Guest Blog: Tinney Sue Heath

This week, we're welcoming author Tinney Sue Heath, whose latest title is A Thing Done. Tinney is offering a free paperback copy of the book to a lucky blog visitor in the USA. Here's the blurb: 

In 1216 the noble families of Florence hold great power, but they do not share it easily. Tensions simmer just below the surface. When a Jester's prank-for-hire sets off a brawl, those tensions erupt violently, dividing Florence into hostile factions. A marriage is brokered to make peace, but that fragile alliance crumbles under the pressure of a woman's interference, a scorned bride, and an outraged cry for revenge.

At the center of the conflict is Corrado, the Jester, whose prank began it and who is now pressed into unwilling service by both sides. It will take all his wit and ingenuity to keep himself alive and to prevent the unbridled ambitions of the nobles from destroying the city in a brutal civil war.

**Q&A with Tinney Sue Heath**

In a genre dominated by Tudors, you've chosen to write about 13th century Florence – a true story, probably known to most Italians, but not likely to be familiar to an English-speaking readership.  Who do you see as your audience?

Fiction set in Renaissance Florence has its passionate fans.  Stories from the middle ages in England are always popular.  I'm guessing that there's an overlap between those groups, including people who are (1) fascinated by Florence and interested in probing her earlier history to see how she became the jewel of the Renaissance, and (2) people who enjoy reading about the middle ages, and who might be curious about how that time period differed in a Mediterranean country from what they're used to seeing in England-based historical fiction.  I also hope it will appeal to anyone who realizes what a polarized and increasingly stratified society we live in, and who might be interested in finding out how these same societal characteristics affected the lives of people not so different from us, who just happened to live eight centuries earlier.  And even the Tudor fans may find something here, as the medieval Florentines were not lacking in intrigue, ambition, bellicosity, and dangerous sexual liaisons.

You mention differences between Mediterranean countries and England in the middle ages.  Such as?

Besides the climate, weather, resources, and topography, and the differences these things make in virtually every detail of a story's setting (different architecture, different foods on the table, and so on), you see substantial political and social differences.  There was no royal hierarchy in medieval Italy.  In fact, there wasn't even Italy – it didn't unite until 1860.  What Italy did have, in the 13th and 14th centuries, was cities.  City-states, if you will, though that term is more at home a little later.  Some cities were run by a lord or by a family dynasty (the Este in Ferrara, the Visconti in Milan), but the ones that most interest me, like Florence, were communes, run by a rotation of elected and appointed leaders in a continually-evolving system of governance.  True, Florence was eventually ruled by the Medici, but in the time period I'm writing about it was controlled by an ever-shifting collection of nobles, to be joined, over the course of those two centuries, by wealthy merchants and guild members.  This is not to say that Florence had anything like democracy as we know it today, or an egalitarian society.  It did not.  But those constants shifts, stresses and strains in the fabric of communal leadership yield rich story possibilities, with layers and depths and nuances lurking in all the interactions.  Quite a bit different from a society headed by one all-powerful monarch, although tug-of-war for the British monarchy certainly provided its own share of drama. 

What comes to you first when you begin to think about a story?  A plot idea, an image, a character?

A character – usually a character with a problem.  The point where I know I have the right character, one that's mine to write about, is when suddenly I hear a snatch of dialogue in my head.  It may not be anything important or particularly brilliant, but it comes to me in the character's voice, and that's when I know I have it.  The story unfolds from there, in both directions, if necessary.

Speaking of dialogue, yours doesn't sound particularly formal or archaic.  It's not sprinkled with terms that suggest “a long time ago,” and it contains contractions, which many writers don't use when writing dialogue in historical fiction.

“Speaking forsoothly,” as my historical reenactment group would call it, isn't how my characters would have sounded to each other.  If they are close friends in a casual situation, they will speak to each other in very much the same way I would talk with a friend today (minus the anachronistic references and slang).  If a character is speaking to someone of higher social rank, or addressing a group, the tone will be more formal, just as it would be today.  After all, they were speaking in 13th century Italian and I'm translating for them, so why make it sound Shakespearean?  As for the contractions, if you've ever studied medieval song texts, you'll find them full of elisions.  Our forebears were as verbally lazy as we are!

Is there a particular author, or a particular book, that for you exemplifies historical fiction at its best?

For me, that author would be Dorothy Dunnett.  And as difficult as it is to choose among her books, if I had to pick just one it would be King Hereafter, her amazing novel about Macbeth.  I went to the Orkney Islands on the strength of that book.  I've reread it probably more often than any other.

Why did you choose to write about a jester?

Two reasons.  Well, three, actually – it really was his prank that started the whole mess, so I could hardly ignore him.  Also, I wanted to write about someone who was just one of the people.  Not a famous name, not a man with power over others – as Douglas Adams might have said, “He's just this guy, you know?”  The other thing is, I love performers.   I've played Renaissance and medieval music at feasts and tournaments, and I know a bit about how it feels to be invisible a crowd scene, seeing and hearing everything but not being noticed.  I like the jester's wit and ingenuity, his ability to think on his feet and make it up as he goes along.  He's somebody I'd like to know.

Tinney Sue Heath is the author of A Thing Done, a novel set in 13th century Florence.  Her historical interests are mostly Dantecentric, with occasional forays into Etruscans and the Renaissance.  Learn more at her website, or check out her blog on historical fiction research, or see her author page at Fireship Press.

  

One reader who comments on today's blog will be randomly selected to win a signed copy of A THING DONE.  Good luck!

Excerpt Thursday: A Thing Done by Tinney Sue Heath

This week, we're welcoming author Tinney Sue Heath, whose latest title is A Thing Done. Join us on Sunday, when Tinney will offer a free paperback copy of the book to a lucky blog visitor in the USA. Here's the blurb: 

In 1216 the noble families of Florence hold great power, but they do not share it easily. Tensions simmer just below the surface. When a Jester's prank-for-hire sets off a brawl, those tensions erupt violently, dividing Florence into hostile factions. A marriage is brokered to make peace, but that fragile alliance crumbles under the pressure of a woman's interference, a scorned bride, and an outraged cry for revenge.

At the center of the conflict is Corrado, the Jester, whose prank began it and who is now pressed into unwilling service by both sides. It will take all his wit and ingenuity to keep himself alive and to prevent the unbridled ambitions of the nobles from destroying the city in a brutal civil war.

**An Excerpt from A Thing Done**

Corrado the Jester and his fellow performers have been hired to perform at a wedding.  The bride's family and friends are gathered, but the groom hasn't arrived yet.  Corrado didn't want to accept this job, but he was not free to explain his reasons to his colleagues, so here they are.  Corrado knows something the others don't, but he can't talk about it.  All he can do is worry, and try to maintain a low profile – hard to do when you're performing.

            Three mellifluous langue d'oc love songs, one spectacular round of juggling, a few uneasy moments of Rufino wobbling around on my stilts, and still no Buondelmonte.  Oh, and there was also the unfortunate episode with Bicci's dog and the rat, but the less said about that the better.  We thought it likely that the flea-ridden Masetto would come back home eventually, and Bicci, who was part of our audience, didn't seem worried.

            Oddo did, however, though he was doing his best not to let it show to the crowd of onlookers.  We were gathered under cloudy skies outside Santa Maria sopra Porta, where we were supposed to welcome the bridegroom and his party, but so far the wedding was a one-sided affair.

            And I was the only one there who knew it was going to remain so.

            In contrast to Oddo's instructions to Buondelmonte to limit the size of his entourage, the Amidei, the Lamberti, the Fifanti, and the Uberti were there in force, dressed as befitted their rank.  The women, in their jewels and fine gowns and gauzy veils, clustered near the church, but the men kept themselves where they could see if someone was coming.

            We four performers had set up opposite the women, on the other side of the piazza.  Ghisola, behind us, was muttering under her breath as she struggled to replace a broken string on Anselmo's vielle while he tapped a tambourine in time to Neri's organetto.  Rufino and I tossed my leather balls back and forth, nothing tricky this time, just a little background color.  It left me able to watch Oddo and Lambertuccio and Mosca.  They were in a tight circle, talking animatedly, looking up frequently to see if anyone had spotted Buondelmonte yet.

            Among the ladies was Selvaggia, dressed in a magnificent scarlet gown with the gold sleeves of her undertunic showing.  She looked short and squat compared to the other young women, but her hair, dark and glossy and abundant, was bound up in an intricate pattern of gold netting and pearls, and I had to admit that it, at least, was lovely.  With her were her mother and several other older women, and also ladies of around her own age or not much more, some wearing a married woman's coif, others with the uncovered plaits or flowing hair of virgins.  The other young women talked and giggled together, but I noticed that Selvaggia stood a little apart.

            One of the coiffed ones was a rare beauty, wearing an artfully fitted gown of a tawny gold, the color people call pelo di lione.  Not even Selvaggia's dress and hair could have diverted attention from that shape and that face. 

            When we first arrived and were setting up, Neri had eyed her appreciatively.

            "Buondelmonte probably wishes he was marrying that one," he said.

            "She's wearing a wimple, you dolt," I said.  "She's married.  She's not available."

            "That doesn't mean a man can't look, and wish, does it?"

            "It ought to mean that," Ghisola said tartly.

            Neri had grinned archly and launched into his first song, while Ghisola wrinkled her nose at him.  They were joking.  I think.

            Meanwhile, it was hard to miss a certain growing agitation among the men.  Buondelmonte should have presented himself long before this point, and I sensed that these men feared a public humiliation.  And with reason.  I could only hope the big lout would have the sense not to ride past these men with Isabella in tow, for I had no wish to witness a bloodbath.

            "Who's the one who looks like an old lion?" Rufino asked, not missing a ball.

            "Lambertuccio.  And the one who looks like a hawk is Mosca," I said, returning yellow for red as blue spun overhead.   Mosca had keen eyes and a hooked nose in a lean, angular face.

            "Oddo's more of a bull," Anselmo chimed in, tapping on his tambourine.

            Neri, still playing his organetto, said out of the side of his mouth, "Don't talk.  You'll drop something."

            "No, we won't," I told him.  "And don't talk out of the side of your mouth.  It looks ridiculous."  The balls kept dancing through the air, the tambourine kept jingling, and Neri kept pressing his little mushroom-shaped keys while we spoke.  Ghisi just shook her head.  She knew when we were showing off for each other.

            Neri finished his istampitta with a flourish, and set his organetto down gently on the ground so that he could take up the little harp he owned jointly with Anselmo.  Ghisola  had passed Anselmo's restrung vielle back to him, so he took over the background music while Neri quietly checked his tuning.

            I juggled with Rufino and kept an eye on Oddo.  This whole situation made me uneasy, but all I could do was to continue to pretend I was as ignorant of what was going on as everyone else was.  I still feared they would make a connection between Buondelmonte and me, but I thought an innocent demeanor would be my best defense, allowing me to claim convincingly that I knew nothing of his plans.

Tinney Sue Heath is the author of A Thing Done, a novel set in 13th century Florence.  Her historical interests are mostly Dantecentric, with occasional forays into Etruscans and the Renaissance.  Learn more at her website, or check out her blog on historical fiction research, or see her author page at Fireship Press.