With my initial adjustment to life in retirement behind me and Song of the Steadfast out to the unsung heroines who are my beta readers, I can get back to imagining the next novel in the series, intended to take place near the Caspian Sea in the mid-1550s, exact date still dependent on the as-yet-barely-envisioned plot.
The original inspiration for this new story, Song of the Silk Weaver, was the Russian conquest of Astrakhan in 1554–1556—an event I had heard of often but knew little about, as noted last year in “Connecting with My Characters.” But from the beginning, I also wanted to explore the complex dynamics of polygamous households and to involve some of the Italian merchants who established themselves on the shores of the Black Sea and traveled north to Moscow to sell fabrics and wine and other western goods in exchange for furs, beeswax, and more. Culture clashes often have dramatic potential, and a novel can always use more of that.
As soon as I cleared the decks enough to focus on Silk Weaver, though, I discovered I knew squat about Italian merchants, especially those trading on the Black Sea. At first, I decided my hero would be from Genoa, since the Genoese controlled most of the Black Sea colonies, including the one that gave its name to the surozhane, as these silk merchants were known in Moscow. Then I discovered that the Ottoman Turks booted the Genoese out and took control of the Crimean coastline eighty years before my story begins. Very inconsiderate of them, but what’s a writer to do?
In response, I moved my fictional traders to Tana (modern-day Azov), on the Don River just a few miles north of the Sea of Azov. Unlike Soldaia/Surozh, Tana had both Venetian and Genoese merchants, plus it was closer to where my heroine would live. During an earlier round of research, I had also picked up a weird historical detail that gave my hero and his brother a reason to flee Tana exactly when I wanted them to. Things looked promising again.
Alas, I soon discovered that the Ottomans captured Tana as well, perhaps as early as 1471 (sources differ). And although I’d assumed that a few of the Black Sea merchants probably stayed behind—given the human tendency to evade unwanted restrictions—it turns out these guys didn’t have a choice. The Turks deported all Genoese merchants to Constantinople and forced them to live in a specific urban district, allowing them to leave only on payment of a hefty fine. Back to the drawing board.
Now I had two questions to answer. Why would my merchants stay when everyone else left? And how would they stay, given that the people officially controlling the town wanted them to leave?
I won’t spoil the fun by answering those questions, but I will say that I turned my Genoese merchants into Venetians, because Venice had a treaty with the Ottomans that kept its citizens from being deported. I then invented an Armenian ancestor for my hero and his brother, only to realize that I really didn’t know much about Armenia either. A decision that sent me diving into yet another rabbit hole …
Here I should probably mention that when I talk about historical research, I have something in mind other than the extensive archival investigations that inspired my work as an academic historian. Research for a novel—at least my novels—aims at uncovering enough facts to imagine a credible setting, seeking out dramatic encounters and possibilities that can drive a story, expanding my understanding of human behavior and the circumstances that either constrict it or provide opportunities for change in a particular place at a particular time, and accumulating sufficient knowledge to bypass the kind of howlers that drive readers crazy.
And that’s what I’m doing now: reading about Armenian history and culture, especially in the sixteenth century, as well as biographies of Ottoman emperors, a pair of amazingly detailed dissertations on the Black Sea coast and Tana, books about early modern Venice, and the travel memoirs of explorers who visited the area for one reason or another. I also need to find out more about how silk was actually made before the age of industrial production. As I read, I constantly modify my characters’ personal histories, developing them into what will someday become a plot.
Because I won’t stay in the rabbit hole forever. The moment I feel that I have enough grasp of the situation to produce a story (even if I have to jump back in from time to time to clarify this detail or that), I’ll leave the books behind and give my imagination free rein. Research is fun, but the true delight lies in letting the characters loose to craft their own destinies. That’s when the writing begins.
Images: Line engraving of Astrakhan, ca. 1840, and 1597 painting of Genoa and its fleet in 1481 public domain via Wikimedia Commons; photograph of silk weavers at work from Pixabay (no attribution required).
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