Ten years ago I was struggling to finish a novel when by chance I encountered the story of Isabelle d’Angoulême, and in short order, she completely swamped my imagination. Using a few meager facts—when quite young, she’d been stolen from her fiancé by King John of England who married her and whisked her away to England—I’d daydream scenes, certain a great novel was hidden in her life.
I should mention that thanks to a brilliant college professor, I’d long loved medieval history. We’d read original texts such as writs of charter, excommunications, or guild laws, and discussed what those texts meant to the people they touched. I became fascinated by the dynasties, marriages, clothes, and illuminations; the Cloisters museum in New York City and Musee d’Orsay in Paris were favorites; and when I traveled, I sought out cathedrals, stained glass, and castles. I felt prepared to bring a woman in the early 13th century to life.
And that was the point. My Isabelle would step off the page as a woman who gained power in difficult times; she’d entrance the reader as she had me. Although unpublished, I had been working on my craft for over ten years. I knew how to create a plot, tension, and a believable character who transformed through experience.
So I abandoned the other novel and began. Soon I had Isabelle, John, and Hugh, the fiancé, riding through great forests, walking and dancing in stone rooms heated by fire. But then I ran into a difficulty. How did they talk? For a relatable story, Isabelle and John’s dialog needed a sense of difference, but mustn’t sound stilted. The minute they said prithee or doth, their reality would disappear and the story would cease to resonate for a modern reader.
Dialog has many functions. It should forward the plot, but also establish tone and reveal character. Word choice is key. When I remember my grandfather saying, “How’s that now?” his rough whiskers and sly humor comes into focus. My sister’s pet phrase “They’ll figure it out,” evokes the time when her kids were teens. What were medieval equivalents? I wanted to evoke real people living in a completely foreign era.
Research told me Isabelle and John likely spoke a mixture of Latin, Middle English, and some variant of French, so I inserted bits of modern French and touches of Latin but avoided archaic language such as alas or thy/thee/thine. Eventually I did allow an occasional oddity such as “Walk on, 'tis cold,” or “I leave on the morrow.”
I also renounced contractions when the characters spoke. Cannot and is not would give a tinge of distance. But I retained contractions in general text so the narrative could flow naturally to the modern ear.
Because Isabelle lived in a time of war when swearing would seem natural, I searched for pertinent swear words. Some were hilarious. I chose maléfice, a pox on you, and God’s bones, plus descriptions such as dankish gudgeon and useless shite. Because Isabelle was eleven in the novel’s first chapter, the more demure Pismire, meaning ant, but derived from the Latin for piss, seemed appropriate.
Most of my characters were high-born, but for the occasional peasant or guard, I used slight grammatical errors—“I now alone, without my husband” or “Most like I’ll never go”—dismaying my proofreader.
And finally, as I edited at the sentence level, I researched alternate verbs on Merriam-Webster’s Word History, choosing words that were in use at the time or that had stemmed from Latin, Middle English, or old French. The word might be perfectly modern but still have an unusual feel. Hugh’s first appearance in the story has some examples: He wanted to be deemed (considered) worthy of being a squire—his life’s goal at sixteen—and fight to uphold (defend) his family’s honor, but instead he’d been sent to Angoulême to ferret out (find out) if an attack was imminent.
I’ll note that this editing is anal and time-consuming, but like all writers, I wanted my debut novel to be the best I could make it.
My hope is that with these slight adjustments readers will sense some otherness in the language, but find the story of a woman who locates and claims her own power in the face of men’s disdain and contempt completely modern.
Terri Lewis fell in love with medieval history in college. Not the dates or wars, but the mysterious daily lives of the people. Building on this love, she read widely and traveled, marveling at Europe’s preserved towns and castles. Finally, a sentence in a book bought at Windsor Castle led her to write Behold the Bird in Flight.
I should mention that thanks to a brilliant college professor, I’d long loved medieval history. We’d read original texts such as writs of charter, excommunications, or guild laws, and discussed what those texts meant to the people they touched. I became fascinated by the dynasties, marriages, clothes, and illuminations; the Cloisters museum in New York City and Musee d’Orsay in Paris were favorites; and when I traveled, I sought out cathedrals, stained glass, and castles. I felt prepared to bring a woman in the early 13th century to life.
And that was the point. My Isabelle would step off the page as a woman who gained power in difficult times; she’d entrance the reader as she had me. Although unpublished, I had been working on my craft for over ten years. I knew how to create a plot, tension, and a believable character who transformed through experience.
So I abandoned the other novel and began. Soon I had Isabelle, John, and Hugh, the fiancé, riding through great forests, walking and dancing in stone rooms heated by fire. But then I ran into a difficulty. How did they talk? For a relatable story, Isabelle and John’s dialog needed a sense of difference, but mustn’t sound stilted. The minute they said prithee or doth, their reality would disappear and the story would cease to resonate for a modern reader.
Dialog has many functions. It should forward the plot, but also establish tone and reveal character. Word choice is key. When I remember my grandfather saying, “How’s that now?” his rough whiskers and sly humor comes into focus. My sister’s pet phrase “They’ll figure it out,” evokes the time when her kids were teens. What were medieval equivalents? I wanted to evoke real people living in a completely foreign era.
Research told me Isabelle and John likely spoke a mixture of Latin, Middle English, and some variant of French, so I inserted bits of modern French and touches of Latin but avoided archaic language such as alas or thy/thee/thine. Eventually I did allow an occasional oddity such as “Walk on, 'tis cold,” or “I leave on the morrow.”
I also renounced contractions when the characters spoke. Cannot and is not would give a tinge of distance. But I retained contractions in general text so the narrative could flow naturally to the modern ear.
Because Isabelle lived in a time of war when swearing would seem natural, I searched for pertinent swear words. Some were hilarious. I chose maléfice, a pox on you, and God’s bones, plus descriptions such as dankish gudgeon and useless shite. Because Isabelle was eleven in the novel’s first chapter, the more demure Pismire, meaning ant, but derived from the Latin for piss, seemed appropriate.
Most of my characters were high-born, but for the occasional peasant or guard, I used slight grammatical errors—“I now alone, without my husband” or “Most like I’ll never go”—dismaying my proofreader.
And finally, as I edited at the sentence level, I researched alternate verbs on Merriam-Webster’s Word History, choosing words that were in use at the time or that had stemmed from Latin, Middle English, or old French. The word might be perfectly modern but still have an unusual feel. Hugh’s first appearance in the story has some examples: He wanted to be deemed (considered) worthy of being a squire—his life’s goal at sixteen—and fight to uphold (defend) his family’s honor, but instead he’d been sent to Angoulême to ferret out (find out) if an attack was imminent.
I’ll note that this editing is anal and time-consuming, but like all writers, I wanted my debut novel to be the best I could make it.
My hope is that with these slight adjustments readers will sense some otherness in the language, but find the story of a woman who locates and claims her own power in the face of men’s disdain and contempt completely modern.
* * *
Her writing has been honed through workshops with Jill McCorkle, Laura Van Den Berg, and Rebecca Makkai and she has published in literary magazines. She lives with her husband and two lively dogs in Denver, Colorado.
You can check out her novel here: https://www.simonandschuster.com/books/Behold-the-Bird-in-Flight/Terri-Lewis/9781647429102
Or read about her life in writing and ballet here: https://terrilewis1.com
Or signup for her newsletter here: https://terrilewis1.substack.com/
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Would you like to participate in Friday "Speak Out!"? Email your short posts (under 500 words) about women and writing to: marcia[at]wow-womenonwriting[dot]com for consideration. We look forward to hearing from you!
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Or read about her life in writing and ballet here: https://terrilewis1.com
Or signup for her newsletter here: https://terrilewis1.substack.com/
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Would you like to participate in Friday "Speak Out!"? Email your short posts (under 500 words) about women and writing to: marcia[at]wow-womenonwriting[dot]com for consideration. We look forward to hearing from you!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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