A Bit Like Patton…

The hardest thing about historical fiction isn’t deciding what to include, but what to exclude. Unless you’re dealing with the absolute sparsest of subjects, there is simply no way you can ever put it all in. There’s just too much.

In this way, writing historical fiction is eerily similar to adapting a novel into a movie. When you’re adapting a 400 or 500 page book into a movie, something has to give. Compromises have to be made. And it’s no different when translating actual, recorded history into a consumable (and marketable) story.

I’ve been battling with this a lot lately with Son of the Republic. The plot is there, the sequence of events, but what I choose to bring to the top, gloss over, or leave out will quite literally dictate the tone of the entire story.

I had all this in mind when I sat down to watch my nice, shiny Blu-ray of Patton over the weekend. Now, it’s probably been ten years or more since I last saw the movie, and watching it with fresh eyes, I was amazed at the economy with which it tells its story. For such a big film, the scope is kept surprisingly small, with a laser focus on Patton for almost the entire run time. Battles are few and far between, rarely seen unfolding, more often glimpsed in newspaper headlines and propaganda reels. Patton’s drive across Sicily, up to Palermo then across to Messina, is talked about, but not much of it is really seen. And it works.

Reviewing the classic has given me a lot to chew on as far as how I approach Son of the Republic. And in all honesty, it’s sent me back to the drawing board as far as what to include, and what to leave out…

The Opening Crawl

These past two weeks haven’t exactly been conducive to writing. Between sinus infections, a general increase in Nolan’s pissiness levels (due to his own sinus infection), work drama, stacked deadlines, and a thousand other piddling annoyances, I haven’t been able to marshal my thoughts as well as I’d like.

That said, I’ve managed to make some forward progress on the new Scipio novel. I’ve come to some decisions about story structure and character development. I’m toying with a different ending for one of the non-Scipio main characters, a young legionary who’ll provide the lowly foot soldier’s perspective of the Spanish campaigns (an ending that will make those who know their history squeal with glee). And, to cap it off, I’ve jotted down a draft of the novel’s opening crawl, intended to set the stage without forcing the reader to crack a history book and familiarize themselves with the first seven years of the Second Punic War:

Seven years have passed since Hannibal Barca led his army across the Alps and descended upon Italy. After a string of devastating defeats, the reeling Roman Republic has abandoned any attempt to meet the brilliant Carthaginian general head-on, and the pitched battles of the early war have given way to the long grind of siege and skirmish.

Now, at last, the weight of Roman arms has started to shift the balance. One by one, the cities and towns which defected to Hannibal during the Republic’s darkest hour fall to the legions. But Hannibal remains at large, as fearsome an opponent as ever.

Meanwhile, in faraway Spain, Carthaginian reinforcements threaten to break the long stalemate, and the brothers Gnaeus and Publius Scipio lead their legions south in a desperate bid to defeat Hannibal’s brothers before they can join forces…

It definitely needs tinkering, but hey, it’s a start. And after the way the last two weeks have unfolded, I’ll take it.

Back to Scipio…

A little more than a year has passed since I finished whittling The Scourge of Rome down to around 140,000 words. In the months since, I’ve beat my head against the wall of history trying to settle on what to write about next. I’ve jumped from Alaric and the Visigoths to the Cannae Legions, the continuing adventures of Scipio and friends, back to Alaric, and, more recently, to the Byzantine general Belisarius.

It’s been frustrating, this bouncing back and forth through history, touching on a great story idea only to have it wither on the vine.

Then, earlier this week, inspiration struck. Or, rather, inspiration coalesced.

The next novel is going to be about Scipio.

From This To That…

For the past week or so, I’ve been rethinking a long-form Belisarius novel built around the theme of squandered potential. If anything, I think this is the key takeaway from the life of the Byzantine general, by all accounts an honest, pious, incorruptible man, and the greatest military mind of late antiquity.

Belisarius accomplished some truly staggering feats in his service to the Emperor Justinian, and he did so with style and compassion. He stands virtually alone in the ancient and medieval worlds as a general who insisted his soldiers behave honorably toward the civilian population. You may recall Rumsfeld famously predicting the Iraqis would greet U.S. forces with flowers back in 2003. Well, in Africa in 533 A.D., that’s precisely what happened. And again in Italy in 536. He was held in such esteem that his Gothic enemies offered to make him their king in 540, an offer he exploited to capture Ravenna and complete the conquest of Italy in as peaceful a manner as possible.

Belisarius was truly a remarkable man, and yet he was hobbled almost his entire career by pettiness and intrigue back in Constantinople. He was denied men and material, recalled at the height of his triumphs, but before he could win the peace. He had his rank stripped twice, and the second time had his household troops disbanded and auctioned off to eager bidders. Late in life, when he managed to turn back a Hunnic invasion with a hastily assembled force that couldn’t properly be called an army, he received no commendations. His loyalty was repaid with suspicion and disgrace, and as a result, Africa smoldered for years, beset by revolts, while the war in Italy – which should have ended in 540 – dragged on for another 14 years, and left Italy so broken that there was nothing to stop the Lombards from invading in 568.

One can imagine Belisarius looking back on his life and recognizing this squandered potential. He might even have asked himself what might have been had he – and more importantly Justinian – been better men than they were. Had they not let themselves be swamped by intrigues and the pettiness of others. That, I think, would be the main thrust of the story, the realization that the baser sides of human nature can wreck even the best of intentions and the loftiest of ambitions (no bearing on our present day…heh).

I’ve been trying to dig a story out of Belisarius’ career that pivots around that theme, and along the way, it seems the question – what might have been? – has pushed me in another, complementary direction.

What if I explored what might have been?

Let me explain.

In 542, Belisarius was once again in the east, campaigning against the Persians. It was a cautious campaign. Plague (yes, the plague) was sweeping through the Empire, and both sides were at pains to keep it from catching and spreading through their armies. Belisarius managed to coerce the Persian army out of imperial territory when word arrived from Constantinople – Justinian had contracted the plague.

Figuring he was in all likelihood dead already, the eastern generals met and decided they would not endorse any successor named in Constantinople in their absence.

As it happened, Justinian miraculously survived, and as he recovered, the Empress Theodora took action. She viewed the generals’ decision as a personal affront, and used it as a pretext to fling one into prison and strip the other – Belisarius – of his rank as supreme commander of the eastern armies. Though he was later restored to favor and send to salvage the situation in Italy, Belisarius’ career never recovered. The distrust lingered, and his urgent requests for more men were ignored. He struggled on for five years, hopelessly outmatched by the larger Gothic forces, and when he was finally recalled in 548 (upon Theodora’s death), he had little to show for his efforts. It would take another six years and a massive dedication of manpower to finally bring the war to a close.

But what if Justinian had died of the plague?

In all likelihood, the eastern generals would have proclaimed Belisarius emperor. Meanwhile, in Constantinople, Theodora would have certainly remarried (perhaps to Justinian’s nephew Germanus) and had her husband named emperor.

And, just like that, you’d have civil war and the makings of a really great alternate history.

As of now, I’m still plugging away at the actual, historical Belisarius, but I have to admit the alternate history version is knocking around in the back of my head.

The Fire Brigades of Crassus

Marcus Licinius Crassus is a prominent figure in the history of the Roman Republic. Contemporary of Sulla, Cicero, and a little-known character by the name of Julius Caesar, Crassus was the wealthiest man in the Roman world. So wealthy that his vast riches alone earned him a spot on the First Triumvirate alongside Caesar and Pompey, who would later engulf the Republic in civil war over the matter of a salad recipe (I kid…).

Crassus began to amass his fortune in the aftermath of another civil war, when enemies of the state were proscribed, and their property seized and sold at auction. From here he branched out and discovered all sorts of nefarious ways to accumulate wealth.

One such method involved tracking down the owner of a property going up in flames. Arriving on the scene, Crassus would offer said owner a trifling amount for the presumably destroyed property. Once the owner agreed, Crassus would then bring forward his private fire brigade, put out the blaze, and take ownership of the slightly damaged property.

Talk about a dick move.

This predatory practice continued until Augustus rose to power and established a public firefighting force. Fire was a very real threat in the ancient world. It could very easily gut a city. Against that peril, the investment in public firefighting seemed well worthwhile, as it still does to this day.

I bring up Crassus and his fire brigades as a way of maybe shifting the conversation about public versus private enterprises.

Our country is historically suspicious of government-run anything. There is a belief that government programs are inefficient, and that, by virtue of capitalism, matters should be left to the markets and private industry.

In most cases, I agree. When it comes to selling computers and clothing, car insurance and houses, supply, demand and competition tend to make things better for the consumer. If someone gets lazy and starts building crap products, you or I can always go elsewhere. Likewise if someone starts charging too much for too little. This is because the profit a company takes is directly tied to the quality and/or price of their product or service.

But there are sectors where providing a service can have a negative impact on profit, or where profits can be enhanced by unscrupulous means. Crassus’ fire brigades are a prime example, and one reason why private firefighting companies are a very bad idea. I would say the same for law enforcement, the military, and search and rescue operations.

If you thought this would eventually come around to health care, congratulations, have a cookie.

Profit-driven healthcare is, in my opinion, a dangerous thing. It can work to a point, and with proper regulation. For example, the employer mandate stipulates that health care insurers must cover an employees receiving benefits through their employers regardless of pre-existing conditions. They can’t drop them the moment things get hairy.

If you happen to work for a small company, or strike out on your own, that protection is gone. An insurer can refuse to cover a pre-existing condition, or charge a premium so high you can’t afford it, or employ rescission to drop you when you need care the most.

As someone who knows several people who have struck out on their own, and who may do so one day himself, this terrifies me. It is an anchor around the neck of every entrepreneur in this country, an anchor that keeps people working for “the man” and that stifles innovation.

Furthermore, given the perilous state of the economy, this is an issue that concerns each and every one of us. You may get pretty decent benefits through your job today, but what if your employer decides they are no longer worth the expense? Or what if you get laid off, and haven’t found another job by the time your COBRA benefits expire (or can’t afford the COBRA premiums)?

If you want some real-world examples of this kind of stuff, I highly recommend perusing the excellent “View From Your Sickbed” accounts Andrew Sullivan has been collecting and posting. It’s easy to spout platitudes about the uninsured from 40,000 feet, it’s another matter when you see how this system could very easily turn on you, your family, or your friends.

I’m typically not a fan of government intrusion, but in some cases Adam Smith’s invisible hand is not enough to keep private industry honest, and in those instances I DO feel it is the government’s role – as an entity that can act without hyperactive profit motive – to step in and set rules. Or, if need be, enter the fray directly.

And I feel that is the case with health care, which, though we may not often think of it as such, is a very real factor in American competitiveness and, it could be argued, is a matter of national security.

Plotting Along

After last weekend’s cram session to get the partial request for The Scourge of Rome packaged up and out the door, my mind is finally turning back to the Belisarius novel, and it’s firing on all kinds of cylinders it never has before.

Great. Just great.

A few weeks back, I started to realize that the great Byzantine general’s life is just too massive to cover in the span of a single novel. After a lot of mental back-and-forth, I finally arrived at the decision to stick to his early career, a five year period that takes him from the Middle East to Constantinople and concludes with the conquest of the Vandal kingdom in Africa.

I even started writing a bit.

Over the past few days, though, I’ve cracked some crucial character dynamics and arrived at a theme that could really drive a story sweeping Belisarius’ entire career. And I love it. I absolutely love it. I can see whole chunks of the story slotting into place.

The only thing is…this puts me back at square one. Belisarius’ career spans thirty-five years, six campaigns, and literally dozens of battles. It’s just too big. Any story tackling the expanse of his career would, by necessity, have to cut out whole swaths, not unlike a book being adapted to film.

So now…I’m at an impasse. Write the shorter story with more nuance and detail, or the longer, very character driven one, and find a way to skim past the bulk of his campaigns…

A Novel Direction

There’s a lot to be said for letting things percolate.

A few weeks ago, I had something of a freak out over the novel I’d been busy researching. The life of the Byzantine general Belisarius was just too big, it seemed, to fit into a single novel, at least without sacrificing the level of detail and nuance I was after. An established author could probably pull it off with a 350,000 word tome, but few agents or publishers would glance at something even half that long from an aspiring writer.

So I backed away.

Too Much of a Good Thing…

Ever since I put the finishing touches on The Scourge of Rome, I’ve been in a strange sort of limbo state regarding what to write next. At first I honed in on Alaric, the Visigoth who sacked Rome, but then I bounced back to the Second Punic War, went through a few ideas, and finally ended up right where I started. 

I’ve been researching the Alaric novel for a few months now, and while I have an absolutely killer first chapter mapped out, the rest of the story is…dense. The real story of Alaric isn’t that of a rampaging barbarian tearing down an empire. It’s far more nuanced than that. He was, for the better part of his career, actually working with the empire, albeit walking a delicate tightrope between the Eastern and Western courts (the propaganda machines of which did much of the bloodthirsty-barbarian-casting).

Now…I like big books…and I find the “true” story of Alaric endlessly fascinating. I love that his sack of Rome wasn’t a triumph in any way, but rather a monumental failure that was the result of a breakdown in diplomacy. But, as a novel, I just don’t know how satisfying it would be, especially considering he died months after the sack, having basically accomplished nothing. With all the intrigue the reader would have to wade through, I don’t know if such a bummer of an ending would really hold up.

So, once again, I’m back to doubting my basic topic, and casting my eyes afield for something else. Something perhaps a bit less ambitious in scope and more direct in its narrative. 

If there’s one thing I learned writing The Scourge of Rome, it’s that history is a lot more dense, complicated, and messy than it appears at first glance. Even writing that, I had to cut back my goal of covering the entire sixteen year history of the Second Punic War and settle for the first two years. And even then, it was still a massive story. Tackling the entire life of a figure as complex as Alaric would, I think, be even more daunting (and less accessible).

But if not Alaric, then what, or who?

My first thought was Marcus Agrippa, the right hand of Augustus and probably my second-greatest historical man crush beside Scipio Africanus. It’s his loyalty that fascinates me. Here was a man who basically shared power with Augustus, and for a considerable amount of time wielded equal authority, but who never moved to sieze it all for himself, even when he he had ample opportunity. But, as with Alaric, his story is long and winding.

Then there are the other personalities I’ve considered. Roussel de Bailiol, the Norman mercenary who screwed over the Byzantines at Manzikert and went on to establish a rogue kingdom in Asia Minor, to the dismay of the Byzantines and Turks alike. Or El Cid. Or Charles Martel, who halted Muslim expansion into Europe.

But for some reason, my mind keeps coming back to the great Byzantine general, Belisarius. Taking on the entirely of Belisarius’ exploits would no doubt be too much for one book – I mean the guy beat back the Persians, ended the Nika Riots that threatened to overthrow the Emperor Justinian, and retook Africa and Italy from their barbarian overlords. But handled in chunks…it could be doable. One particular episode stands out to me – his defense of Rome in 536/7. 5,000 men against an army of 50,000 and he pulled it off. You can read about it HERE. That defense could, I think, make for an awesome story in its own right. 

I guess it’s time to research.

Those Who Don’t Know History…

Came across an interesting article over at the National Review this morning about the importance of history and the tragedy of its declining role in education.

Money quote:

That doesn’t mean that lessons should not be drawn from World War II or Vietnam. But it does mean that we should do so within the context of the rest of history. We need the big picture. And that is just what is disappearing from our schools. No wonder, then, that current challenges like the war on terror are forcibly jammed into the mold of the last century’s wars. We simply don’t remember anything else. Could the ancient Roman experience with Jewish extremist terrorism have any lessons for Americans prosecuting a war against Islamic extremism? Could the Hellenistic Greek response to Roman hegemony help us understand European attitudes toward America’s position as the world’s lone superpower? Who knows? Who cares? After all, that’s “ancient history.” The Founding Fathers believed that an education grounded in the Classics (read in Latin!) was an essential foundation for good citizenship. Today that’s just trivia — useful for winning on Jeopardy! — but not much else.

Legiones Cannensis

Writing’s been going pretty well of late. I’m most of the way through my final round of revisions on The Scourge of Rome, and I’ve begun preliminary planning on my next novel, which will tell the story of Alaric and the Visigoths.

Or, well, maybe.

Yesterday, on the way to the grocery to pick up some eggs, I had another idea spring into my mind. One that parallels the events of The Scourge of Rome, but tells the story from a vastly different point of view. Instead of focusing on Scipio, Fabius, and other members of the Roman aristocracy, it would instead be a sort of Band of Brothers tale of eight legionnaires from the “Cannae legions”, or legiones Cannensis.

Why the Cannae legions? Because, to my mind, theirs is one of the greatest story arcs of the Second Punic War, if not the whole of Roman history.

In August 216 B.C., the Romans met Hannibal in battle near the abandoned town of Cannae, in southeastern Italy. Despite an overwhelming numerical advantage, the Romans were surrounded and slaughtered by Hannibal’s army. The number of dead is open to debate, but even by the lower estimates of 50,000, the day is one of the bloodiest in military history (by comparison, the British offensive at the Somme in WWI resulted in about 50,000 casualties in one day – but that’s casualties, not deaths). In the aftermath, the remnants of the shattered army coalesced at nearby Canusium under the leadership of the tribunes Publius Scipio and Appius Claudius.

Despite their heroism in fighting their way free of the slaughter and escaping capture by Hannibal’s victorious army, the survivors were punished by the Senate and exiled to Sicily for the duration of the war. Worse still, they were not permitted to winter near populated areas and were kept apart from other Roman soldiers.

Over the next several years, the war spread to Sicily, and the disgraced legions proved themselves in combat, helping Rome capture Syracuse and drive Carthaginian forces from the island. But even after these victories, they were left to rot. One can imagine their farms back in Italy being overrun with weeds. Their children growing up without them. Sweethearts marrying other men. I imagine the suicide rate was probably pretty high.

Then, in 205 B.C., everything changed. Publius Scipio, the 19-year-old tribune who led them from Cannae, returned from Spain, which he had managed to conquer in the space of four years. His victory was such that he was elected consul, despite being far too young for the office. Inspired by his successes, he devised a new strategy – to invade Africa and force the Carthaginians to recall Hannibal to defend the home territories.

The Senate was dubious. Hannibal had a knack for crushing the ambitious, and the last Roman invasion of Africa a generation before had resulted in absolute disaster. While they were unable to thwart Scipio’s plans, the Senate did frustrate them by denying him the men he needed. And so Scipio turned to the disgraced Cannae legions, and made them the core of his invasion force.

Three years later, on the barren plain of Zama, it was these disgraced legions, who had been living in exile for thirteen long years, who finally broke Hannibal’s army and brought the long war to a successful conclusion.

There’s something poetic, I think, in the fact that these disgraced legions were the ones who finally decided the war in Rome’s favor, and under the command of the same man who led them from Cannae, no less. Suffice to say, they returned to Rome in triumph, and lived out the remainder of their days as heroes and saviors of the Republic.

Now…all I have so far is the general idea. I haven’t started on devising characters, or even figuring out which class of legionnaires they would be. But, I think it’s a powerful story all the same. Who knows, it may even supplant the Alaric novel as the next story I write.

What do you think? Which would you find more compelling?