Writing and researching naval fiction

Nelson celebrating his victory at the Battle of the Nile with his men on board his flagship, HMS Vanguard

Researching naval history at the time of Nelson involves taking in a lot of technical details. But, as Katie Daysh points out, when writing naval fiction, character must come first.

The Age of Sail, typically seen as between the mid-16th century into the mid-19th, has been a popular subject in fiction since the time of Nelson’s navy. From authors such as Frederick Marryat, writing in the 1830s and 1840s, through to Patrick O’Brian in the 20th century, and into the present, there has remained a fascination with the sea and the ships and crews who sailed it.

This century-spanning genre, therefore, has had more than enough time to gain many stereotypes and typical tropes, as well as popular misconceptions. In works such as CS Forester’s Hornblower series, the cast of characters is mainly populated by officers working through the pyramid of promotion, aided by stalwart able seamen.

Sailors at prayers on board Lord Nelson's ship, after the Battle of the Nile

Between the pages, a reader would expect to find fierce naval battles; portrayals of the brutality of life at sea; the importance of grog and ship’s biscuit; and perhaps, a heterosexual romance with a faraway lady on the shore who has to deal with her husband’s roving eye.

All these (aside from maybe the latter) have their place in the Nightingale and Courtney series. Leeward, The Devil to Pay, and A Merciful Sea follow the lives and careers of Hiram Nightingale and Arthur Courtney, two men connected with Royal Navy at the turn of the 19th century.

They encounter mutinies, dangerous storms, clashes with both enemies and allies, the tangled politics of the era, fearsome naval engagements, as well as dealing with personal tragedies, joys, and complicated relationships. Throughout the series, they also form a long-lasting partnership which becomes romantic.

The language of the sea

Approaching this genre was intimidating, not only because of the sheer amount of history it has, but because naval fiction has its own language. It is dominated by jargon, so much so that a character cannot do something simple, such as walk from one space to another, without many technical terms to describe that passage.

Doing something not so simple requires even more belaying and hoisting and furling and hauling – all perhaps understandable by themselves, but when combined with such things as buntlines and t’gallants and clews, a reader might lose track of what part of the ship they’re looking at.

My approach to writing naval fiction is represented in this. Research, no matter how extensive (and for this genre ‘extensive’ is an understatement!), should never interfere with the reader’s enjoyment of the story. It might take me months to prepare a plot, but I want a reader to be captivated by the story and not worry about what tack the fictional ship is pursuing her quarry on.

For this reason, I read and research before even plotting a book, letting it inform the narrative, and then leave much of the minute detail to one of the final edits of the manuscript. Having a real-world ship or event to inspire the content made things simpler – and more engaging as a writer.

Leeward’s mutinous HMS Ulysses took influence from the infamous mutiny on HMS Hermione, and the fictional third-rate HMS Lion of A Merciful Sea was based on Admiral Nelson’s HMS Vanguard – always helpful to look at deck plans and other sources, both visual and written, to accurately portray the workings and aesthetics of a ship.

The gun deck of HMS Victory: photo by the author

In fact, there is such a wealth of information that most eventualities are covered in diaries, journals, ships’ logs, court martial records, rules and regulation documents, as well as the huge amount of subsequent articles, books, television programmes, and podcasts. The challenge, and pleasure, as a writer is using those histories and creating a contained, engaging narrative.

On a true ship of the era, out of 100 days, 99 might involve the typical routine of naval life: cleaning, regimented watch duties and meal times, and gunnery or sail drills, and perhaps one day would have involved an engagement or chase.

However, that’s not entirely interesting in a fiction book! I’ve always tried to portray that drudgery, if that is the correct term, as best I can but with an awareness of what makes a story exciting and captivating – and that is often the human drama, whether that is on the scale of battles and politics, or the clashes and connections between crews and officers.

Seeing the sea through different eyes

A Scene on the Main Deck of A Line of Battle Ship in Harbour

The key for me, in this genre, was character. As much as I spent time researching it, not many (or any) people are going to leave a book and remember that painstaking navigation scene. But they are, hopefully, going to remember the characters.

The struggles that Nightingale and Courtney face are set within the boundaries of their world and society, but also span time and place: the anxiety over not belonging; finding and exploring identity; and encountering trials that someone might not think they have the strength to face.

The portrayal of the Age of Sail has often been a heterosexual and masculine one, within the authorship and the content of the books. Coming into it, as a queer woman writing queer characters, made an intimidating genre even more imposing.

I wished to write a story which was, on the face of it, a traditional naval fiction – but told with different voices. The tropes lined above do occur, only Nightingale and Courtney are not wholly typical leads.

The cutting out of HMS Hermione, 24 October 1799

My main ethos in writing is to portray the kind of characters who have been under-represented and play with the expectations of genre and topic.

The sea, and ships themselves, are wonderful settings for these themes, stripping characters back to their core and making them confront themselves and their own journeys against a backdrop where no one can hide.

I have encountered pushback against this representation, coming across all sorts of responses that it is not accurate or that it doesn’t have a place in this genre.

With such an extensive array of fictional ships and characters and plotlines across the decades, however, I think there is room for a slightly different kind of protagonist, looking at the complexities of naval history.

Overall, my approach to historical naval fiction is that although I’m writing a historical era, with all the overarching and small details that comes with it, I’m not writing for a historical audience. Engaging the reader, even in a potentially unfamiliar world, is all I try to do.