Historical fiction is a literary genre flourishing still in the digital age, historical tales that might be true enjoying wide readership. Hilary Mantel's "Wolf Hall" and "Bring Up the Bodies" generated brisk sales and her fans eagerly await the next, promised book; Dan Brown's inventions ("Da Vinci Code," "Inferno") are still selling; Umberto Eco's "The Name of the Rose" is still in print. Mantel and Eco have been adapted for television or screen, along with a host of other well-read titles.
Biography is also popular. David McCullough's treatments of Truman, John Adams, Theodore Roosevelt and the Wright brothers have been much sought after. Abigail Santamaria's exploration of Joy Davidman's relationship with C.S. Lewis is widely read, as is Jesse Harland's portrayal of Steve Jobs. Robert Caro's four volumes on Lyndon Johnson have excited the book world, one after the other. The 2008 television production of McCullough's work on John Adams was one of the most-viewed biography series ever, as was Ken Burns' recent "The Roosevelts: An Intimate History."
Popular as they are, both genres are troubling for historians, however, for there's not only the problem of what really happened and what didn't, but how much of what did happen did the writer embellish, or recontextualize? One might think biography is the truer of the two, but not necessarily: It's very difficult, if not impossible, to discern and understand another person's motivation or perception. Biography is often as much a function of the writer's imagination as it is a refection of what's in the documentary trail left behind.
Writers often argue that fiction tells a more complete and deeper truth than nonfiction. The German Nobel laureate Heinrich Boll thought so. "There's more truth in a novel," he said, "for the historian's truth is an assembled one, constructed from bits and pieces, and the historian must struggle to separate fact from non-fact."
"Truth certainly exists," he said, "but it's very hard to put together; I don't believe historical writing can deliver the whole truth."
Virginia Woolf agreed. Nonfiction, she said, consists of half-truths and approximations that result in "a very inferior form of fiction." Boll suggested that history and fiction must work together. Many novels, he said, convey more insight than do scholarly works.
The New York writer Eleanor Brackbill might agree. She has written a new biography, "The Queen of the Heartbreak Trail: The Life and Times of Harriet Smith Pullen, Pioneering Woman," currently in press. Pullen migrated to Skagway during the Klondike rush, and became famous for Pullen House, the most expansive hotel in the town; it was big and plush. She had the finest pies and most elegant dinnerware, and she drove her own horse-drawn coach. Dressed in Tlingit regalia, she entertained her guests by dramatizing Native oral traditions. She arrived poor, worked hard, took risks, made enough to send her children to Outside universities and overall succeeded grandly. She became a Skagway legend. She died in 1947.
Many writers have examined Pullen, and Brackbill found that many of them gave her story their own twist, some vividly imagining what can't be known, impressed as they doubtless were by her determination and capability. Pullen herself wrote occasionally about her exploits, and wasn't above exaggeration. In 1948, NBC radio aired a half-hour dramatization of Pullen in its "Cavalcade of America" series.
Separating fact from fiction was a major challenge for Brackbill. For example, Pullen's husband may or may not have died before she left Washington state for Alaska. She may or may not have spoken a number of Native dialects, and may or may not have been adopted into several tribes. She did do some freighting on the White Pass trail, but not under the harrowing conditions she once described. She did not witness the shooting of Soapy Smith, as she claimed, and she did not pick up his body in her hotel stage. Brackbill has done yeoman service separating the factual wheat from the invented chaff.
But the fictionalized versions of Pullen's life may have captured as much truth as Brackbill, with their stories of a pluckish woman succeeding on her own in a pioneer, mostly male world. Pullen's was a signal achievement, improbable for its time, and an inspiration still.
Steve Haycox is professor emeritus of history at the University of Alaska Anchorage.
The views expressed here are the writer's own and are not necessarily endorsed by Alaska Dispatch News, which welcomes a broad range of viewpoints. To submit a piece for consideration, email commentary(at)alaskadispatch.com.