HFCN #08: Reading Historical Novels from Around the World I

This is the first of a series of newsletters as I revisit my notes from a pandemic project of reading historical novels from around the world. #SlowReading

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The Whys and Wherefores of This Newsletter Series

During the pandemic, I began a reading project that I hoped would combine my major interests: historical fiction, translated fiction, and travel. The plan was to read a historical novel from each major country in the world and, if I had not already visited it, make a trip there. The pandemic meant that the last of those three goals was entirely virtual, of course. My underlying thesis was also that reading works from around the world would help me learn from diverse literary traditions beyond the more familiar Western and Indian ones.

Aside: As mentioned, I don’t go to historical novels for actual history. For that, I will read a history text. Even then, as Adam Gopnik wrote in this excellent New Yorker essay, historical knowledge does not necessarily help us learn how to be better. However, it teaches humility and the difficulty of controlling the course of history. At best, it may help us understand the complexity of our present events and avoid presentism.

This year, I’ve slowly begun sifting through my notes on all that reading because of some writing projects related to my ongoing Ph.D. So, this new series is a way for me to organize my thoughts and share some of the books with all of you. I plan to share five historical novels each month. When I get a break from other commitments in the summer, I plan to restart the reading project with a more real-time series on each book choice.

The Selection and Planning Process for This Reading Project

When I began this project during the pandemic, my main selection criteria were that 1) the novels had to be set in the country, and 2) they had to be written by national authors. So, for example, I did not want to choose novels written by, say, an American writer about a non-American country. This is not to say that such books are not essential or well-written. As I mentioned earlier, I wanted to acquaint myself more with different literary traditions.

I also referenced a list of countries by population to prioritize and order my reading plan. Given this is historical fiction, there were other ways to organize the project: chronologically, by literary movement, by literary theme, by literary award wins, and so on. I chose to work with “population” as the main criterion because it was simple enough to manage and allowed me to focus my research and reading time on the novels.

There are multiple sociopolitical reasons why a literary work has a certain status: its age, the history it covers, the writer’s reputation at both the national and the international levels, the status of the language, the status of the translator, the standing of the publishers of various editions, the literary (and social) capital of the critics and academics who have engaged with the work, whether or how the work has been adapted into other media forms, etc. And, let’s be honest, a lot of this has nothing to do with the quality of the writing or storytelling. So, as I selected each novel, I also read around it to understand its current position relative to the global literary canon.

That said, this is an uneven list, of course. Beyond personal biases, there were also gaps in my literary and historical knowledge that I needed to address. So, I did not always choose the most well-known novel with each country selection. Also, while I did not continue the project with much regularity after 2021, I have continued reading historical fiction, of course. So, some of the books I plan to share in this series were read after the pandemic.

The First Five Historical Novels from Around the World

With these top five most populous countries, I had already read a lot of historical fiction because I grew up in South Asia and have lived in the US for decades. So, the books below were not necessarily the “best” (as subjective as that qualifier can be) or the most recent.

China: The Empress by Shan Sa, translated by Adriana Hunter (2006)

I’ve written briefly about this novel before. It’s a nuanced exploration of China’s Tang dynasty during the seventh century and covers the remarkable ascent of Wu Zetian, China’s sole female emperor.

Sa’s reconstruction of this ruler’s journey from secluded concubine to formidable sovereign transcends romanticized stereotypes, revealing a complex strategist who uses intellect and cunning to navigate intricate and deadly court politics. The protagonist’s transformation from a naïve girl to a ruthless political operator—wielding poetry and poison with equal skill—underscores the novel’s engagement with themes of gendered expectations and the subversion of dynastic power structures.

Hunter’s translation masterfully evokes the gilded world of the imperial court, where the perfectly named “Heavenlight” navigates treacherous rivals, scheming eunuchs, and forbidden passions. Hunter makes sure that the dynamic interplay of imperial politics, Confucian ideology, and the evolving role of women in Tang society comes across with all of its complications and contradictions. And she does all that while ensuring that Sa’s lyricism and poetic flourishes are maintained.

Including this novel in scholarly discourse about the Tang dynasty would not be anomalous. And, if you have read Empress Orchid by Anchee Min—about the nineteenth-century reign of Empress Dowager Cixi of the Qing dynasty—you might even pick up on some similarities between these two formidable women despite the centuries that separated them.

India: Ponniyin Selvan Book 1, First Flood by Kalki, translated by Nandini Krishnan (2023)

So much of Indian historical fiction is set in the colonial era or deals with the India-Pakistan Partition. I have read plenty of these. There is a growing number of novels set during the pre-British period of Mughal India as well. However, I have not yet found one that engages me with its literary style or well-researched storytelling. For this project, I wanted to read fiction from before these periods.

Most of the novels that address the pre-Mughal era exist in other Indian languages, not English. Some have been translated into English, like this classic from Tamil, Kalki’s Ponniyin Selvan, translated into English by Nandini Krishnan. I first heard about this five-volume novel series from the writer Veena Muthuraman. It’s always been well-known in South India, of course. The 2022 movie version, directed by Mani Rathnam and starring some big names, has made the novel popular all over India, too.

The title means ‘the son of Ponni,’ another name for the ancient Kaveri River. The story covers the fascinating rise of the eleventh-century Chola monarch, who eventually became known as Rajaraja I. It is rather like Game of Thrones without the fantasy elements. Written in the 1950s, the novels are fast-paced, lively, and full of high drama and intrigue. The cast of characters is vast, and it is sometimes difficult to keep up. I won’t summarize the plot, as you can read it here.

There is some controversy as to the best English translation. Some of the earlier ones employ a lot of clichés, which always bothers me in this genre. The prose is often in an uneven register throughout, alternating between contemporary and elevated. Of course, Kalki did not help matters, it seems, by using contemporary slang terms and some tired tropes himself. All of this means there are also far more linguistic and historical anachronisms than I can handle while reading. In 2023, Nandini Krishnan published the first of a planned set of translations, and it certainly reads smoother than any other. I look forward to all the other volumes.

USA: The Lost Journals of Sacajawea by Debra Magpie Earling (2023)

This novel reclaims the narrative of Sacajawea, the iconic Shoshone guide on the Lewis and Clark expedition. It strips away romanticized myths and reveals the raw resilience and quiet strength of an enslaved woman navigating a brutal landscape and a world determined to erase her agency.

Earling crafts a powerful first-person voice, weaving together fragments of memory and dreams with the stark realities of survival. We read about Sacajawea’s childhood steeped in the wisdom of the Shoshone, then experience the trauma of her capture and forced marriage to Toussaint Charbonneau. As she joins the expedition, the vastness of the unknown, the constant threat of hunger and danger, and the internal conflict of a woman straddling two worlds come alive with visceral intensity.

This novel is more than just a historical retelling; it’s a profound meditation on loss, identity, and the enduring power of storytelling. Earling gives voice to a silenced historical figure, challenging known dominant narratives and demanding we reckon with the complexities of colonialism and gender dynamics.

If you want a deeper understanding of American history, this novel should be on your list. And Earling deserves a lot more appreciation for having given us this gift.

Indonesia: This Earth of Mankind by Pramoedya Ananta Toer; translated by Max Lane (1981)

I must confess I knew little about Dutch colonialism in Indonesia before I came to this book.

In this opening salvo of Toer’s Buru Quartet, we begin in late 19th-century Java with Minke, a bright Javanese student. His intellectual awakening, fueled by forbidden love and a thirst for knowledge, compels him to question colonial narratives and assert his cultural identity. His path intersects with Nyai Ontosoroh, a concubine defying societal norms, and Annelies, whose mixed heritage mirrors his internal struggle. Through their encounters and his foray into journalism by contributing to a Javanese newspaper, Minke grapples with questions of cultural identity, colonial narratives, the pursuit of knowledge in a subjugated society, and the constraints imposed by his dual heritage.

So, it is a coming-of-age story. But it is also a microcosm of Indonesia’s struggle for independence. Another critical aspect of the novel, which the translator, Max Lane, points out in his introduction, is how the characters’ uses of different languages denote sociopolitical dynamics. As a translator, I found Lane’s choices of foreignizing and domesticating certain linguistic and cultural aspects interesting.

Born in 1925, Toer opposed the Dutch East Indies government before Indonesia’s independence and the subsequent post-colonial authoritarian regimes of Sukarno and Suharto. This novel was written during the 1970s while imprisoned on the political island prison of Buru in eastern Indonesia. He had to narrate verbally to fellow inmates because he was not allowed to write. It was eventually written and then smuggled out. In his afterword, Lane elaborates on how all of this unfolded. The work was considered so politically crucial that the Suharto government banned it in 1981. Lane, who was also the second secretary in the Australian embassy of Jakarta, was recalled that same year because of his translation.

Pakistan: The Crow Eaters by Bapsi Sidhwa (1980)

Sidhwa’s The Ice Candy Man is required reading on India-Pakistan Partition book lists. This one, though, was her debut novel, and she had to self-publish it at first. It is also, I understand, the first known novel in English about the Parsi community. [Note: There are earlier novels about Parsis, but they are not in English. I wrote about one such that has recently been translated from Gujarati to English here.]

A clarification: the title does not refer to the English idiom “to eat crow.” It is borrowed from an idiom commonly used in the subcontinent: Anyone who talks too much is said to have eaten crows. I paraphrase this from the book because, despite having grown up in India, I was unaware of this version of the idiom.

Set in the Parsi community of pre-Partition Lahore, this is the story of Freddy (Faredoon) Junglewalla, a self-made patriarch who rises to prominence in colonial India. It is also about the lives of three generations of his family as they constantly negotiate their cultural identity and heritage as Parsis, Indians, and British colonial subjects. There is an insightful depiction of the constricting roles imposed on women within the Parsi community as portrayed by three generations of women: Jerbanoo, Freddy’s mother-in-law; Putli, Freddy’s wife; and Tanya, Freddy’s daughter-in-law. Each has her version of resilience to deal with her diminished sense of agency due to societal pressures.

I was interested to read this novel because it gives a rare view of a Parsi minority in a predominantly Muslim region during the late colonial period. Most of all, however, I was taken by Sidhwa’s comedy. She draws on popular tropes from long-running Parsi theater traditions, which bear some similarities to Gujarati theater traditions. For example, the sharp banter between Freddy and Jerbanoo, who are always at odds as son-in-law and mother-in-law. And, while the prose is uneven in places, as we might find with any debut novel, Sidhwa’s storytelling is as engaging as ever.

Three Ways You Can Join This Reading Project

So there you have five very different works of historical fiction. Two are set in pre-medieval periods, while three are set in colonial eras. These are all historical realism, however. As we get to other countries, we will look at works that cross with different genres like magical realism, mythology, speculative, etc., which blur the lines between fact and fiction to offer even more multifaceted truths.

If this sort of thing interests you, here are some ways you might consider beginning your own reading project.

1) Pick up any books in this ongoing project series to read. I will write about five novels each month.

2) Start your project by picking different historical fiction choices by country. I would love to know about these.

3) Join me in June this year when I restart this reading project with a monthly historical novel and a weekly series of newsletters about each one. I hesitate to call it a “book club” because I’m generally leery of any club. Let’s see.

Please share your thoughts in the comments below, and I will respond.

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