Historical Accuracy or Modern Relevance? The Writer's Dilemma

The Presentism question in historical novels

Sister panelists at the 2025 Historical Novel Society Conference in June.

Hey there!

At the recent 2025 Historical Novel Society/North America Conference I had the fun of sharing ideas on an author panel. My sister panelists (left to right in photo) are Jody Hadlock, Leslie Johansen Nack, (me) and Shelley Blanton-Stroud.

Our subject was “‘Presentism’ and Writing Historical Fiction for the Modern Reader.” We defined “Presentism” as projecting one’s modern values and beliefs onto a past era.

We used several lenses to explore our topic—character agency, dialect and language issues, ethics—but in this essay I’d like to share an introduction to presentism and why it’s important.

First, presentism gets to the heart of the No. 1 question historical fiction book lovers ask, “How much of this story is true?”

Secondly, it’s a critical how-to writing craft topic for histfic writers because it brings up questions of integrity and choice. For the writer, decisions range from how much authentic dialect to include or whether to add a culturally sensitive issue to a story such as abortion.

There are no easy answers.

Let’s roll up our sleeves.

Differing Viewpoints

Our panel shared two sides of presentism:

Critics argue presentism compromises historical objectivity and prioritizes modern views over the views of that time period. Proponents say engaging in presentism can be an opportunity to make historical fiction more relevant and accessible to contemporary audiences.

It can be subtle or explicit, unintentional or deliberate.

Let me give you two examples using historical film and theater based on books since the productions are so broadly known.

A critic of presentism objects to the classic film, Gone with the Wind.

• Released in 1939, the popular movie’s been widely criticized in recent years for its romanticized and inaccurate portrayal of slavery and the Antebellum South. It downplays the horrors of slavery, often depicting enslaved people as content and loyal, and promotes a nostalgic view of the Confederacy. Reflecting the then-modern views of the 1930’s, it’s a significant distortion of the social and economic realities of a specific historical period so a critic would say the film compromises historical objectivity.

  
  

In contrast, a proponent of presentism would applaud the musical Hamilton: An American Musical by Lin-Manuel Miranda, which opened on Broadway in 2015.

• The musical is a deliberate modern take on historical events with its use of hip-hop, rap, R&B, and modern musical theatre styles, along with color-blind casting, to tell the story of the American Founding Fathers.

  
  

• In this case, its use of modern musical forms and casting are intentional to make the historical narrative accessible to contemporary audiences, while also exploring themes of immigration, ambition, and legacy—universal topics relevant then and now. A proponent would applaud the musical’s connection with a contemporary audience.

Both these fictionalized historical accounts have garnered supporters and skeptics. Neither completely address the histfic fan’s No. 1 question, “then what parts of the story are true?”

Turns out, it’s not always straightforward to get to the heart of historical truth. For a good historical story isn’t simply a story about what happened, but why.

Let me illustrate with a little story from my grandmother.

The Story of the Whippersnappers

My grandma used to tell a story about the parade of young whippersnapper 20-something men who were hired to be her office boss in the 60’s and ’70’s.

My kickbutt grandma who whipped those whippersnappers into shape.

She worked for a construction company as a senior bookkeeper. In her role, she had accountability for the day-to-day recording of financial transactions, maintaining ledgers, and balancing accounts. She loved her job and always wore heels, a suit and white gloves to work, and carried a big pocketbook.

In her eyes, over the fifteen years she held this job, the young men who were assigned to be her boss were a real aggravation. Unwilling to learn. Clueless and scatterbrained. Over the years it would frustrate her that the men would work for a while then inevitably move on, meaning she had to start all over training her next fresh-faced boss.

In response, my Feminist Self would hotly protest, “Grandma! Why didn’t you have that job! You should’ve been promoted!”

The first time I said it; I think it startled her. This idea that a woman could be a boss in an office was new. She’d internalized the societal idea that women couldn’t be leaders in business. Later, when she retold the story and I loyally chimed in with my protest (she knew it was coming) I wondered if I’d cast a new light on her experience.

Changed a scene in which she’d been proud of being an expert to one in which she felt cheated. If so, I’m not happy about that.

Then, too, maybe my objection affirmed her sharp intellect. She was a badass after all.

Meanwhile, who knows what those guys’ versions of that office scenario were.

Notice how in just this one situation, my grandmother, my interpretation, and those anonymous scamps all have different takes. It just goes to show that history in and of itself is not simply fact or truth, but perspective. The very same picture can be viewed entirely differently depending on who is telling the story and what they believe.

An historical novel could take any one of those perspectives and craft three entirely different points of view. All “accurate.”

That’s what Gone with the Wind and Hamilton both illustrate too.

Historical Records Reflect Bias

Back to our panel, we made the point that when it comes to historical records, there’s no such thing as truth or fact—because memory is captured through the lens of values and how that individual views the world, society, relationships.

For people like us who enjoy reading and writing historical fiction: This is table stakes. We’re aware that “official” history is recorded by the winners or dominant powers that have a political stake in casting history to support their point of view.

As stated before, this can be subtle or explicit, unintentional or deliberate.

Historical records reflect bias. Even primary research in which the author reads an individual’s diaries or journals may not be truthful. At the conference author Gill Paul recounted how when she was researching for her book Another Woman’s Husband she discovered Wallis Simpson lied in her diaries, stating she was not married when she and the Prince of Wales (later King Edward VIII) began their romantic relationship. Her divorce records show otherwise.

Leaving negative aspects out of our retelling of history can take away from appreciating the complexities of humanity. Another example from the conference came from author Renée Rosen who shared that when researching Fifth Avenue Glamour Girl she discovered cosmetic tycoon Elizabeth Arden had antisemitic sympathies. Rosen chose not to dwell on Arden’s racism, but not to cover it up either.

Interesting how history is recorded by omission as well as inclusion.

Notice too how seeing another point of view adds dimension and empathy. When my grandmother would repeat stories from her office role, I was sensitized to a woman in my family whose career had been cut off because of sexism. And for my grandmother, my response made women’s rights more personal, for she’d initially criticized Equal Rights Amendment movement for the protestors’ “un-ladylike” behavior.

We both saw another side of the picture.

Sweet Result

At the end of the day, the nuanced dance between historical authenticity and contemporary relevance, explored through the lens of presentism, is an ongoing challenge for historical fiction writers.

It’s wonderful when discerning readers understand that authors grapple with how much to integrate modern sensibilities into narratives of the past, especially since history is not a static collection of facts, but a dynamic interplay of perspectives.

Our panel’s hope is that the ongoing conversation surrounding presentism pushes historical fiction writers to do their work honestly to the best of their ability, inviting readers not just to understand "what happened," but to critically engage with "why."

In the end, if it helps us all feel more connected to people from both the past and in the present by building empathy—well, that’s a fantastic outcome.

Historical fiction at its best.

Warmly,