The Historical Tightrope: Why Modern Morality is a Bad Map for the Past

How historical fiction authors can navigate "Presentism" to protect their work—and their characters—from the buzzsaw of cancel culture.

I joined sister authors at the History Through Fiction Conference for our panel on “Historical Fiction and Presentism.” From top, me, Shelley Blanton-Stroud, Jody Hadlock and Terri Lewis is in front.

In today’s cancel culture how does a historical fiction author walk the tightrope of writing accurately about past attitudes without insultingtoday’s reader?

Get it wrong and the author risks review-bombing or even getting her book heartbreakingly cancelled before it’s published.*

Three colleagues and I tackled how to navigate this challenging topic at the inaugural (fantastic) History through Fiction Conference in Beverly, Mass., earlier this month. We named our topic: Historical Fiction and Presentism.

“Presentism” is the anachronistic practice of judging past events, actions, or individuals through the lens of modern-day beliefs and social standards rather than within the context of their own historical era.

In other words: The past is a foreign country with its own laws, not a suburb of the present.

Let me give you an example.

The View from the Chalkboard: A Lesson in 1960s "Radicalism"

When I was a teenager I witnessed an event that’s stuck with me ever since.

My mom’s career ultimately covered 30 years as a kindergarten teacher. Thanks to the tail end of the Baby Boom (you’re welcome) there was a span of years in the late ‘60s-’70s when mom taught two half-day classes every day. One in the morning; the other in the afternoon. Twenty-five kids in each; fifty kids a day(!)

(I know: And I can barely keep up with two grandkids.)

There were five other elementary schools in the county and so about once a month all the kindergarten teachers would take turns gathering for a late afternoon at one of their classrooms to admire learning displays, share ideas and no doubt guffaw with insider little kid tales.

Re-energized, Mom inevitably returned home bubbly, eager to try out a new idea, restored by giving and receiving appreciation from peers.

Until one evening she came home with a quieter, thoughtful expression on her face. That night the group had tangled around a new radical suggestion. Hotly debated, in fact. At first, the discussion created division, until with their masterful squabble-settling skills they came to a unified agreement.

“Kindergarten teachers should be allowed to wear slacks.”

Yup! See, back then it was expected that all female teachers should wear skirts and dresses. It didn’t matter that kindergarten teachers spent much of the day on the floor with their three-foot charges. Working women simply didn't wear pants.

Now if my mom were still here, she’d be smiling with you. Roll her eyes at the memory. Because although the idea seems pretty tame today, it took the group of kindergarten teachers banding together to write a proposal, then multiple meetings with the county Board of Education, to ultimately get approval.

Seems a bit silly today, doesn’t it?

It was serious stuff back then. See, the social values of the ‘60s (at least in our Illinois rural corner of the world) had innocuous dress-code rules regarding gender roles and behavior. To suggest otherwise, created friction between common sense and engrained societal beliefs.

I don’t know what changed the Board’s minds. Empathy? A well-reasoned proposal? Experience with the munchkins in their own families? I don’t know.

However, in a classic bureaucratic pivot—perhaps to ensure no further 'radicalism' was cooked up—the Board forbade the teachers from meeting in each other's classrooms altogether after that. I mean who knows what rebellious idea they could cook up next?

Introduce reading??

This example feels so mundane today, but you see my point. When we are swimming in our own culture—like fish swimming in water—it can be difficult to see the invisible societal values we swim in. They’re all around us. Yet, when they’re trespassed, there are ripples, whirlpools. Even tidal waves.

So, for historical fiction authors who dare to walk in the past, even though a story may faithfully follow fact—if she doesn’t take into consideration how today’s reader might react to the story—she can run into a buzzsaw of moral judgment.

For just as fish don’t necessarily recognize they’re swimming in water, people don’t necessarily recognize how unaware we are of how we fall in line with prevalent belief systems.

We assume the world has always operated exactly like the water we’re swimming in now.

Navigating the 14th Century from a 21st-Century Map

In our effort to offer better craft tools for historical writers, our panel arrived at a central truth: we cannot use a modern map to navigate the ancient world. Instead, we proposed an internal logic test to keep authors on track.

Instead of asking, “Is this character being fair?”—a very modern question—we must ask, “Is this character consistent with the dogmas of their time?” If a 1300s protagonist acts with a 2026 consciousness the historical immersion breaks. The reader might feel comfortable, but the history is lost.

For example, my protagonist, Jo van Gogh who spent a lifetime promoting Vincent’s art despite the status quo’s rejection of him, achieved her success in a male-dominated profession. In today’s language, she could be judged for not being more of a modern feminist activist. But to view Jo through the lens of modern feminist activism is to apply a contemporary label to a woman who was operating on an entirely different level of strategy.

Her commitment to legacy was not a retreat into domesticity; it was a sophisticated exercise in agency. She didn't just 'follow' the status quo; she professionalized it. By framing her business activities as an act of protecting her son’s inheritance, she used the expected role of the "devoted widow" as a shield to navigate the hyper-masculine art markets of Europe.

To judge Jo for not being a modern feminist activist is to erase the actual strategic brilliance she used to navigate her constraints.

It’s like judging an 18th century figure for not having electricity yet. The tools for our modern morality hadn’t been invented yet.

We don't expect a Victorian protagonist to pull out a smartphone to solve a mystery; why do we expect them to possess a 21st-century social consciousness to solve a moral one?

And today, when so much disagreement tends to default to a moral battleground, this is more important than ever. For if an author strives to be historically accurate—yet, doesn’t prepare the reader with an explanation for how/why attitudes and behavior were different—she runs the risk of triggering cancel culture. An author's job is to build a "Moral Map" of the time. We aren't asking readers to agree with the past, but to understand the gravity of the period's "water."

Safety Rails for the Historical Tightrope

To pass this internal logic test, our panel shared a number of craft strategies like the power of Deep Third Person—submerging the narrative so completely into the protagonist’s worldview that the reader experiences the era’s dogmas as common sense rather than outdated bias.

A well-placed Author’s Note isn't just a disclaimer; it's a vital bridge. It offers the context necessary to turn a potential trigger into a moment of genuine historical empathy.

We talked about being sharply aware of language. A common word used in the past can be offensive today. Being historically accurate feels like a flimsy excuse if you insult the reader. Either don’t use it—or, if you insist—this is where the Author’s Note can acknowledge the hurt while preserving the history.

Navigating this tightrope isn’t just about avoiding a “cancel” label; it’s about honoring the truth of the humans who came before us. We owe it to our ancestors—and our readers—to visit that foreign country without trying to colonize it with our modern views.

And finally—one benefit the exploration of presentism gives is to get above the waves of today’s culture. Societal values are not permanent; they evolve over time. If we use 2026 values to condemn 1890, we give the people of 2026 permission to condemn us for the things we are unaware of today.

How much better to use historical context to be gentler with one another? After all, these are the waters we’re all swimming in now.

Warmly,