I was having a discussion about historical fiction on Twitter not too long ago and someone brought up an interesting question: How far back in time does the setting of the book have to be before it’s considered historical? We can all probably agree that a story set in the 1800s is definitely historical, but what about books set in the 1970s, 1980s, or even 1990s? Are they contemporary or historical? One person argued that if she could remember the decade, then the book isn’t historical. For someone like my grandmother, this would mean only books set before the 1930s could be considered historical fiction but for a 12-year old, a story set in 1998 would be considered historical fiction since they weren’t even alive during that year.

Personally, the fewer cultural and societal norms that I can relate to in the story, the more likely I am to consider it to be historical fiction. For example, I don’t remember the 1980s but many of the events, clothing, and music still influence my life now, so the decade isn’t very “historical” to me. On the other hand, I consider the 1960s (or as I like to think of it, the Mad Men era) to be historical because typewriters, rigid gender roles, and black & white televisions seem so far removed from my everyday life.

I think, as a rule of thumb, the fewer people alive from a particular era a book is set in, the more “historical” the book becomes for readers.

What defines historical fiction as “historical” for you?

I wasn’t a gamer until I met my husband. I mean, I’d toyed with Bubble Bobble in my youth, but I never really understood the appeal of video games. Plus I get frustrated easily, so if I hit a level I couldn’t beat, I’d walk away. (Usually to go read a book, which worked out well for me!)

But when Husband and I started dating, once we got past that stage of having to go do “dates” someplace, I was introduced to a whole new world of video games: action RPGs. An action RPG is a story — it’s got fleshed-out characters, insanely detailed worlds, and highly customizable options. It’s basically a Choose-Your-Own-Adventure book, but much, much, much bigger. You, as the main character in the game, are given a main quest, and encounter options for many side quests. In order to complete your quest, you need to explore the world, pick up new skills and bits of information, forge alliances with various characters, and vanquish enemies for loot. There are huge portions of the game that are simply conversations — you engage a character, listen to what she says, and then have 5 or 6 options for a reply. Based on that reply, she’ll take the conversation in a particular direction, giving you 5 or 6 new dialogue options, etc. Each choice you make determines how the rest of the game will play out for you.

So I’d spend afternoons hanging out on my Husband’s couch, reading a book or knitting a sweater while he played Mass Effect. He’d explain about the mission Commander Shepard was on, and I’d occasionally help him choose dialogue options. (One of the reasons I fell in love with him was he always chose the good, “paragon” dialogue options, no matter what game he was playing.) I loved that one of the characters was voiced by Star Trek: TNG alum Marina Sirtis (aka Counselor Troi). Slowly, I began to see the appeal, and I picked up a controller. At first, I’d only play through the dialogue sections, passing the controller to Husband during battles. But as I got more familiar with the mechanics of the battles, I became more comfortable with fighting myself. (Though, to be honest, I’m much better at Dragon Age fights than I am at Mass Effect fights. And I got pretty good at Red Dead Redemption, but nearly threw the controller through the TV when my character stumbled upon a rattlesnake and got bitten.)

What drew me in, what kept me interested in the games was the story. I cared about Commander Shepard. I loved making fun of Ashley, trying to draw out Garrus (and I’m not the only one!), and figuring out a way to romance Tali’Zorah. Through both Mass Effect and Mass Effect 2, the story grew and intensified, and the choices my husband made for Shepard way back in the beginning had ramifications on the gameplay yet to come. We got invested.

So I’ve been paying attention to the controversy about the Mass Effect 3 ending not only as a fan, but also as someone who makes a living in the world of stories. Without giving any spoilers myself (but if you follow these links, be ye warned), fans are not happy about how ME3 ended. And they put up such a stink that BioWare, the company responsible for the game, is issuing new content. (After a blog post that emphasizes how much they value fan feedback.)

Which brings me to the question I want to ask you: In this age of easily-update-able ebooks and unprecedented author interaction with readers, would you ever petition an author to change an ending, or add a coda to offer more reader satisfaction? Do you expect authors to listen to reader responses about book seven in a series as they’re writing book eight? If an author’s vision for the ending of her series is different from what you expected and hoped, does that invalidate the joy she brought you with her earlier books?

A friend of mine once said that as a child, she ended up reading the bathroom a lot because it was the only place in the house where her mother couldn’t see her reading “questionable material”. Even though my friend has long since moved away from home, she still occasionally reads sitting on her bathroom floor for hours at a time. I found her behavior to be funny and weird, but then I thought, I probably have strange reading behavior/rituals as well.

So, in no particular order, my reading idiosyncrasies:

-I hate dog-earring my print books. Hate it. I use bookmarks or random bits of paper lying around or I just lay the book open on the last page I was on. When other people are about to fold over the corner of my book, I’m like: “Stop! What are you doing?! Step away from the book right now!”

-If I’m nearing my subway stop and I’m only one or two pages until the end of the chapter, I will speed read epically fast so I can finish the chapter before reaching my stop.

-When I finish a book, and nobody else is around for me to talk to, I immediately go to Goodreads and read every, single review of that book. I just need to know what everyone else thought about it.

-When I finish a historical novel (and after going to Goodreads), I check-out every Wikipedia article on each historical reference in the book.

-If I’m reading a contemporary book, I have a tendency to imagine homes and places as houses and buildings I’ve seen in real life. Does anybody else do this? Or is it just me?

What are some of your reading behaviors?

I’ve been watching a lot of HOUSE lately–you know, the medical show with the uber-hottie Hugh Laurie playing the crazypants doctor who somehow manages to figure out what mysterious disease a person has juuuuuuust in the nick of time. One of my favorite parts of the show is how sarcoidosis and lupus is thrown out as possible reasons in every episode; it should be a drinking game. haha

Anyway, I’ve been trying to figure out why I’m so fascinated by this show–both as a reader, a writer and an editor. What is it about his character that draws me in? And I think I’ve figured it out. Actually, there are a lot of reasons:

1–House says what we’re all thinking. Well, sometimes, when we’re honest with ourselves and don’t worry about being polite in society. haha. He’s a jerk, he doesn’t pull his punches, and his blunt lack of a filter makes me laugh. It also makes me cringe. But it makes him compelling because I literally don’t know what’s going to fly out of his mouth. I love characters who keep me guessing like that. Predictable stories get old, fast.

2–House is complex. As mentioned above, he has no filter and he’s often a jerk. He’s addicted to pain meds and seems to have no conscience at times. And yet at other times, he’s so vulnerable it breaks my heart. Characters who are transparent to me, who have serious flaws and yet these moments of utter vulnerability, make me riveted. I remember an episode where he told Cuddy that being in love with her made him a bad doctor and caused people to die, and yet he wouldn’t change a thing–he’d still love her. He was humble and real in that one moment and I just swooned because I knew it was hard for him to admit that. When I read manuscripts or books with characters who have a lot of room to grow, that kind of complexity and rawness needs to be there so I hang in to the end.

3–House is hot.

4–House surrounds himself with great foils and reflections of his own character. His coworkers reveals a lot about him–his odd unhealthy-yet-compelling friendship with Wilson, the way he treats his crew…yet they stick with him anyway. Not necessarily because they’re gluttons for punishment. But because they, too, see the multiple facets and recognize his genius. And I think that deep down, they realize they want to be like that in some way. They serve as our voice on the show, calling him out on his flaws, pointing out those moments of generosity.

I heard somewhere that House is considered to be the most accurate modernization of Sherlock Holmes. Upon considering this, it’s absolutely true. I’ve always been a fan of mysteries, and the way the show HOUSE unravels them keeps me coming back, week after week. But it’s not just the mysteries of the diseases–it’s the mysteries of House himself.

So, what TV show provides a great character study for you? Who is so fascinating that you keep coming back, week after week, eager to see what happens next?