Last night, while I was taking my Official Daily Break (which involves sitting on the couch and doing the NYT crossword), my husband was watching a police drama on TV. I don’t know which one—there are so many. I couldn’t help but sort of watch it too, and I carefully kept my mouth shut until it was over. Then my husband turned to me and asked me what I thought. I don’t believe in dissing someone else’s fun, so I diplomatically said “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
I, however, did not enjoy it. The acting was fine. But my day job is criminal justice professor, which means I saw that this show made multiple errors about police work (also, how is that guy affording the super fancy apartment in Los Angeles on a detective’s salary?). I don’t blame the show creators—they’re making entertainment, not a textbook. But multiple factual inaccuracies pull me right out of the story until all I can do is sadly catalog the errors.
The same thing happens when I read. It’s bad enough that if a story makes errors too often, I’ll give up on it. It simply kills my enjoyment. Of course this doesn’t mean authors can’t use creative license. Our worlds are fictional, after all, which means we have the power to move things around. But if, for example, a contemporary romance story places Portland north of Seattle (yes, this is a real example) and there’s no good reason for the author to have reworked geography, I’ll be annoyed. I’ll probably assume the author didn’t bother doing basic research, and now the author has lost my trust.
Because I’m sort of sensitive about this issue—and also because I’m an enormous nerd—I’m thorough about my own research when I write. I once spent half a day trying to figure out the cost of a healthy male slave in the 16th century Balkans, a bit of knowledge that had extremely minor importance in the story, but I wanted to get it right. Just this week, for a fantasy set in an alternate universe with a resemblance to Victorian England, I looked up whether the term “mate” was used then the way it is now (it was). This is my own imaginary world and I could have just decided that mate is a thing there, regardless of our world—I mean, they have dragons pulling their carriages—but I looked it up anyway.
I understand that this is very much my own pet peeve, and other readers and authors may not feel the same way. Maybe if the writing’s good, the plot’s engaging, and the characters are charismatic, you don’t much care which shrubs are found on the Cornish moors or what the predominant factory products were in London in the 1880s. And that’s totally fair. Or maybe you’re nitpicky like me.
What are your thoughts on the subject? How much wiggle room do you give books for bending or breaking facts?
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Kim Fielding is the bestselling author of numerous m/m romance novels, novellas, and short stories. Like Kim herself, her work is eclectic, spanning genres such as contemporary, fantasy, paranormal, and historical. Her stories are set in alternate worlds, in 15th century Bosnia, in modern-day Oregon. Her heroes are hipster architect werewolves, housekeepers, maimed giants, and conflicted graduate students. They’re usually flawed, they often encounter terrible obstacles, but they always find love.
After having migrated back and forth across the western two-thirds of the United States, Kim calls the boring part of California home. She lives there with her family and her day job as a university professor, but escapes as often as possible via car, train, plane, or boat. This may explain why her characters often seem to be in transit as well. She dreams of traveling and writing full-time.
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Interesting! I like that you don’t diss other people’s fun (let people enjoy things!).
As for your question, I think it comes down to what facts we know intimately. A lot of details,
I’m sure, I blow right past, not noticing if they were correct or not. What know I of shrubbery? I wouldn’t have even notice the Portland example, but I would notice if Hamilton was, say, north of Toronto.
I wouldn’t notice police mistakes, as you do, but I would notice factual mistakes made around, say, a (specific) cult, or bulimia, two topics I know deeply and tend to have Opinions about.
In the end, if the author has me by the short hairs of feelz, what do I care about the facts? I may stop and say, ‘No, that’s not right,’ so there is that small Blip out of transportation, but I wouldn’t rage quit. But a well-researched story is far more likely to be richer in all areas—the author pauses, and cares.
Great article. Thanks! (Love your stories, Kim!)
Thank you, Kimberly! I think your last point is spot on–research means an author cares about the story.
Generally I guess all i’m really looking for in my entertainment is to be entertained, but I find the more accurate (or plausible) the details the more I become immersed in the story – unless it’s specifically fantasy (urban fantasy / paranormal whatever) – i’m a lot more forgiving if the details don’t quite fit.
Your thoughts are always fascinating – great article. Thank you. ☺
Thanks, Sue! I think a few plausible details go a long way to making a story feel real.
I am in the middle. I read completely for escapism and entertainment. So while I wouldn’t be upset if “mate” wasn’t actually used at that time, I would be ripped out of the story if you said London was in Spain. I guess for me it has to be either something minor or a huge reason for doing it. Otherwise, it doesn’t feel real enough and I then spend time wondering why the author decided that! Stories set in Chicago, where I’m from, get extra attention to detail. Embarrassing as it is, I once stopped reading a book where the MC had a Chicago hot dog with ketchup. Nope.
LOL! I can understand that! And it shows how careful authors need to be about small details.