How to Bring a World to Life in Historical Fiction

The Stargazer of Nantucket, my second historical novel, is an epic, seafaring adventure following 18-year-old Winifred Starbuck, daughter of renowned merchant captains Nell and Peter Starbuck, who longs to join her parents on their final voyage to China in 1851. Forbidden from the journey, Winnie takes matters into her own hands and stows away with them, sailing straight into danger and deception to confront a family secret that could change everything. 

(Writing a Dual Timeline Novel Across Continents.)

Loosely based on the Starbucks, who were one of the founding families of Nantucket, and inspired by historical events—including the maiden voyage of the famous clipper ship, Flying Cloud—The Stargazer of Nantucket is a New England seafaring tale that blends the real with the imagined, bringing to life on the page a vast cast of characters set against the the dramatic, competitive clipper ship era.

How did I approach the seemingly overwhelming task of creating a vivid, realistic world in a time period I never experienced and on a journey I never undertook? And how to convey it all in a way that feels alive to readers? Below are five tips to consider when crafting a historical novel, each framed with a song title, because I love a little whimsy.

The number one rule to remember: No matter when you are writing about, you should always prioritize who you are writing about, namely flawed human beings. Individuals with hubris, gratitude, humor, self-interest, naivete, and longing have been around since the beginning of time.

So, whenever I feel stymied by writing about, let’s say a clipper ship captain from 1851 who is hell-bent on winning the world record to San Francisco, I bring him down to earth and give him real personality traits. That vague “clipper ship captain” transforms into Peter Starbuck, a father who is angry at his daughter for disobeying his wishes (been there, done that as a daughter, and seen it in my own husband with my children), who is overextended financially (welcome to my world!) and stressed out by his leadership responsibilities (in over your head much?) and plagued by promises he made to literally everyone (including his exceedingly capable wife, Nell, who I totally relate to).

In that way, I can vividly picture Captain Peter Starbuck yelling at his crew on the deck of the Stargazer, overcompensating for any doubts he might be feeling—and so can my readers.

If you look under my desk, you will find no fewer than 36 books of research that I consulted before and during the two-year process of writing Stargazer. (Speaking of doing research, I just counted those books for you, since accuracy matters!) There are accounts of the clipper ship era, books about the gold rush, books about the history of America’s relationship with China, books about Nantucket’s relationship with China, books about tea, books about ship builders, books about women at sea, and on and on.

I never intended to become a writer of historical novels. I was writing—and failing at—contemporary novels when my second agent suggested I write about Nantucket’s Great Fire of 1846, something I had pitched to her on a whim. The research seemed daunting, until I reminded myself that I had spent 10 years writing a dissertation. And you know what a dissertation is? Research and writing. Perhaps I had all the skills I needed to be an author of historical novels, but just lacked the confidence to believe in myself.

So, I read and read—and then one day, decided I knew enough background information to begin writing. And you know what you have to do to begin writing a historical novel? Forget the research. Otherwise, you end up teaching history on every page, instead of letting the characters live in a world that shows readers the past. It took a while for me to figure out the right balance of world-building without overdoing it (and whole days lost to Googling topics like, Did Nantucket have street lamps in 1846? Indoor plumbing?) and whenever I found myself “explaining” too much, I hit delete and trusted in both the reader—and in myself.

Speaking of…how to capture the voices of the past? Should an old-fashioned book sound old-fashioned or more modern? Perhaps the answer lies somewhere in-between. In Daughters of Nantucket, one of my main characters was a true person from history named Maria Mitchell. Maria was a former Quaker, which means she would have talked in “plain speak,” using “thee” and “thou” when addressing others. But would that work in a novel published today? I didn’t think so, so I nixed the plain speak in favor of dialogue and a cadence that felt more familiar to contemporary readers but (hopefully) still of the time. 

Funny story: One editor added the word “teenagers” to a late draft of Daughters of Nantucket, and the gifted historical novelist, Lynda Loigman, flagged it while reading. We were able to remove the term before going to press. Phew!

What did 1851 smell like? On Nantucket, it would have smelled like whale fat and oil being rendered down into candles, and cod chowder coming from a tavern window and the brine of low tide. And what did life on a clipper ship sound like? The whoosh of sea air and the snap of canvas sails, the ringing of the bell to announce the end of a shift and the jaunty tune of a shanty being sung by 60 men hauling in lines.

An immersive experience relies on using all of one’s senses. As a writer, you may want to listen to music from the time period you are writing about to help you sink into the mood of the setting you are creating. And use all of the senses in your toolbox, not just sight.

Even the best, most diligent researcher cannot “go” to the past for research, unless they are a skilled time traveler. Sure, I can go to San Francisco and walk the Mission and the Presidio and Rincon Hill and visit sites where at least 40 ships from the gold rush era now live buried under the streets (and, in one case, through the subway system) of town, but I cannot stand on one of those ships entering the crowded harbor in 1851. I can visit the San Francisco Maritime National Park and climb aboard a docked ship or three, and walk through exhibits and take in images from early photographs of the city.

But, ultimately, I have to recreate a place that no longer exists, relying almost exclusively on my imagination. This requires a huge leap of faith and an understanding that you will not—and cannot—possibly get all of the details correct. So, as long as the past is well-researched and the writing is sensitive to the cultural and political perspectives of today, picture it like your movie and try not to let that inner critic talk you out of your particular vision. Push through that doubt and move ever forward, or, as Captain Starbuck would tell you, via a Latin motto that I created for him, Semper porro!

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