Renaissance Rapture

“Too many notes, dear Mozart, too many notes.”

(Detail, Primavera/Spring, Sandro Botticelli, c. 1480)

“Too many notes . . . .”

So Emperor Joseph II reportedly said to Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart following Mozart’s performance in 1782 of the “Abduction from the Seraglio” in Vienna, during a scene between the two men brilliantly depicted in the 1984 Academy Award-winning film, Amadeus.

Taken aback, Mozart replied, “I don’t understand. There are just as many notes as required, neither more nor less.”

Who was correct?

And exactly what has this to do with Renaissance Rapture?

Books, dear Reader, books. In particular, historical fiction, and even more particularly, historical fiction depicting historical figures and all their progeny who carry numerous titles in addition to their given names. Page…after... page…after page.

We, the writers of, let’s say, medieval and/or renaissance fiction, know these people and all their various identifications so well, surely the reader does, too. Right?

Wrong! We know them because we have done years of research, we have drawn charts marked with post-it notes and arrows on poster boards sideways and up and down to keep everyone in our books straight in our minds as well as—one hopes—in the minds of readers.

The emperor’s comment to Mozart hit home when I discovered an author writing a historical mystery series set in late 1300s England. Particularly inviting to me was the timeframe wasn’t so far off from mine (Renaissance Italy, late 1400s), and the protagonist was a man in the middle of things at a time of power politics, much like my Guid’Antonio Vespucci in Florence, Italy.

Another bit of good news was there are several books in the series set in England, so I suited up and bought the first one—only to find myself wading through a morass of characters whose names and titles varied from page to page (and sometimes on the same page, itself). I was expected to know, or remember, that King Richard II mentioned on page one was also Richard of Bordeaux on page ten. John of Gaunt might be John of Gaunt or the Duke of Lancaster twenty pages on.

There were also the earls of Warwick, Arundel, Nottingham, and Derby, along with Henry Bolingbroke, son of the aforementioned John of Gaunt, who challenged Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk. Henry accuses Mowbray of being involved in the recent death of the king’s uncle, who is also Henry’s uncle; Henry and the king are cousins. (I looked this last bit up).

The maddening thing about this is the fictional main character is so engaging! I soldiered on—and was rewarded with No. Resolution. Whatever. I may read the next book in this series, but to the author, I would ask, “Can you say ‘Cast of Characters?” “Might you consider picking one name for your real-life people and sticking with it as far as possible?” As for the history of the thing, how about an author’s note? Readers love the author’s notes.

This is not a case of “too many notes.” Nor even of too many characters, at least not for most readers of historical fiction.

It is only there are too many names in a web of variations, preventing the reader from feeling completely immersed in the story. And what is the point of that?

Lesson learned; one I shall endeavor to remember as I write the next book featuring my Guid’Antonio and company—whose Italian names all end in vowels. Guid’Antonio, Amerigo, Sandro, Leonardo, Lorenzo, Lucrezia, Maria . . . .

(Originally published on Nashville Catholic Writers)