In Finding Nemo, Albert, the clown fish’s wife and whole family-to-be- of clown fish eggs are eaten at the start of the film. One egg, which hatches into Nemo remains and, when Nemo gets lost, Albert sets out to find him. It’s a delightful story and very funny, too. However, when a mother clown fish is killed, the male clown fish turns into a female. I know this, because the director said so on the DVD extras. The makers of Nemo chose to ignore it because it would make the film just too damn complicated and they were absolutely right. That’s a creative decision that makes the story work better.
However, on the weblist DorothyL this week, a point was raised about accuracy in historical fiction.
The heroine of a book set in the First World War motors around Britain without any thought of petrol rationing. Was there, Dave Bennet asked on the list, any fuel restrictions? The question pulled him out of the world of the book. The notion of fuel restrictions should at least have been raised, because there were petrol restrictions and, like most things which seem like a problem at first, the very problem could have been creatively used to give a better sense of the period.
Restrictions, in the form of licences, were imposed early in the war and were tightened up as the war went on. I had to think about this for my WW1 spy thriller, Frankie's Letter, where the villain whizzes round in a Daimler (so handy for kidnapping heroes and carrying them off!). That's 1915, but by the following year, newspapers would report incidents of joy-riding very censoriously. Private driving became semi-respectable again in the summer of 1917 by attaching large gas-bags, which looked like miniature Zeppelins, on a wooden frame to the car with six feet of pipe for recharging at gas-points. There were plenty of cases of drivers filling up illegally at lamp posts! (All lamp posts were fuelled by gas, often tapping into the sewers for a supply).
Is it important to get it right? On one level, no. The story can be good and the writing fine, but if you are setting a story in a particular era, it seems like only fair play to the eventual reader to at least try to get it right. And, by getting details right, the chances are, the overall impression of the time will be right, too, so the reader gets the impression of living in another world. Besides that, it’d be fun watching the heroine get free gas from a lamp-post!
Huh? I don't understand how getting gas from a lamp-post makes it respectable to drive a care during fuel rationing...was the gas actually a fuel, or did it give the car buoyancy, or...no, I don't get it. It's not April the First, is it? Do explain more, Dolores! On your general point about getting historical details right, I agree 100%. But some details, like this one, are so weird as to be almost unbelievable.
ReplyDeleteWhat you've got to understand is that the gas, as far as I can make out, wasn't pressurised. The car motor was adapted to burn gas as a fuel instead of petrol, so instead of the fuel coming from a petrol tank, it came from the zeppelin-like bag fixed to the roof of the car. The motorist had a six-foot pipe to fill the bag with gas which he (I imagine it was usually a he) would buy legitimately from a gas station. (Gas meaning gas, not petrol!) Now lamp-posts ran on gas, and it was commonplace (although certainly not approved!) to connect your car's pipe to the gas pipe inside the lamp-post and fill up. I've got a picture of a gas-bagged car somewhere. If I can dig it out and scan it in, I'll put it on the blog.
ReplyDeleteOh I hope you do find the picture - it's fascinating! I'd absolutely no idea you could run a car on town gas. I wonder how far you'd be able to drive on one bagful? More, please, more...
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