Creative History Writing

I was browsing the website of the History News Network this week and learned about an exciting new journal called Rethinking History: The Journal of Theory and Practice. Here is how U.S. editor James Goodman describes the journal:

A couple of years ago, not long after I signed on as U.S. editor of Rethinking History, I penned a called for contributions for a series of themed issues. I called those issues “History as Creative Writing,” but not without some hesitation, even reluctance. I knew those words would strike some readers as tired (another revival of narrative?), or pretentious (another literary turn?) or just plain meaningless. But I meant something modest, something that made a certain amount of plain sense. By creative writing I mean history written by writers who, whether composing the most complex theory or the simplest narrative, are attentive to the ways that form and style shape substance, content, and meaning. Creative writers are those who take their writing seriously enough, as writing, to try to figure out what form of writing will allow them to best express whatever it is that they want to tell. If that’s pretentious, I figured I might as well make the most it.

I imagined submissions that showed signs not just of the scholar’s struggle with evidence or the existing literature, but also the writer’s struggle with language and form. I imagined that that struggle might lead to some unusual structure, or plot, or voice, or point of view, or some uncommon (for academic history) use of metaphor, imagery, or rhythm.

I imagined that some writers might try to strike some unusual balance between showing and telling, revealing and withholding, answering questions and leaving questions for readers to try to answer.

I imagined some might try to complicate conventional chronology, shaking up beginnings, middles and ends.

I expected that the struggle would push some writers of narrative or interpretation or theory (or some hybrid of two or more) to the outer limits of the universe of non-fiction writing—or out of that universe altogether. I made it clear, in my call, that I would be thrilled if, in the name of historical understanding, a writer submitted some poems, a portion of a memoir, or a scene from a play. I neglected to mention visual forms, but happily my readers have taken it for granted that I welcome innovation that extends beyond the limits of my own imagination.

After reading Goodman's encouraging piece I went to the journal's website. After establishing a password, I was able to browse a sample issue of Rethinking History. This issue was a veritable feast of unorthodox historical prose and creative non-fiction. I loved it. Of course, Jersey boy that I am, I was taken immediately by Susan Briante's short essay on "The Casino" in Asbury Park, New Jersey. But there were also several other fascinating essays on how history writing might be imagined.

I might even subscribe!