Welcome, friend! When Klara Łuczka-Hanzalová reached out to me to review her novel, Dust of Wrathful Years, I wanted to know about how she approached historical fiction as a reader and writer. This guest post is a beautiful reflection of the dichotomy of being inspired by the worlds we read about and the things a writer may fear when writing historical fiction. I enjoyed this very much and I hope you will too!
On the limits to creativity within Historical fiction
A guest post by Klara Łuczka-Hanzalová
My favourite historical fiction works – distant history
In comparing my experiences as a writer and reader of historical fiction, I realized that there was little overlap between the two. I noticed something I paid little attention to earlier – that when directing myself towards this genre, I rarely chose novels set in the era I write about – the Second World War.
Perhaps that’s simply because I search for fresh air and need to set my eyes on something new. Or I might be afraid of being implicitly influenced, and unconsciously mimic elements from others in my own writing. Because after discovering a deeply convincing structure, it’s difficult to just forget everything, snap out of it and create your own world. In the web of literature, everything is intertwined, writers draw from those before them, and we all recreate the drama of human existence in our own words with a personal focus on what speaks most to our hearts. In my eyes, it is impossible to fully reject the archetypes transcending times and spaces.
For this article I was invited to reflect on whether anything I read in historical fiction inspired my own work. I did not think so at first, until I realized that certain archetypal figures and situations had been influencing me, without my conscious awareness.
A journey across time and space with my all-time favourite novels
Across my experiences as a reader, three classical historical fiction novels stood out to me by the depth of their voice. Each being set in a different period and country; they somewhat found a way into building a connection with my own work. Travelling across time and space, I encountered overarching themes that I later brought back to life when writing about the Polish resistance during the Second World War.
“Quo Vadis” by Henryk Sienkiewicz
Set in ancient Rome during the reign of Emperor Nero, this book transports readers to the time of early Christians’ persecutions. While the main characters’ martyrdom is anticipated throughout the book, a tale of love unfolds between a Roman patrician and a young Christian woman. Even when their tragic fate was inescapable, I was attached to their journey, admiring especially their inner will to remain steadfast in the face of oppression.
Thanks to his extensive research and literary genius, Sienkiewicz wonderfully blended historical events with fictional elements. The result is a vivid portrayal of life in ancient Rome and the struggles of early Christians under persecution. The novel not only entertains but also provides valuable insights into the complexities of human nature and the resilience of faith in times of adversity.
Something of this atmosphere reverberates in my work, in the resilience of Polish people against terror. The secrecy and persecution surrounding the first Christians can be found again in conspirers fighting the German occupant in Warsaw. In Quo Vadis, one scene particularly stuck to my memory, where the importance of symbols was made clear. Early Christians adopted the fish as a secret sign through which believers recognized one another. In my novel, I tried drawing an implicit parallel with the anchor – an emblem of the Polish resistance during WWII.
Quo Vadis speaks of the victory of moral ideals over violence and tortures – a theme reignited in those who fought against Nazi German ideology.
Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell
Set on the backdrop of the American civil war, Gone with the Wind focuses less on battles than on the entire fall of a civilization, and the trials of people surviving behind the frontlines.
Here I was most impressed by the depth and breadth of character development, especially in the case of Scarlett O’Hara. From a spoiled, stubborn, and proud teenager, she turns into a determined woman using every bit of her strength to support her family with the scarce resources remaining, after the destruction brought by war. Her stubbornness is changed into an asset, pushing her through the roughest trials. Transformative and traumatic experiences lead her from being a child to looking after others.
The author perfectly portrayed a ruthless dynamic, of war prematurely forcing youth into adulthood. In my work, I touch upon this same theme, where a generation is robbed of the brightest days of youth by the outbreak of WWII.
Also, I must mention the sentiment I attach to the love story so masterfully crafted across the pages. One of my favourites in literature…
Les Misérables by Victor Hugo
For this masterpiece of historical and psychological fiction, I do not even know where to begin. I suppose that ever since a musical was created based on this novel, the main picture associated with Les Misérables is the revolution, the barricades…
And yet, behind these vivid and memorable scenes, there is so much more to unpack.
Above all, I felt a powerful impact of the fight between good and evil, and the power of redemption. Thanks to these elements, Les Misérables soon became in my eyes an ideal for a psychologically convincing exploration of characters, and a vivid portrayal of a historical period and its societal struggles.
An integral part of this success is the author’s ability to show the interconnectedness of human lives. Past actions reverberate through the characters’ lives, affecting their choices and destinies. There is a reason for the length of the book – every character is explored in depth, their story unfolds over several years, without any shortcuts. I found this incredibly impressive, and thought-provoking. Many storylines are neatly crafted together, thus symbolizing the deep unity between men and women from various backgrounds.
And from experience, I can tell that such coherence between numerous parallel stories is not easy to maintain, while simultaneously creating a natural flow across the pages.
Then there is the power of sacrifice, illustrated in the lengths to which people are willing to go for a cause they see as just or for those they love. Dedication to principles and personal values is clearly brought to life by Hugo.
When recounting stories of the Polish resistance, I was also inspired to delve into these realms, to show how certain people went beyond themselves to fulfill their duty, to defend justice and human dignity in the face of all-encompassing evil.
All three of these works paint an image of love in the midst of war, instability, or persecutions. The strive for love in apocalyptic times is essential in my trilogy, Dust of Wrathful Years.
In the direst circumstances, life’s fragility and imminent threats of death coexist with hope. The young people I write about were thirsting for life, like anyone their age today. Yet they also knew that they were not given long to walk in this world. At the heart of everything, love was the only force able to effectively defend them against the surrounding horrors. Even when everything around suggested that mercy and compassion had departed from the surface of the earth.
The presence of historical figures
In my favourite books, historical figures appeared from a distance. Or if they did have significant, close-up scenes, these were people from faraway times like Ancient Rome. One can be at liberty with fictionalizing those times. Writing about a relatively recent era can be a double-edged sword – on one hand resources for research are readily available, on the other, fresh topics can easily elicit controversies and debates about the accuracy and fairness of depictions.
To add context to my inner conflicts, let me explain that in Poland the WWII era is very much alive in people’s memories. My focus is on the youth resistance movement – of which some members have been elevated to the status of legends, covered by an implicit veil of unconditional respect and protection. I share in this feeling of honouring their memory, but at times the intensity and weight becomes at odds with the creative task of a fiction writer, who wants to retell stories through a new lens. Not necessarily to shake up established facts or to contradict the current narrative, but rather to bring life back to the overheard tales, with a fresh take on interpersonal relationships.
When I first began writing, my main goal was to depict a specific era and city close to my heart. Warsaw, during the Second World War. Floating between fiction and reality, I structured the story along larger scale true events while fictionalizing the details. This allowed me to create a personal angle specific to my characters. While leaving myself space for creativity, I had to avoid the danger of interfering with the course of history.
I planned to build entirely fictional characters who did not necessarily interact on page with those who really existed. If anything, their connection to historical figures would be implicit. I thought of the latter as distant and mysterious personalities, which were more safely kept out of reach. I did not want to risk bringing them to life and accidentally contradict any known facts.
Writing about an era that is not far back, and well-known to people, I could not get rid of the fear of mistakes and misrepresentations being pointed out by readers and specialists. Even if I was confident in the research I had done, I thought that interfering with the lives of specific true people was a liberty I was not bold enough to take. Especially since witnesses of these days of still alive, perhaps even friends of those who come to life in my book.
I’ve seen waves of criticism regarding certain movies that painted inaccurate and perhaps hurtful images of people. The risk of offending someone’s memory frightened me.
The concern of doing justice to historical figures was one of the strongest chains to my creativity. Whenever one of them entered the stage and began interacting with others, I turned over precautious. Sticking to the known facts, I painted people who somewhat seemed like a necessary element of the construction, but should not be investigated in depth, lest they fall apart and collapse along with the entire world.
The interior life of my characters, their reflections, and emotions, are usually given considerable space. However, my “real” characters were somehow not given the chance for such self-awareness moments. Was I afraid of intruding into their lives again?
It’s confusing when you start creating scenes with these “real people”. There’s that worry that readers will get confused – so which of these events were true and which were not?
After tossing and turning the conundrum in my head, a new idea helped me free myself from constraints. I asked myself why I was building this mental barrier between fictional and real characters. Are they in essence different from one another? Or is the strength of this boundary artificial? Perhaps, the line could be blurred…
Ultimately, those characters that I “made up” would never be entirely fictional. A writer’s work is unavoidably influenced by surrounding people, interactions with others and stories and personalities extracted from the past. The invented characters would never be totally void of pieces from existing people – known personally and through historic accounts. After all, the greatest achievement is to create characters who live across the pages and give every impression of being real. Convincing and coherent figures are a success.
And conversely, real historical figures will always hold fictionalized elements within the legends of their existence. However rigorous the efforts to collect testimonies, and formulate accurate biographies, there will always be a subjective colouring behind the facts.
Even when witnesses who survived the war later shared stories about their departed friends, the emerging narrative would never be perfectly objective.
Memories we hold, of people and events, are always specific to our personal experiences and interpretations. Through our perceptions, we attribute meaning to the world, and there can never really be two identical pictures painted of the same scene.
The same goes with history, passed on from generation to generation. It is written not by omniscient robots, but through the lens of imperfect human perception. Comparing information from multiple sources can prove helpful in improving accuracy and objectivity, but there will always be gaps left to fill. No one can claim to hold the full truth about a person’s life, no matter the number of books and memoirs they read about them.
And in this space of uncertainty, where the story appears incomplete, the fiction writer can step in. I embraced this challenge – to recreate mystified heroic figures as complete human beings. With full respect for what is known and documented about specific person’s life, taking care not to contradict facts or cross private boundaries.
About the Author
Klara is an emerging writer of historical fiction and a psychology graduate, currently based in Glasgow. Born to Polish parents, she grew up moving between France, Poland, and the U.S. Across these experiences, she discovered that her heart would always be most attached to the city of Warsaw, where she spent 10 years immersed in its breathtaking history. In her first novel, Dust of Wrathful Years, she attempts to give a glimpse into Poland’s heritage, through the stories of young people fighting for the country’s freedom during the Second World War.
Thank you for reading to the end of the post. I hope you enjoyed this guest post. Read an excerpt from Dust of Wrathful Years here. Check out Klara’s website: https://klaraluczkahanzalova.com/ and follow her on Instagram and Goodreads.
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