate about motives and emotions not recorded. Non-fictional biographers do this by openly discussing options and explaining their interpretation of events. Novelists do this by turning their interpretation into a novel.

 

A modern biographical novel that provides new insight and a new perspective on a familiar historical figure.

But whereas the best biography is inherently the image that is most like the subject (most comprehensive and accurate in every detail), the same cannot necessarily be said of the best biographical fiction. A very “good” biography might be long, dry and boring, but biographical fiction strives to be not only a record of history (in this case a historical personality) but also a work of art. This means that biographical fiction must be more than just accurate, it has to also be exciting, evocative, moving, and well-written.

Let me give an example from the world of painting. There is only one known (or surviving) painting of Isabella the Catholic, Queen of Castile, which was painted during her life time by an artist who had met her.  It is not a very good painting; it is stiff and lifeless, dark and, well, almost amateurish. Yet, there are many portrayals of Isabella by artists, who did not know what she looked at all. These later works may not as accurately depict Isabella’s features, yet they may capture her “spirit” in that they make the viewer “see” aspects of Isabella’s known personality – her piety combined with iron will etc. etc. 

Three interpretations of Isabella of Castille, "La Catolica"

Or consider sacred art. No one knows what Jesus or his mother looked like, but this does not detract from the magnificent works of art portraying them. We judge sacred art not on whether the image correctly shows Jesus as blond or brown-haired, with a long beard or clean shaven, but rather on whether the depictions of Him move and inspire us. Michelangelo’s pieta is not necessarily more accurate in depicting Christ and Maria’s features, yet it stands out above other works of art on the same subject by virtue of its ability to convey the agony of a grieving mother for her murdered son.

Pieta by Michelangelo in St. Peter's, Vatican

This explains how different biographical novels about the same subject can be very different, yet equally good. Is Schiller or Shaw’s Joan of Arc better? I cannot say off-hand which historians would choose as more accurate, but I do know that both – regardless of which is more accurate – are great works of biographical fiction.

My most recent work is a biographical novel of Balian d'Ibelin in three parts.

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Of Portraits and Bioprahies

Reflections on the Challenges of Writing Biographical Fiction

Writing historical fiction in which real historical figures play a role creates the obligation for careful research. Biographical fiction requires an even higher standard of research, since the entire book must adhere to the known biographical data. Biographical fiction ought to be a biography -- written in a fashion that is easier and more enjoyable to read.

Yet any biographer can tell you that two completely accurate, non-fictional biographies can produce radically different images of the subject. There are always gaps in the historical record, phases of a person’s life that were not meticulously recorded, or events so controversial that no one version of them exists. Unless the subject of a biography also kept diaries of their thoughts and doings every day of his/her life, there is also the challenge of trying to understand motives for recorded actions. And even if they did keep diaries or write letters, there is the issue of how honest or self-serving such documents are. Biographers, like novelists, fill in the gaps, select which of several competing versions of events seems most plausible and speculate about motives and emotions not recorded. Non-fictional biographers do (or should do) this openly, by discussing various possible explanations and explaining their interpretation of events. Novelists do this by turning their interpretation into a novel.

But whereas the best biography is inherently the image that is most like the subject (most comprehensive and accurate in every detail), the same cannot necessarily be said of the best biographical fiction. A very “good” biography can be long, dry and boring, but biographical fiction strives to be not only a record of history (in this case a historical personality) but also a work of art. This means that biographical fiction must be more than just accurate, it has to also be exciting, evocative, moving, and well-written.

Let me give an example from the world of painting. There is only one known (or surviving) painting of Isabella the Catholic, Queen of Castile, which was painted during her life time by an artist who met her.  It is not a very good painting; it is stiff and lifeless, dark and, well, almost amateurish. Yet, there are many portrayals of Isabella by artists, who did not know what she looked at all. These later works may not as accurately depict Isabella’s features, yet they may capture her “spirit” in that they make the viewer “see” aspects of Isabella’s known personality – her piety combined with iron will etc. etc.

Or consider sacred art. No one knows what Jesus or his mother looked like, but this does not detract from the magnificent works of art portraying them. We judge sacred art not on whether the image correctly shows Jesus as blond or brown-haired, with a long beard or clean shaven, but rather on whether the depictions of Him move and inspire us. Michelangelo’s pieta is not necessarily more accurate in depicting Christ and Maria’s features, yet it stands out above other works of art on the same subject by virtue of its ability to convey the agony of a grieving mother for her murdered son. 

This explains how different biographical novels about the same subject can be very different, yet equally good. Is Schiller or Shaw’s Joan of Arc better? I cannot say off-hand which historians would choose as more accurate, but I do know that both – regardless of which is more accurate – are great works of biographical fiction.

My goal with my biographical novel of Balian d’Ibelin is to create a work of art that stands on its own merits – as well as being a tribute to a fascinating historical personality.  This will require more than accuracy; it will require careful crafting of presentation – and time.

Authenticity vs Accuracy - The Historical Novelist's Dilemma

Ridley Scott’s “Kingdom of Heaven” is a text-book example of how it is possible to be authentic without being accurate. Scott’s film, depicting the crusader kingdom during the last years of the reign of Baldwin IV and the fall of Jerusalem to Saladin in 1186, is far from accurate, yet it succeeds brilliantly in evoking an age and a society.  While it is possible to question if all his changes to history were necessary, there is no question that on the whole his film delivers historical insight to an often misunderstood age.

As a historian, I tend to be very fussy about getting the facts right. In my own works of historical fiction I try to get all the known facts scrupulously correct and take liberties only with the interpretation of motives, mood, and non-historical supporting cast.  Scott is much bolder – and yet he succeeds in conveying the essential facts in a way that captures the imagination.

For example, the historical Balian d’Ibelin, who defended and surrendered Jerusalem to Saladin in 1187, was the legitimate son of “Barisan” (sometimes also known as Balian the Elder), the Constable of Jaffa, and not an illegitimate son of a childless man as in the film. Nevertheless, the real Barisan was of “obscure” origins, and most probably a younger son of a European noblemen, and Barisan was granted the lordship of Ibelin by the King of Jerusalem.  Thus, the character of Scott’s “Godfrey” d’Ibelin reflects reality and articulates a key aspect of the crusades and the Christian Kingdom of Jerusalem: the ability of men of (comparatively) obscure origins to become powerful and rich in Outremer.  

Scott’s Sibylla is also more fiction than fact, and yet she epitomizes the powerful – and colorful – role played by women in the Kingdom of Jerusalem. They were at once pawns for forging alliances and gaining power, and yet far from powerless, often decisive, notoriously outspoken and anything but prudish.  In fact, the real Princess Sibylla probably had an affair with the real Balian d’Ibelin’s elder brother.  More important, she forced her brother King Baldwin IV to accept Guy de Lusignan as her second husband, despite the king’s (very justified) objections about Lusignan’s suitability, by having an affair with him.  In effect, Scott condensed the stories of several prominent women in the history of the Kingdom of Jerusalem into his fictional Sibylla, and film benefits from Balian being involved with her.  

On the other hand, the portrayal of Saladin in the film is, as far as I know, on the whole accurate, as are the role of Reynald de Chatillon, Guy de Lusignan, and the Templars in this period.  The catastrophe at Hattin, including the scene in Saladin’s tent following the battle and the siege and surrender of Jerusalem, are all for the most part correct, aside from being slightly condensed.  In short, Scott has carefully mixed fact with fiction to produce a great work of art.

Furthermore, with the resources at his disposal, Scott produced images that are magnificent and powerful – truly worth a thousand words!   Indeed, “Kingdom of Heaven” is in many ways an excellent example of the advantages film has over the written word when dealing with unfamiliar environments. It would take pages of meticulous description (that no reader wants to wade through!) to describe the armor of a late 12^th century knight, or the decoration of a Saracen palace, or the cramped and crowded streets of Jerusalem.  In a film with a director of Scott’s quality, who brings together the best costume artists and set designers, all those details are simply spread out in color before the viewer’s eyes.  With a single camera sweep, the landscape is laid out in painstaking – and breathtaking – detail. It is when I see a film like this that I wish my novels could be filmed!

Then again, the plot and characters would probably be changed beyond recognition, and I’m not sure I’d want that! Instead, I’ll be content if readers see Scott’s “Kingdom of Heaven” before reading my biographical novel of Balian d’Ibelin so they have all those vivid images of the Holy Land in their head when they start to read about a man whose real life was more interesting and real character more admirable than the hero of Scott's film.

Sparring with Ghosts: Writing Biographical Fiction

While I have been writing historical fiction all my life, I only started to focus on biographical fiction after earning my PhD with a biography of General Friedrich Olbricht. Combining the skills of a biographer were those of a novelist is an even greater challenge than combing the skills of an historian with those of a novelist. History provides a context for fictional characters, but leaves the novelist almost infinite freedom to fit their characters into the general historical framework. Biographical fiction requires a higher degree of discipline and forces a novelist to operate within a more rigid structure. The rewards of evolving an internally consistent and legitimate interpretation of a historical figure are, however, almost indescribable.

The fact is, for most historical figues information about what went on inside their hearts and minds is scarce. We might have the odd letter or two, or if very lucky a diary, but the farther back in history a person lived, the less likely we are to have authentic, first-hand material. Most of what we know about historical figures was recorded at best by contemporary chroniclers, and more often by observers who lived decades or even centuries later. Many historical records come from foreign sources – Athenians writing about Sparta, Christian monks recording the raids of the Vikings, or Frenchmen decrying the atrocities of the English in the Hundred Years War. Even where we have contemporary, domestic sources, these may be hostile to the subject, for example the interrogation records of the Inquisition describing the Cathars or Gestapo memos on the German resistance to Hitler.

What this means is that the best information we have about historical figures is usually their actions. My father always told me to judge a man by what he did, not what he said, but this can be very difficult across the distance of 500 years or more. And, of course, in certain situations we cannot even be sure that deeds attributed to one personality or another were in fact committed by them. Did Richard III order the murder of his nephews or didn’t he? The sons of Edward IV disappeared while Richard III was king. Bones have been found that appear to match boys their age. Carbon dating suggests a date within the period of Richard’s short reign. Yet anyone familiar with the Richard III controversy knows there are powerful arguments against Richard’s guilt and a number of other historical figures, who could conceivably committed (or ordered) the murders.

In short, while a novelist writing biographical fiction has to keep to the known facts, he/she still has a great deal of leeway. In most cases, there is almost unlimited freedom when it comes to describing emotions and attitudes, and these in turn determine the nature of relationships and – ultimately – the character of an individual. With the identical set of facts, two good historical novelists could create equally convincing and yet virtually opposite characters. Sticking to my Richard III example: the bald fact is that Richard married Anne Neville, the widow of his arch-rival, the Lancastrian prince Edward. Depending on how one interprets this fact, he either forced himself on a helpless, grieving widow or he rescued his childhood sweetheart after her father bartered her into a hated first marriage.

 

It is all about interpretation, a phenomenon that actors will recognize well. In a play, the same actions, even the same lines, can be transformed by interpretation – and that is what makes writing biographical fiction so much fun.