“I’ve been given 112 little princesses; what am I supposed to do with them?”
That was a Russian general’s response, at the height of World War II as the Nazis rolled unstoppably into the Soviet Union, when he was presented with what would eventually be called the 46th Taman Guards Night Bomber Aviation Regiment: an all-female regiment of fliers. One hundred and twelve women who had been flying planes since their teens, who had trained for months for a chance to fight and defend their homeland, and who were less than thrilled to be called “princesses.” They would eventually go on to earn the nickname “the Night Witches” for their spectacular war record against Hitler’s eastern front.
Witches and princesses—all little girls are raised on stories of witches and princesses. 21st century girls grow up with Disney princesses: their candy-colored skirts and passionate Alan Menken ballads, blocked from their handsome prince by a sinister witch in black eyeliner, horned headdress, or tentacles. The Russian girls who joined the Soviet Union’s only all-female night bomber regiment would have heard the story of Vasalisa the Beautiful, peasant girl elevated to royalty by a lovestruck tsar after she outwits malevolent Baba Yaga, the witch with the mortar and pestle. Princess myths tell little girls that if they are patient and good, they will be rewarded with glittering crowns, handsome husbands, happiness in the ending credits. Someday your prince will come; just fold your hands and look pretty and wait.
But at some point, the girls of yesterday and the girls of today get tired of waiting and start doing.
In 1941, the young women who joined the Night Witches were not fazed when they were told the Red Air Force was not accepting females. They barnstormed their way into the fight, championed by famous aviatrix Marina Raskova who was the Soviet Amelia Earhart and who used her fame and connections to get her protegees to the front. Once there, they cut off their long hair, donned the world’s ugliest overalls over men’s briefs (because the USSR did not have military-issued underwear designed for women) and racked up a lethal record against the invading Nazis—who, whenever the bombardment from above was particularly unrelenting, warned each other “Look out, the ladies are in the air.”
In 2020, young women aren’t waiting, either. More young women than ever are postponing family and marriage to establish careers, lining up at the polls to vote on what they think is important, planning on running for office. They’re reading “Teen Vogue” not just for the beauty tips, but for the articles on constitutional ethics. They’re marching in the streets and demanding to be heard…and in return, they’re nicknamed “witches,” too. And other names much more offensive.
But despite our childhood myths, the witch doesn’t have to be the villain. The witch in a fairy-tale is always powerful and ambitious and unapologetic about what she wants, and when the princess clashes with her, she gains a new power all her own.
Young women of today have taken the princess role and expanded it to encompass the witch, just as one hundred and twelve Russian girls took pride in their transformation from princess to witch by the forces of war and self-determination. A Russian general who snorted at the idea of bringing girls into battle was soon handing them medals for bravery in combat, and twenty-first century naysayers are learning just how powerful young women can be when they raise their voices in boardrooms, classrooms, and chatrooms across the world.
More than a princess. More than a witch. Like the women of the 46th, take to the sky and soar.
I’m newly back from the 2019 Historical Novel Society Conference, and I promise I’ll get my recap up soon–but in case you missed the Koffee Klatch I did with the fabulous Beatriz Williams on how to craft a dual-narrative historical novel, here are the high points.
Why write a dual narrative historical novel?
- FIRST AND FOREMOST–it’s a way to make a less-marketable historical era more marketable. We all know how hard it is to pitch hist-fic that isn’t set in an era deemed trendy, and adding a second timeline set in a more popular era will help. Maybe you’ve seen eyes glaze when you say “It’s a story about an 8th century Benedictine nun in the south of France” but when you add in “combined with a French Resistance tale that links to the past with a long-hidden murder” those eyes may light back up. Think of it as luring readers and publishers into letting you tell the story you actually want to tell by wrapping it in sparkly, on-trend ribbons.
- Your book can be shelved, tagged, and categorized as more than just historical fiction. If your title can also be found under Contemporary, Women’s Fiction, Mystery, Historical Mystery, and any other tag your secondary timeline gives you, then more readers will find it.
- Variety. If you have a grim war-time drama full of rationing and marching, maybe your secondary timeline introduces a shot of glamour or a setting with some sunshine to vary the pace and give your reader a break. Variety is the spice of books as well as life.
Ok, I want to write a dual timeline historical narrative. What types are there?
- A historical timeline juxtaposed with a modern-day timeline. (Beatriz Williams’s Wicked City)
- A historical timeline juxtaposed with a second historical timeline (Beatriz Williams’s The Secret Life of Violet Grant, my The Alice Network)
- Two historical timelines told by the same narrator, generally flipping from Before and After some pivotal event whose details are slowly revealed to the reader (look no further than Beatriz Williams’s The Summer Wives. Two of the three story threads in my The Huntress also take this route, though told by two different narrators.)
You need a link between your timelines. What creates that link?
- Artifacts are frequently the link between timelines–mysterious photographs, antique objects, a cache of letters (although the “I found a trove of letters in a hatbox in my grandmother’s attic” has been done quite a bit, it feels to me). Examples: Susanna Kearsley’s The Firebird or Jennifer Robson’s The Gown.
- Characters can provide the link, often seen as a young person in one timeline and a much older person in the other–I did this in The Alice Network. Family ties count here too, as a younger family member unravels the mystery of a mother or relative–see Chanel Cleeton’s Next Year in Havana.
- Locations can link stories through time as well as space. Stephanie Dray’s upcoming The Women of Chavaniac features multiple generations of women across several centuries who all live at the Marquis de Lafayette’s castle in France.
What are the pitfalls and problems in writing dual narrative historicals?
- Lots and lots of research. If you choose to write two historical narratives in one novel, that’s double the historical research.
- If you have two stories, it is going to be harder to keep your word count to a reasonable length.
- Balancing the stakes in both narratives. Putting two timelines together invites comparison–maybe in a story of her own, your modern-day college student struggling with an identity crisis and the death of her mother would be 100% sympathetic, but when she’s juxtaposed against your secondary heroine starving to death in the Leningrad siege, your reader may be inclined to think “You’re not starving in a war zone, kid, pull yourself together!” and shut the book in irritation. Keep your stakes high in both timelines.
How do you write your dual narratives–each separately or both together?
- You can write each timeline A-Z, then have a braiding session afterward intercutting the two. Advantages: you can keep the voice more distinct while staying firmly in one timeline, and also keep your historical details more consistent if you don’t have to continually ask yourself what era you’re (only after you realize WWII slang has crept across the timelines into your 1880 heroine’s mouth). Disadvantages: It’s easy to over-write if you do the timelines separately, and end up with way more than you need.
- You can write both timelines at once, cutting between them as the reader would in the final draft. Advantages: It’s easier to tease out the parallels between timelines when you’re going back and forth. Disadvantages: Historical detail has a tendency to drift from one timeline to the next when you aren’t firmly anchored in one time and place, see above.
- Ultimately, however, there is no One True Way. Do what feels most natural for you.
The takeaway: A dual timeline isn’t a sure-fire sale, but agents and editors are still buying them, and readers like them. So why not consider it?