Research is Fun! - Anne Gracie

People sometimes say to me, "Oh, you're a historical writer -- you must have to do so much research." Or they say, "I'd love to write historicals but I couldn't do all that boring research."

Boring?

Research is the fun part. I love digging around in old books of letters, or the diaries of people traveling in obscure corners of the world, or writing about their everyday life. Because it might be research, but it's really about people. I enjoy the voice of the writer, as much as what they observe.

Here's a caustic young Irishman describing her first experience in Paris of the new French fashions of 1801.

"They were the first French ladies I had seen and such was the dress of the first of the three demoiselles that I thought some of the Statues out of the Louvre had suddenly caught animation. Nothing could look more like a little "Diana" than Victoire in light (almost transparent) drapery, no sleeves to her gown but gold chain twisted round the upper part of her Arm, into the form of a bracelet and her neck entirely seen. Madame, their mother, was too much en bon point to have such a sylphlike appearance as her daughters. But she did not add to her size by too much covering."

Miaou.

Attending her first French "Thé" (tea party) she says: "My first impression was amazement, at beholding the women from 15 to 70 almost in a state of nature. The Petticoat (or train of the gown, rather) covers however, half the length of the Room, which is a most benevolent disposition to display in a country where there are no many carpets."

I love this girl! She's funny, witty, ironic and quite devastating in her judgments. But she's no famous writer, just a young woman traveling with friends and writing letters back to her brother in Ireland.

Thank goodness he kept them, and years later someone found them, enjoyed them and had them published in a book. I found it in a rare book collection, and used some of her observations in a book called Tallie's Knight.

The other thing about research is you come across unexpected things you don't expect to find, things which, for a novelist, can be like a nugget of gold.

In my latest book (HIS CAPTIVE LADY, out now) my hero and heroine had occasion to visit the foundling hospital in London.

I had planned a quick scene, just a short visit to ask some questions and leave again. I did a little more research on the Foundling Hospital -- and discovered a wonderful, heartbreaking tale that fit perfectly with my story.

The Foundling Hospital accepted only new born babies from unwed mothers of "good character." The children received good care, but would never see their mother again. For 9 years of the hospital's operation, the mothers were encouraged to leave small tokens --really for administration purposes, so their child could be identified in case they changed their mind and wanted their baby back. Of course, these items did not remain merely administrative, but became tokens of love and remembrance for their babies.

Some of the tokens are on display at the Foundling Hospital Museum in London. They range from simple, everyday items -- a nut, a key, a penny with a hole drilled in it, a coin broken in half, a lock, a key -- and there are more personal items; charms, rings, a medal, a bent thimble, a tiny rag doll. There's a mother-of-pearl fish -- perhaps the father was a seaman. There are small embroidered items, things made of twisted wire, letters --some dictated by an illiterate mother, others penned in exquisite copperplate.

Each item, whether valuable or cheap, everyday or unique, told a story, and for me, the sight of these tiny objects, set out in a glass case years after both the mothers and children were dead, was immensely moving.

The tragedy was that the children never saw what their mothers left, never knew they'd left anything. Can you imagine what it would have meant to them, to have some token of love from their mother? But they never had them, never even knew they were there, that their mother had left them anything at all.

Perhaps the administrators of the orphanage were wise, perhaps not. But I ached for those children and their mothers.

And of course I wrote about the tokens in my book. How could I not?

Research -- a hardship? A bore? No way.

If you'd like to read some more about the tokens of the Foundling Museum, read this.