The response to this question relies upon how one defines both “fiction” and “history classroom.” By “fiction,” I would argue that, given the context of the question, the logical definition is “historical fiction,” a narrative set in the past in which the historical setting is integral to the characters’ development rather than just a peripheral backdrop. Historical novelist Katherine Patterson has satirized such texts as “bathrobe fiction” because the otherwise contemporary characters are dressed in what she labels “pseudo-ancient dress” (1).

The once dominant paradigm for history was shaped by Thomas Carlyle, who believed that it was limited to the tales of great men and their experiences; not only did this conviction influence many history texts that mostly recount the names, places, and dates of historically significant events, but also early historical fiction in which “great men” played the major roles. However, by the early 20th century, as realism became the dominant mode of fiction in general, historical fiction began to focus more on ordinary people interacting with extraordinary events. Stephen Crane’s Red Badge of Courage, whose protagonist is a young soldier facing his first battle experience, makes no attempt, contrary to many of its predecessors, to glorify war or an ideological view.

In the aftermath of Red Badge, the emphasis shifted even more to the experiences of commonplace individuals, to what historians call “social history.” William Faulkner’s Yoknapatawpha County novels are strong examples that account for the mindset of the pre- and post-Civil War South; the characters, ranging from powerful to oppressed, are fictional but with powerful historical significance—albeit with little reference to famous battles or generals. Thus, historical fiction can supplement history courses, offering characters whose emotional responses to actual events give readers a more immediate, human sense of what is being studied. As Marc Aronson has said, “History is a mirror, fiction a portrait" (2).

However, the role of historical fiction in U.S. history courses is limited by the scope of the history courses themselves. Regretfully, there is little time or space for historical fiction in broadly-based survey courses, e.g. “U.S. History, 1776–1865” or “U.S. Foreign Policy, WWI to WWII.” In more focused courses, usually college-level, historical fiction serves well as a complement to what is being studied. For example, one can argue that a history course examining the run-up to and aftermath of the war in Viet Nam might well be enriched by including one or more of Tim O’Brien’s stories in The Things They Carried, pieces that convey the ambivalence and suffering surrounding that time in history.

Those who reject the notion that fiction has a place in a history classroom may find the term “historical fiction” an oxymoron, arguing that in examining history, there is no room for “fiction.” True, the historian’s methodology is necessarily broader and examines more historic complexities in tracing causes and effects of past events. But as Jill Paton Walsh, a British writer of both history and historical fiction, has insisted, history is as much fict (Latin for “something made”) as fact (“something done”). She has added that, although evidence of history exists, it is itself a construct of the mind, i.e. an interpretation of actual events (3). The commonplace observation that “history is written by the winners” reinforces the historian’s subjectivity in the presenting of historical accounts.

Also, the novelist’s account of any given historical event or period may be richer and more compelling than the historian’s version, for the former may claim a freedom not granted to the latter. As Naomi Jacobs has said in The Character of Truth: Historical Characters in Contemporary Fiction, the novelist is interested not only “in what can be more or less proved to have happened but also in what might [italics mine] have happened" (4). In this same vein, Margaret Atwood describes her guidelines in writing historical fiction: “if there was a solid fact, I could not alter it;…[but] in the parts left unexplained—the gaps left unfilled—I was free to invent" (5). It is exactly in filling in the gaps that the historical novelist can convey a human emotional truth denied to the historian.

1 Katherine Paterson, “Where Is Terabithia?” in Innocence and Experience: Essays and Conversations on Children’s Literature, ed. Barbara Harrison and Gregory Maguire, (NY: Lothrop, Lee, & Shepard), 263.

2 Marc Aronson, Beyond the Pale (Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, 2003), 62.

3 Jill Paton Walsh, “History Is Fiction,” The Horn Book (February 1972), 17–23.

4 Naomi Jacobs, The Character of Truth: Historical Characters in Contemporary Fiction (Carbondale, IL: Southern Illinois UP, 1990), 72.

5 Margaret Atwood, “In Search of Alias Grace: On Writing Canadian Historical Fiction,” The American Historical Review V, 103(5) (December 1998): 1512.

Good historical fiction engages students. It is neither spinach—good for you but not especially delicious—nor potato chip—salty and tempting, but of no nutritional value. It piques students’ interest in an historical period by transporting them to that period and showing them what their lives would be like if they lived then. And through that vicarious experience, the students not only learn about the past. They also learn empathy and compassion, because they are imagining themselves in someone else’s shoes. Good historical fiction meets young readers where they are right now in terms of comprehension by drawing upon existing background knowledge and life experiences that they can bring to bear on the story. Historical fiction celebrates the nature of the young reader, tickling the reader’s curiosity, energy, and humor, and being inspired by the reader’s hopes, aspirations, and Weltanschauung.

And how does historical fiction do this? Well, story is the “through-thread”; the students keep on reading because they want to find out what is going to happen. Emotion is the engine, the driving force that makes the students care. If the main character is believable and compelling, the student will make friends with the character and identify with him or her and, therefore, whatever happens to that character will matter to the reader.

But while plot and character may captivate, solid history must be the reason for the story. The history must be accurate, authentic, documented. Fiction may be the magnet, but history must be the purpose, the rock-solid core, that underlies the story.

So, when choosing historical fiction to use in the classroom as a way to interest students in history, I’d say: First, do no harm. That is, before it is used in a history classroom, historical fiction should be checked for bias, for anachronistic voice and views, and for shying away from honest presentation of the period. What is not said is as misleading as what is said! Does the author seem to you to have an open mind? If not, can the historical fiction be used to lead your students to question the writer’s agenda, to judge its validity for themselves, not with cynicism but with a healthy objectivity? Can it lead a student to ask: what is my point of view? Does the work of historical fiction gently lead students to comprehension, and subtly show students that every question has two sides—or more—and that all history is fluid and subject to new interpretation? As Toni Morrison wrote: “The past is not done, the past is not over, it is still very much in process. Which is to say that when it is intelligently critiqued, analyzed, it yields new insights about itself.”

Historical fiction is helpful to use in the classroom because it motivates students and sort of “sets the scene” for an historical period. But it should be partnered with a healthy dose of biography, and supported by preparation in vocabulary, concept comprehension, and a sense of chronology. Well-integrated historical fiction can show students how art, science, philosophy, and politics interacted during the period under study, and had great mutual influence.

Because of course, our goal as teachers of history is to help our students become informed and thoughtful, capable of putting facts in context, making connections, weighing dichotomies, even balancing two contradictory points of view at the same time. We want our students to enjoy history, and historical fiction truly helps them do so. Good historical fiction starts with a connection to the students’ current lives in order to engage and captivate them, and then it leads them on a journey back through time. But ultimately, the route of the journey is a circle. It leads the students back to their own time. They return changed and with added perspective, compassion, and awareness of what has gone before, which will help them make wiser decisions and to understand the important influence they’ll have on history, through their individual choices.

Fiction in the U.S. History classroom can serve to humanize the otherwise dry facts and dates which populate your average history textbook. It can prompt students to experience the emotional side of past events as experienced by actual people, people in many ways similar to the students themselves.

I recently had the honor of hearing Jane Yolen speak about her classic historical fiction novel The Devil's Arithmetic . She described becoming so immersed in research on the Holocaust that she suffered vivid nightmares; she truly experienced the time travel effect portrayed in the novel. She then added that while many critics deride the use of time travel in fiction, it's a device that effectively places children into the shoes of those who lived in the past.

The ability of good fiction to transport the reader into another time and place is one factor which makes it such an essential tool for teachers of history. Students can dutifully research, read, and record facts about our nation’s past, but where’s the story in history? The most easily recalled events of our own lives are those charged with emotion, but where is the passion to be found in the average academic textbook?

I vividly recall a 4th-grade social studies text which encouraged students to "Write a journal entry of a soldier at Valley Forge. Describe the hardships you've endured." The textbook itself, unfortunately, had provided just one paragraph on this topic! How often do we similarly ask students to harvest ideas from their minds when we haven't given them fertile ground in which to sow seeds?

In a Hornbook Magazine essay titled "Tasting the Past," author Laurie Halse Anderson shares how she literally placed herself into primitive conditions in order to experience firsthand the physical hardships of the troops at Valley Forge which she describes in her novel Forge. She concludes that essay with:

Is it possible to write historical fiction based only on the reading of primary sources? Of course it is. But for me, walking in the footsteps of people from the past adds vibrancy to their words. It’s one thing to read about a fire, quite another to smell the smoke and hear the wood pop and sizzle.

Textbooks lack not only passion, but also those details which would allow students to imagine themselves in these historical contexts.

In addition to breathing life into otherwise dry facts of textbooks, fiction also provides students with a glimpse into the lives of the “bit players” of history. Who were the ordinary people of these extraordinary times, and what effects did these events have upon their lives?

In a School Library Journal interview about his novel Woods Runner, for example, Gary Paulsen describes how the common soldiers of the Revolution are rarely given their due respect:

The Revolutionary War has always bothered me because it’s been trivialized, oddly. You learn about Concord and Lexington, and then about George Washington. When I was doing research I kept running into people like my character Coop. I was interested in what real individuals did, how they worked. People like him were never discussed; he wasn’t a Paul Revere or a landowner. If there had been just one Coop, the war would still have been worth writing about, but there wasn’t just one. There were thousands, and they weren’t paid; they just lost limbs.

This interest in the human side of history is what prompted millions to see Titanic, despite the fact that every moviegoer knew, even before the opening credits, how the story would end.

Fiction also provides students with multiple perspectives of history. We’ve all heard variations of the saying that “History is written by the victors” and it seems that many texts are written by the victors as well. History teachers should therefore embrace fiction which provides students with alternative viewpoints of historical events, from Jane Yolen’s simple picture book Encounter (which describes the arrival of Columbus in the New World from the native Taino point of view), to Chris Lynch’s more recent I Pledge Allegiance (a narrative of best friends experiencing the Vietnam War in different branches of the armed forces). Experiences like these help students to not only understand history, but to also realize that they, themselves, are witnesses to history being made each and every day.

Poet Cesar Pavese stated, “We do not remember days, we remember moments,” meaning that we recall those events which touch us emotionally. By allowing students to experience the past on an emotional level through historical fiction, teachers will help students realize that history is more than dates and events; history is, in fact, the impact of those events upon the lives of both the extraordinary and ordinary people who experienced them.

For the past six years, I have had the opportunity to work closely with a number of elementary teachers who wanted to teach more history in their classrooms. Although social studies is mandated at all grade levels in our district, teachers have keenly felt the demands of high-stakes testing in other, presumably more important, subject areas. How can they teach more history when social studies is often relegated to the end of the school day for 20 to 30 minutes (and oftentimes skipped altogether)? Further, history is often a “hard sell” to students, with many of them thinking that history is something that occurred in the distant past and with little connection to their own lives.

We agreed that an effective way to stimulate students’ interest, while simultaneously satisfying district mandates in reading and writing, was to utilize historical fiction. After working with these teachers and their students, now more than ever, I am convinced that fiction should play a vital role in the U.S. history classroom.

First, historical fiction stimulates interest. While students often report that textbooks are dry and lifeless, the engaging storylines of novels and short stories naturally hook students’ attention and pique their curiosity. The fact that historical fiction is based on actual events and time periods provides even more motivation to read and learn. When students I worked with read Christmas After All: The Great Depression Diary of Minnie Swift (1), it aroused a desire to learn more about the stock market crash of 1929, life in shantytowns, and the New Deal.

Second, historical fiction can foster deep reflection and facilitate the development of personal meanings. When the students read The Journal of C.J. Jackson: A Dust Bowl Migrant (2), they reflected on what life would have been like for them had they been an “Okie.” As they empathized with the protagonist, they felt the sting of discrimination as he and his family made their way from Oklahoma to California. Several students in class then felt empowered to share their own stories of discrimination and prejudice. As Bannister and Wells (3) point out, students are apt to “identify more closely with characters in the lifelike situations created in novels than they do with typical textbook material."

Third, historical fiction provides natural bridges between social studies and language arts. Scott O’Dell’s (1960) classic Island of the Blue Dolphins (4) offers many such opportunities, such as recognition of point of view, acquisition of new vocabulary, and analysis of character and plot. All history lessons are naturally rich in prospects for reading, writing, speaking, and listening—incorporating fiction in the U.S. history classroom makes it both easier to develop language arts skills and more enjoyable for students.

Fourth, historical fiction can help students make sense of sensitive issues. Segregation, discrimination, and racial violence are topics that can be difficult to grasp, especially for today’s students who have grown up in a mostly integrated society. A novel such as The Watsons Go to Birmingham – 1963 (5), which focuses on the bombing of the 16th Street Baptist Church, can make a painful, incomprehensible topic such as this more human and accessible for students. As students empathize with the characters in the story, they develop an understanding of the ramifications of discrimination and violence which was a very real part of Southern society during this time.

Last, historical fiction can support multicultural and global understanding. Reading the novels and short stories of authors such as Chinua Achebe, Isabel Allende, Sandra Cisneros, and Lisa Yee—just to name a few—provides an alternate perspective to the traditional Western narrative that students are ordinarily exposed to. By reading these authors, students can better appreciate the diverse nature of human experience.

What role should fiction have in the U.S. history classroom? The answer is clear: a central, prominent, and vibrant one. Teachers and students alike can gain an enhanced understanding of historical events and turn abstract concepts and distant events on a page into something that is relevant and meaningful.

1 Kathryn Lasky, Christmas After All: The Great Depression Diary of Minnie Swift (New York: Scholastic, 2001).

2 William Durbin, The Journal of C.J. Jackson: A Dust Bowl Migrant (New York: Scholastic, 2002).

3 Sharon Bannister and Twyla R. Wells, Teaching American History through the Novel (Portland, ME: J. Weston Walch Publisher, 1995), viii.

4 Scott, O'Dell, Island of the Blue Dolphins (New York: Yearling, 1987 [1960]).

5 Christopher Paul Curtis, The Watsons Go to Birmingham – 1963 (New York: Yearling, 1997).

Students usually enjoy reading historical fiction, certainly more than they enjoy reading textbooks. This is partly because they are exposed to stories from their earliest encounters with picture books and cartoons. As a result, when students read historical fiction they are already expecting characters, a setting, and a problem to be resolved. They can be especially captivated by stories that give them the chance to imagine taking part in the events of the past, or to explore how people responded to dramatic circumstances such as those involving fear, discrimination, or tragedy.

Historical fiction also encourages a search for meaning in the past. A story is not a random list of events; it’s a narrative that has a coherent plot and some kind of resolution. When students read historical fiction, then, they are encouraged not to think of the past as just one thing after another but to look for patterns and sequences, for causes and consequences, for agents and their motivations. This is an important part of historical understanding.
But this quest for meaning is also potentially a drawback, because the past itself does not have shape or coherence. The past is just a countless collection of people, places, and happenings, which we turn into history when we impose order onto it. Others might find different patterns or meanings. But when students read historical fiction, it is easy for them to become convinced that they know “what really happened” and not to look for alternative explanations or viewpoints. Precisely because historical stories can be so powerful, students are not usually critical of them.

Another drawback to historical fiction derives from its emphasis on individuals rather than on abstract entities such as governments or the economy. This can feed into students’ tendency to explain history in terms of individuals and to ignore broader social contexts. Students often think of the civil rights movement, for example, as a time when a famous leader such as Martin Luther King, Jr. gave a speech that changed the attitudes of white Americans. They are less likely to see that the movement involved long-term, collective efforts to bring about changes in laws and institutional structures. The individualistic focus of historical fiction can reinforce rather than counter this tendency.

To capitalize on the potential of historical fiction while overcoming its drawbacks, teachers need to make sure that students have a chance to extend their encounters in particular ways. First, teachers need to call students’ attention to how societal contexts influenced the characters they read about. They need to help students understand what social, political, or economic forces enabled or constrained the choices these characters made, as well as the ways in which characters may have banded together with others to solve the problems they faced.

Teachers also should focus students’ attention on the diversity of people and events in the past. For any period of time, students need to be aware of the experiences of multiple groups of people, and of how different stories could be told about them. Students should always be reminded to consider questions such as “Whose story is this?” and “What other stories were going on at this time?”

And perhaps most importantly, students need to be aware that all historical accounts are created by authors. They should explore why authors have focused on particular people or events, as well as consider the consequences of those choices. Students should examine the alternatives open to authors and the ways they might have approached their subject differently. This can be particularly meaningful when students have the chance to draw upon original historical sources to create their own accounts of the same time periods.

Historical fiction can be highly motivating and can encourage a search for meaning, but teachers have to counter the tendency of good stories to seduce students into uncritically accepting what they read.