Robert Lacey: A rule for narrating history as poetry
[ Robert Lacey is the author of "Great Tales from English History." The third volume, "The Battle of the Boyne to DNA, 1690-1953," will be published next month.]
"The poetry of history," wrote British historian George Macaulay Trevelyan, "lies in the quasi-miraculous fact that once, on this familiar spot of ground, walked other men and women, as actual as we are today, thinking their own thoughts, swayed by their own passion, but now all gone, one generation vanishing after another...." That's why I love history - for its transience.
There's a belief in some circles that history is a branch of science, that there is some sort of objective truth out there that can be parceled out, inventoried - and, most important, assessed by the ultimate guardian of truth, the school exam.
Nonsense. History is poetry, as Mr. Trevelyan said - illusion, imagination, a whiff of what might have been as elusive as wood smoke on an October evening. Its delight lies in its fragility. You can sense it by visiting a place, by touching an ancient document. Or you can convey a sense of history by telling a good story.
The words "history" and "story" come from the same root. In many languages, they are the very same word: When the French or the Italians read their nation's history, they are reading, by definition, the story of their country. It is our English-speaking fallacy to glorify history as something more academic and pompous - and to risk missing out on the simplest and most pleasurable way of bringing the past to life.
I love stories. I tell them for a living. Every journalist contributing to this newspaper is telling you a story - based, of course, on the facts as accurately as he or she can ascertain them. But the facts are spun into a sugar basket of narrative that adds sense and meaning and, yes, a good dollop of entertainment. It is through stories that we can bring people and events from the past to life. That's why we should value narrative more highly.
Our minds are geared for narrative, working out what happened first and what happened second. It is how we make sense of the world. Ask someone to tell you about themselves and they will tell you their "story." How do the great religions of the world enshrine themselves? Through inspiring narratives set down in books.
Sorting out what came first and what came next is the basis of history, the tough, unbending essence that formulates the rule: One thing leads to another. ...
Read entire article at Christian Science Monitor
"The poetry of history," wrote British historian George Macaulay Trevelyan, "lies in the quasi-miraculous fact that once, on this familiar spot of ground, walked other men and women, as actual as we are today, thinking their own thoughts, swayed by their own passion, but now all gone, one generation vanishing after another...." That's why I love history - for its transience.
There's a belief in some circles that history is a branch of science, that there is some sort of objective truth out there that can be parceled out, inventoried - and, most important, assessed by the ultimate guardian of truth, the school exam.
Nonsense. History is poetry, as Mr. Trevelyan said - illusion, imagination, a whiff of what might have been as elusive as wood smoke on an October evening. Its delight lies in its fragility. You can sense it by visiting a place, by touching an ancient document. Or you can convey a sense of history by telling a good story.
The words "history" and "story" come from the same root. In many languages, they are the very same word: When the French or the Italians read their nation's history, they are reading, by definition, the story of their country. It is our English-speaking fallacy to glorify history as something more academic and pompous - and to risk missing out on the simplest and most pleasurable way of bringing the past to life.
I love stories. I tell them for a living. Every journalist contributing to this newspaper is telling you a story - based, of course, on the facts as accurately as he or she can ascertain them. But the facts are spun into a sugar basket of narrative that adds sense and meaning and, yes, a good dollop of entertainment. It is through stories that we can bring people and events from the past to life. That's why we should value narrative more highly.
Our minds are geared for narrative, working out what happened first and what happened second. It is how we make sense of the world. Ask someone to tell you about themselves and they will tell you their "story." How do the great religions of the world enshrine themselves? Through inspiring narratives set down in books.
Sorting out what came first and what came next is the basis of history, the tough, unbending essence that formulates the rule: One thing leads to another. ...