Authors of historical novels may be tempted to rely on stories from friends and relatives to add truth to their words. After all, they were there, so they should remember, right?
Maybe. Maybe not.
I know how unreliable memory can be, and the truth came to light when I tried to retell a story about my husband’s and my courtship that our daughters hadn’t heard. I was delighted by the opportunity since a neglected anecdote is rare.
I shared that when we were engaged, we went to an upscale restaurant serving Scottish food. Watching pennies, I read the menu and decided all the items were too expensive. But I was stuck since my fiancé had taken me there of his own volition in honor of his Scottish heritage.
“I ordered the cheapest thing on the menu. Haggis,” I told the girls. “It was awful. I felt queasy afterward.” (Sorry, pricey Scottish restaurant.)
“Haggis! No wonder you felt sick,” they opined.
(Let me insert an apology here to everyone who adores haggis. And by the way? I’m proud of my husband’s Scottish heritage!)
“Okay,” my husband interjected, “Let me tell you the real story.”
I stopped short. What? I wasn’t telling the real story?
He gave me a quick look and said, “She was going to order haggis, but I stopped her. She ordered something else instead.”
Instantly, I remembered. His version was correct. However, neither of us could say what I ate. I recalled that his suggested dish cost more than the cheapest offering on the menu, which was haggis. I also remember that he ordered a premium meal and loved whatever it was. I wish I’d chosen that. Admittedly, knowing what to order is vital to enjoyment when visiting any restaurant.
Facts: I named the correct restaurant. I reminisced about what I thought were high prices. I remembered that my fiancé loved what he ate. I correctly reported that I ordered one of the cheaper dishes. I shared how I felt queasy afterward.
But the dish was not haggis.
So, while I remembered most of the facts, I didn’t recall all of them, particularly a critical point, precisely. I surmise that I’m not the only person whose memory may have grown hazy over time.
Your takeaway as a writer? Ask people about their memories and enjoy their stories. But before committing anyone’s personal memories to books as truth, check several outside sources for accuracy.
Novel Writing Craft: More Conflict
I have such vivid recollections
of how life’s mileposts did occur,
but these so often are reflections
of the things that never were.
The past is rather like a lane
that fades into deceptive mist
in which the real does not constrain
itself mundanely to exist,
but rather wears its party clothes,
and demurely masks its face
such that its Durante nose
becomes a Brad Pitt thing of grace,
and its clomping Frankenstein
dances like Astaire, divine.
When I receive the blog post, I read and glean. It is a blessing. Then I wonder how Andrew responded. When time allows, I pop into the comments to see. I relish your insight.
Jana, this means so much. Thank you.
Love this poem, especially those last six lines — so true, Andrew.
Thanks, Ann. I’m delighted that you enjoyed it!
However, it probably makes a better story if you’re writing fiction.
In one of my creative non-fiction classes, we read a piece about memories and how unreliable they are. Everyone has their version. One of the authors we studied wrote about a childhood broken arm. Nobody remembered it, except him. If I remember correctly, his mother, father and siblings kept telling him it never happened and he needed to get over it. I also think this may have been an incident that occurred from sibling rivalry. Again, if I remember correctly, he was told to quit lying. He even knew what hospital he went to. No way. Then they came across a photo with the author’s arm in a cast.
So, yeah, memories are unreliable, but they can be interesting and can make for goodinspiration. I think about our old WWII veterans and all those traumatized by the war, including American Japanese, and Holocaust survivors. Again, I read one memoir written by a French Jewish woman, and how she went on a journey for the truth of what happened to her because she knew her memories were unreliable.
I chuckle at your memory. Every time I hear my daughter tell a story about something that happened while I was with her, my mind drifts to “that’s not what I remember.” My version generally differs from hers. My next question is whether she’s remembering it correctly or am I? More laughter here. Regardless, I’ve learned not to take what others say as total truth. Research is the best action when I’m writing a novel.
I dont remember who said this (speaking of memory failure): “Never let the truth get in the way of a good story”. I tend to lean that way myself to be honest, but not while writing. I am fortunate enough to have a wife who keeps me honest. Dang it.
Haggis! No wonder it was the cheapest item on the menu! You dodged a bullet!
I appreciate your respect for accurate research and Scottish heritage. Sometimes, a recollection of a past event, like a fishing story, grows in drama and size over time.
My sister and I are only 2-½ years apart, but you’d think we were raised in completely different families based on our memories. Since she’s older, she’s convinced she’s always right. It makes for interesting story-telling when we are together with each other’s grandchildren