Alexander B. Rossino's Blog

Say the words "historical fiction" to an historian, or even an opinionated amateur reader of non-fiction history, and you might receive a sneer in return. Historical fiction is thought of by many readers of non-fiction history as pure bunkum not worth the paper it's written on. How do I know this? I know it because I recall asking a professor back in college why we should read Michael Shaara's The Killer Angels rather than a dry historical text on the Battle of Gettysburg. Several others in class agreed with my question, and the class being a section on the American Civil War, it attracted a lot of students studying history as a profession. The question was a no-brainer for students of academic history.

Subsequent years of study nuanced my opinion about the value of fictional treatments of history versus non-fiction texts and while I would never argue that history should only be read in a fictional framework, I have grown to believe that historical fiction plays a useful role in providing insight about the past. More importantly, I have come to understand that for all of its claims to reveal the "truth" about the past by relying on the documented "facts," non-fiction history is nothing but a catalog of names, dates, and places without an interpretive framework. This interpretive framework basically renders history fictional. An interpretation is an educated guess based on the sources available. Is it a correct interpretation? Who knows? In some cases an author's interpretation can even dramatically change the accepted truth about an historical figure or event. Given the shifting sands of interpretation, what truly is the difference between historical fiction and non-fiction history?

The difference is that historians, if they are honest, don't invent dialogue. They stick to words the sources say that "x" historical figure uttered. Those words, however, need to be considered in context and placed within an interpretive framework. Here the line between historical fiction and non-fiction history blurs to gray.

I'll provide an example. In a book I am currently re-reading, personality characteristics and opinions are attributed to Robert E. Lee that arise purely from the author's interpretation. Lee, the author contends, believed he could "out-general" Union opponent George B. McClellan and so he chose to endanger his army at Sharpsburg in an effort to prove his superiority.

There are many problems with this interpretation of Lee's motives for fighting at Sharpsburg. First, there is no evidence for it. Lee may have considered himself superior to McClellan, but he never said that at the time. Second, it draws attention away from other more important and solid motives that Lee had for taking the decision he did.

My point in bringing this up is not to pick nits with a fine historian. It is to demonstrate how interpretation can be written in non-fiction history as "fact" when it is purely conjecture; and when it is written in such a way, the difference between historical fiction and history becomes a mere formality.

In my own book, Six Days in September, I have Lee himself explain his motives for fighting at Sharpsburg. The literary framework is fictional, but the words Lee speaks are based on sentiments he truly did express, rather than on an assumption. In Six Days, Lee argues for fighting at Sharpsburg because he understood that the Confederacy could not win an extended war. He understood that opportunities like that presented at Sharpsburg needed to be seized, no matter what the odds were against him and his men. Perhaps a victory could be eked out! It had to be attempted to be achieved.

Returning to the topic of this post, historical fiction, if done well, and with careful attention to the sources, can tell the story of an historical event just as well as non-fiction history. Historical fiction may even be the more honest of the two genres because it makes no claim to the "truth" at the outset. So, the next time an historian sneers at the historical fiction you are reading, remind him/her that no one has a monopoly on the truth, especially when it comes to history.

Repost from www.generalleescorner.com, an exploration of the historical personality of Robert E. Lee.

In the years after the late war an appalling wave of acrimony and mutual recrimination broke out among those of my officers who had survived the conflict. At the heart of the accusations could be found an effort to lay blame for our lost struggle to win independence for the Southern Confederacy. In this debate the fight at Gettysburg loomed large, as if it had been the loss of this single battle that doomed our efforts to failure.

Although command of the Army of Northern Virginia lay with me in those fateful days of July 1863 the animosity surrounding our defeat only tangentially affected my person. I am able to see now that the reason for this had largely to do with reports I filed in the months after the battle. In those reports I made the grievous error of assigning blame for our repulse to the actions of three men under my command: General Stuart for being absent at a time when my need for information about the enemy’s movements was the greatest, Colonel Alexander for not informing me that the Army’s ammunition had been used up in the bombardment I had ordered on the third day, and, most lamentably of all, General Longstreet for delaying his offensive operations on the third day of the fight.

To admit that these allegations originated from my pen is painful for me to confess. I believe, however, that it is my solemn Christian duty to speak the truth in the face of God. To have not done so earlier is regrettable to me.

Admittedly, my disappointment with General Stuart had grown by the time that our expedition into Pennsylvania had commenced. It was at Sharpsburg when I first realized that the general’s tendency to ride off beyond my control could have serious consequences for our army. He arrived on the 15th of September with news of Jackson’s capture of Harper’s Ferry, but by that time the damage of his absence had been done. Enemy cavalry had been allowed to run loose in our rear and seize dozens of ordnance wagons; wagons which carried ammunition that would be greatly missed on the field of battle two days later.

I knew better by 1863, you see, than to have let Stuart disappear into the Pennsylvania countryside ahead of our army. Knowing his impetuous nature I should have exercised more control over the man than I did. The failure to do so was mine, not his.

Concerning Colonel Alexander, the error of not reporting sufficient ammunition in his caissons was a simple administrative oversight, not a sin. As commander of the Army of Northern Virginia it was my responsibility to know the state of our ordnance. Regular reports before the fight at Gettysburg showed that the army had ammunition in sufficient quantity, but after two days of battle and following the extensive artillery bombardment preceding our assault on the enemy’s center I should have surmised that ammunition would be in short supply. In any case I never sent a man from my staff to confirm this, which was an error on my part, not Colonel Alexander’s. Furthermore, the lack of ammunition would not have made any difference as ours was an infantry assault which our artillery could only minimally support.

Lastly, my dissatisfaction with General Longstreet’s efforts must be addressed. On the evening of the 2nd inst. I had desired the general to begin his attack on the enemy’s center as early as possible the next morning. In my later report I laid the blame for our defeat on his inability to get moving quickly and for throwing his corps piecemeal against the enemy. By focusing on timing and delay I directed attention away from the fact that I assumed it would have been possible for our brave men to break the center of the enemy’s line in the first place. I admit now that it never would have been possible and that my aggressiveness in pursuing the attack was misplaced.

It pains me to write this, but I feel I must explain my motives. The fact of the matter is that I sought to end the war in a single, bold stroke. Much as I had supposed at Sharpsburg nine months earlier, I believed our army to be in position to strike a decisive blow that would send the enemy reeling back to Washington. The blow must be struck, I concluded, even if it meant sacrificing the flower of our army. The struggle for our cause could not be left to linger on indefinitely as neither time nor resources had ever been in our favor. This fact was even more true in 1863 than it had been in 1862. Circumstances forced me to pursue a more aggressive strategy than I had originally intended. We could not replace the men or materiel lost in every battle. The enemy could. This simple math led me to understand that we must strike a decisive blow no matter the cost. We must be victorious or be defeated trying. There was no other choice. Mens lives would be sacrificed, of course, but it was better to sacrifice them than to sacrifice our cause. The facts of war are terrible to apprehend and those of you who have never contemplated them cannot conceive how heavily they weigh on the soul.

My decision to fight at Gettysburg was incorrect. I should have sought a different means to accomplish our objectives and should not have blamed anyone else for the result of decisions I made. In the end neither victory nor defeat lay in our hands. Only our Heavenly Father decides thus. When Jackson died I forgot this fact and it is to my everlasting regret that I did.

Your Obt. Servant,

R.E. Lee