Are Historical Novels Still A Thing?

"History is a piece played by whom? By dead heroes, who have become, thanks to the writer, living actors. The historian, a poet by virtue of his magic art, transforms his readers into ocular witnesses of the things which he relates." ~Joseph Roux

Dr. Musselman, my history Professor at Oklahoma City University, inducted into the Oklahoma Higher Education Hall of Fame in 2007, insisted that we be able to take any event in history, explain what led up to that event, and illustrate to him the consequences of that event. He did not care if we knew dates and only about the particular event which happened on that date. Those were things we could easily look up. But, as he was quick to point out, a historically important event simply did not just happen. There were reasons it happened. And, there were consequences of the event. It did not happen in a vacuum.

That is the way history should be taught.

That history lesson left a lasting impression on me. While working on my Historical Biography/Romance, Full Circle: A Life Story, I realized how much I enjoy exploring historical events and places. I delved into events both before and after the period I was researching. I took pleasure in incorporating those significant eras, along with their social and economic impacts, into my book to enrich my characters' personalities and explain their actions.

One of my upcoming novels is a Historical Western Novel set after the Civil War. It follows the journey of Jarrod Alexander, the protagonist, from a cotton farm in Alabama to Indian Territory (Oklahoma before it became a state). Along the way, he encounters numerous historical figures who played roles in the taming and exploitation of the area. The Prelude to Jarrod is available on my Books In Progress page on this website. To provide a glimpse of how I incorporate research into my storytelling, here are a couple excerpts from the first chapter:

The campfire flickered invitingly. Beyond it, Jarrod could hear the soft rush of a large body of water, its rippled surface reflected ever so slightly by the glow of the fire.

Jarrod watched silently for a few minutes. He had not realized how dark it had gotten until the darkness had been brought to his attention by the glow of the campfire. His stomach growled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since early morning when he had helped himself to some raw carrots and green beans taken from some unknown homesteader’s spring garden.

Two men sat around the fire, two horses were tied up close enough to the camp to be inside the outer reach of the fire’s glow. Something popped in the fire, causing it to glow brighter for a moment. Jarrod instinctively stepped back a step, not wanting to be seen until he was satisfied these two campers weren’t going to shoot him on sight. One of them picked something up out of the fire with a long stick, turned it over and laid it back on the fire. It looked like a rabbit or a ‘possum. Jarrod’s stomach protested again.

“Hello the camp,” Jarrod said. He took a couple steps forward into the light. He heard the sound of a pistol being cocked even though it appeared neither man moved other than turning their heads toward the sound of his voice.

“Who’s out there?” The dark headed one said.

“Jarrod Alexander of Alabama. I’m alone and unarmed.”

“Come into the camp, slowly.”

Jarrod walked on up to the two men. The dark headed one had the longest barreled pistol he had ever seen pointed at him, a silver star was pinned to his shirt. They both stood up. The lawman offered his hand to Jarrod.

“I’m Wyatt Earp, this here’s Ed Kennedy,” Wyatt said. “You’re just a boy.” Wyatt pointed out.

“No sir, I’m all of sixteen years old and a man,” Jarrod said. “Are you a lawman?”

“Yeah, I suppose. Or at least I was. Care to eat a bite?” Wyatt nodded at the fire. “We’re cookin’ up a rabbit.”

“Sure, thanks. That is, if you have enough to spare me some.”

The rabbit was pulled from the fire and divided up among the three men. After the rabbit had been consumed, they passed a bottle of whiskey around that Ed got out of his saddlebags. Jarrod took a couple tentative drinks from the bottle before deciding it was not to his taste.

“This is pretty dangerous country to be traveling around unarmed and alone,” Wyatt pointed out to Jarrod. “Where you headed for?”

“Fort Smith,” Jarrod said.

“Damn, boy,” Ed said. “Unless they’s moved Alabama, you done rode past your destination. Fort Smith’s back behind you ‘bout fifteen miles or so.”

“I’m afoot, don’t got no horse. That’s not the Arkansas River there?” Jarrod asked, pointing at the slow moving water behind them.

“That there’s the Poteau River, you’re in the Indian Nations now,” Ed said. “Damned lucky you haven’t had your hair lifted by some savage.”

“Guess I could use a haircut,” Jarrod said, grinning.

“Yeah, well, these ain’t the kind of people you want taking a little off the top,” Ed said.

“Are you two out to arrest someone?” Jarrod asked.

Wyatt absently rubbed the star on his chest as he answered. “Nah, I’m through being a lawman.”

There was a long pause as Wyatt continued to absently rub at the badge on his chest. But before Jarrod could ask why he was through being a lawman, Wyatt unpinned the star from his chest and stared at it as he began to speak again.

“I was the elected Constable of Lamar, Missouri. I beat my big brother Newton in the election. I was away with a posse trying to chase down some darned fool that had tried to rob the bank when my wife Urilla died while trying to give birth to our son, who also died. I wasn’t there at her side when she died because of this stupid badge.” Wyatt tucked the badge into his vest pocket.

“Now Wyatt,” Ed said. “Doc said they wasn’t nuttin’ you could of done. Said she died because of having had Typhoid Fever afore she tried to give birth.”

“Don’t make no never mind,” Wyatt said. He got up and walked to the outer edge of the camp and stared out into the darkness. His voice was shaky, strained as he continued. “We wasn’t even married a whole year. I should have been with her. If she was goin’ to die anyways, I should have been at her bed.”

“Anyways,” Ed said as he and Jarrod stared at Wyatt’s back. “You’re welcome to toss down your bedroll and share our fire.”

--------------------------------------------------

“You’re a cheat,” Jacob Thomas said.

“And a filthy liar,” Joseph Thomas said.

Wyatt was the object of the Thomas twins’ anger. They had been losing steadily to Wyatt and Jarrod for a couple hours. The only thing that outpaced their losing was their drinking. Chairs screeched across the rough plank floor of the saloon as the twins shoved them backwards when they stood up. One chair caught a warped edge of a plank and crashed to the floor. The sound caught everyone’s attention. Even the piano player stopped playing. The whole saloon held its collective breath as everyone waited to see what was going to happen. The brothers’ toughness was famous in the Sallisaw area. They had actually beaten one gambler to death after they caught him trying to deal off the bottom of the deck. Their uncle, the Marshall, didn’t even bother arresting them, claiming it had been a fair fight because no weapons were used and besides, the fellow should have known better than to cheat.

“Come on fella, we’re going to take you outside and stomp the cheater out of you,” Jacob said.

Calmly and slowly, Wyatt pulled his pistol from its holster, cocking it with his thumb as he brought it up above the table and shot Jacob in the right shoulder. He then pointed it at Joseph who stood shocked looking down at his brother who had fallen to the floor. The place was very quiet. The sound of Wyatt’s pistol being cocked again got Joseph’s attention.

“You got anything to say?” Wyatt asked in a very calm voice.

“No sir,” Joseph said.

“Then pick up your brother and you two get out of here.” Wyatt turned to Jarrod, “can’t believe these two nimrods would think I would let them beat on me.” He holstered his hogleg.

Jarrod grinned.

Two other guys sat down filling the Thomas brothers’ vacated chairs and the poker game continued.

A few minutes later, the saloon again got quiet when the Marshall walked through the front door. Joseph Thomas walked in with him.

“That’s him there, Uncle Rob,” Joseph said, pointing toward Wyatt. The town Marshall walked over to the poker table.

“Mister,” the Marshall said. “I am placing you under arrest for assault with a deadly weapon.”

Wyatt reached for his pistol and the poker player sitting on Wyatt’s left hit him on the top of the head with the butt of a pistol. Wyatt fell sideways to the floor and lay there.

“Thank you, Deputy Johnson,” the Marshall said.

Jarrod and Ed sat quietly as the Marshall and his deputy dragged Wyatt out of the saloon.

“What are we going to do?” Jarrod asked Ed.

“Not much we can do. At least not right now,” Ed said. He looked at the vacated poker table, raked Wyatt’s money off the table, and put it into his pocket. Then, without a word, walked over and sat down at the bar. Jarrod followed him and sat on the bar stool next to him. They were on their second beer when Shown walked in and took a seat next to them. He looked around the saloon.

“Where’s Wyatt?” Shown asked.

“In jail,” Ed said.

“In jail?” Shown asked.

“Yep, he shot a fella,” Ed said.

“Is the fella dead?” Shown asked.

“Nah, just wounded. He and his brother accused Wyatt of cheating and was planning on taking Wyatt outside and stomping on him for a while. Of course, Wyatt weren’t in the mood to take no beating so he shot one of the fellas in the shoulder,” Ed said.

“Turns out their uncle is the town Marshall,” Jarrod said.

“Damn, I guess Wyatt should be a little pickier on choosing who he shoots,” Shown said.

Incorporating historical elements into a fictional story introduces a sense of familiarity. Therefore, I do believe that historical novels remain relevant. They offer both entertainment and education, as long as you remember that a historical novel is a fictional narrative based on real events and people.