Echoes of History

 

by Rebecca S. Buck

April sees the release of my second novel Ghosts of Winter and I wanted to talk a little about the title and my inspiration. This is not the ghost story you might expect. The main plot of the book is a modern story of self-discovery and fulfilling romance. However, the spark of inspiration for this novel, and the thread which is embroidered throughout, was the idea of history echoing forward into the present. My protagonist, Ros, inherits a country house in need of renovation. During the novel there are glimpses of the history of the house, and importantly, the lives and loves of its former inhabitants.

Anyone who has read my first novel, Truths, will recognise this as a theme I like to explore. When I talk about “ghosts”, I don’t mean ghouls; I mean shadows, echoes, remnants of the past.  They are the reason I have written two novels combining modern and historical stories. The idea that we are all part of a continuum of humanity, that people before us loved, cried, laughed—experienced life—in much the same way as we do, is something I always hope to convey.

I almost studied history academically, at Oxford, no less. But after nine weeks I knew I couldn’t do it. Not because I was academically incapable, but because the academic study of history involves a focus on great events and people, on dates, battles, politics…and what I was really interested in was the people. I wanted to hear the stories. This is why I turned to literature. When I read a book by Austen or Eliot, a poem by Blake or Byron, what I see is a window into the past. I hear the voice of someone who lived before me, not just the words on the page.

But so many stories have never been told. Ordinary people very rarely wrote a record of their lives. In many cases they couldn’t, in others it probably never occurred to them that anyone would be interested. And in this context, our queer ancestors are almost entirely absent from the pages of history. Their stories have always been secret, barely spoken of, and certainly not written down.  But this does not mean they didn’t exist. I would never presume that my works of fiction give an entirely accurate representation of people who really existed in the past. But if I can suggest what might have been, give just a hint of the untold stories of days gone by, I will be a very happy writer indeed.

So, why weave this in with a modern story? Because I don’t want there to be a separation. I don’t want there to be a “then” and a “now”. Times might have changed, but we’re still only human, with everything that brings, just as we always were.

When I visit a historical building—a castle, a stately country house, a church, a prison—I can feel the past. Sometimes I even put my hands on the stone and make the connection even stronger. And what I feel very powerfully is that I’m part of it. I’m touching the brickwork, walking up the worn stairs, looking through a window, in just the same way as generations have done before me. I always wonder who saw the view from just the same place. Who ran their fingers over the same smooth stone carvings? A fine lady? An arrogant gentleman? A lowly servant girl? Did they feel some of the same things as I do? I like to think some of them did.

We have our own ghosts. Those parts of our lives that shape us, which haunt us and make us who we are, for better or worse. Part of Ghosts of Winter deals with that, as Ros confronts her own recent past. But the “ghosts” of the title are more than that. They are the echoes of history, the untold stories which still, inextricably, shape the world we have today.

Is “predictable” always bad?

 by Rebecca S. Buck

Hi everyone. I’ve been asked to post this blog (which I published on my own blog yesterday) to the BSB authors’ blog. So here you go! I would love to hear everyone’s opinions on this one!

Writers shouldn’t read reviews of their work.

It’s excellent advice. It’s also incredibly difficult to stick to when you see that someone has written a new review. I suspect it’s even harder for new writers than it is for the ones who are old hands at this. Curiosity can just get too much. Because writers thrive on feedback too. And I care what my readers think…I want to listen, to learn, to improve…I don’t want to to disappoint people who do me the honour of buying and reading my book.

So I just read a reader’s review of my first novel, Truths (published April 2010 from Bold Strokes Books), on Amazon.com (you can read the review here). It’s mostly a very good review and I’m very grateful indeed to the lady called Beth from LA who wrote it and gave me 4 stars out of 5 and said I was a “promising” writer. However, in her last paragraph, she describes my novel as “predictable”.

Which got me thinking. I’m not going to debate the question of Truths being predictable. I guess that depends very much on each individual reader. I’ve had other readers tell me that certain aspects of the way the novel concludes took them by surprise. And, honestly, I would agree that some parts of the book are predictable. You know–more or less–how it’s going to turn out, from at least half way through.

That’s not really what I’ve been thinking about. What I’ve been debating with myself is this: Is “predictable” necessarily a bad thing for a novel to be?

I constantly read reviews on the backs of books and in the front matter proclaiming how “unexpected” certain plot twists were…how wonderful it is that the reader is kept guessing…how shocking the ending of a novel is…how clever for being so surprising. Clearly readers–at least those who write reviews considered worthy of reprinting–enjoy a novel that twists and turns and takes them by surprise. I’ve enjoyed novels like that myself. One of the best is Sarah Waters’s Fingersmith. The twists in that novel are real shocks when they come and it’s a delight to read.

But sometimes I like the comfort of a “predictable” read too. Fingersmith isn’t my favourite of Waters’s books precisely because the twists startle me so much. I don’t necessarily mean I need a simple story. I don’t mean one without any twists or unexpected happenings at all. But isn’t it sometimes nice to know what’s going to happen? To get the happy ending you’re hoping for? It’s comfortable and unchallenging perhaps. But does a book always have to be a challenge? Does it always have to shake you up to be a good read? Some of the classics of literature are really predictable. I knew Lizzie Bennett and Mr. Darcy were going to get together from the time they danced together at the Netherfield ball. Jane Eyre was going to end up in the arms of Mr. Rochester from the moment they met on the road to Thornfield. The events of the novel–a younger sister’s elopment or a mad wife in the attic–we can’t forsee. But we know how we want the novel to end…and it’s a good feeling when we get what we want.

I’m not comparing myself as a writer with Austen and Bronte. I’m actually talking about my experience as a reader. I’m not a fan of most mystery fiction or crime fiction because most of it goes out of its way to keep me guessing. Sometimes it feels like a plot twists just for the sake of it. Sometimes I don’t want to be a detective. I just want some entertainment. That doesn’t mean it can’t be thought provoking or touch my heart. It can be intelligent and unusual. It can be educational and stimulating. It just means I don’t always need to be surprised to enjoy a good read. A plot can keep me guessing what I’m going to discover in the next chapter, even when I sense I know where those chapters are leading to.

Knowing the destination doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy the journey.

Rebecca

www.rebeccasbuck.com

First posted on www.rebeccasb.wordpress.com

BSB in the UK (July 29th 2010): A Personal Perspective

By Rebecca S. Buck

Hello! I thought I’d venture tentatively into the blogosphere by talking about the recent BSB reading and signing evening in Nottingham, England. This is less an account of the events of the night and more about the feelings it produced in this new writer…

 

BSB in the UK (July 29^th 2010): A Personal Perspective.

In July 2009, with a hand shaking with excitement, I signed the contract for the publication of Truths with Bold Strokes, still amazed and honoured anyone wanted to publish my unusual novel. A year later, July 2010, and I’m sitting in a bookstore in Nottingham with five other BSB writers and one editor (Jane Fletcher, Lesley Davis, Gill McKnight, Justine Saracen, I. Beacham, and Victoria Oldham) clutching a copy of Truths, waiting to read from it, and then answer questions from an audience of forty enthusiastic readers. My name is on a card in front of me. I’m a writer.

It’s exciting so many people came to see us. It’s wonderful to finally meet some of my BSB family. It’s a real thrill BSB is making headway in the UK and people who’ve never heard of our books are asking excitedly where they can buy them. To be able to tell them “in all good bookshops” feels like a privilege in itself.

But for me—the newbie writer—it’s more exciting still. In many ways it’s a life changing night. I finally realize what I’m part of. A roomful of so many enthusiastic and friendly people, brought together by the power of books. Books they can relate to, about characters they can feel a connection with. How important BSB is for our community—in Europe as well as the USA—strikes me full force.

There is still—in these modern, fast-paced, digital times—such an enthusiasm for books. Our audience listens keenly to every reading, and have more questions ready for us than I expected. From whether the sex we describe in our books is true to our real lives (politely declined to answer that one!) to what our favorite books are (after a long indecisive pause I finally say The Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro). That people are interested in me because I write is both wonderful and surreal to me. I know it’s not that I’m so fascinating myself; it’s that books still carry a touch of magic in their pages. I can feel it in the room.

And there are so many aspiring writers there too. Asking questions about publishing, editing, why we write what we do. Dreams are floating and trembling in the air. I suddenly realize what I have achieved. I’ve been allowed to grasp hold of one of those dreams. I’m not sure I have any business giving advice about getting published, but I do my best, leaving most of the words of wisdom to my more experienced BSB colleagues. But the sheer enthusiasm—the passion for writing—in the room seeps into my blood. I was already buzzing when Truths was published. But my excitement reached new levels in that few hours in the bookstore (and, yes, in the pub afterwards!). In nearly all of the photos from that night I have a hugely stupid grin. I couldn’t stop smiling.

I never did come back down to earth. That one night has fired my passion for books and writing for the rest of my life. I am currently working on my next novel, Ghosts of Winter. I’ll admit I didn’t write the first draft very well. In the process of redrafting it there were times I felt disheartened. It wasn’t going as smoothly as Truths did. Editing can be brutal for a sensitive soul. But if I feel a little bruised and battered by it I remember that night in the bookstore. Instead of brutal, the process of editing—making a book the best it can be—becomes rewarding. I want to be a better writer. I want to be the best I can. I want to deserve this.

Books are so very important. They entertain and amuse. But they can also bring people together, inspire, and change lives. It is an honour like nothing I’ve ever known before to be a writer. To be a real part of this well beloved world of words and dreams.

On July 29^th  2010 Bold Strokes Books invaded the UK to great success. Hopefully we’ll do it again soon and it will be bigger and better. But July 29^th taught me a lesson too. What I learned that night is this: I appreciate every writer who writes—published or not, whether I like their words or not. I am grateful to every reader, to everyone who loves words, whether they read my novels or not. Publishing is an industry with trends and markets. Writing can be hard work at times. But books are—and have always been—something magical.