Avoiding Gadzookeries

gadzookeryWriting quality historical fiction is challenging. This is especially true if one wishes to avoid the common crutch that a talented writer of the last century first labeled “gadzookery.”

And just what is this faux pas we should avoid when writing about the past? Well, it relates most directly to the dialog placed on the lips of historical figures. The offensive technique involves the overuse of archaic expressions or phrases. (Some would argue it includes any use of any archaisms.)

If the word gadzookery sounds a tad, how shall I put it, “goofy” to you, you may prefer using another word that means the same thing: “tushery.” Tushery was coined by Robert Louis Stevenson. Way back in the nineteenth century.

Gadzookery is a newer version, insulting the same lazy writing technique. I believe it may have been coined by Rosemary Sutcliff (1920-1992). Sutcliff’s historical influence has exerted a literary influence on my life second only to C.S. Lewis.*

The article about Sutcliff in The Oxford Encyclopedia of Children’s Literature praises her work, saying, “She carefully creates dialogue in her novels that recollects the speech of a bygone era without falling into what she termed ‘gadzookery.’”

Having tested the waters of historical fiction myself, I know this to be far more difficult that it may sound.

Sutcliff had several things in common with C.S. Lewis. Both wrote for adults and for children. (It was her young adult series about the decline of Roman influence in Britain that sparked my own lifelong interest in Rome.)

Both authors also received the Carnegie Medal for their work. When Lewis was awarded his, he received a congratulatory letter from Pauline Baynes, who had illustrated several of his books. He responded quite graciously.

Dear Miss Baynes, Very nice to hear from you again, and thanks for sending on the book, which I have returned to Lane. Thanks for your congratulations on the Carnegie, but is it not rather ‘our’ Medal? I’m sure the illustrations were taken into consideration as well as the text. I am well, and as happy as a man can be whose wife is desperately ill.

Although C.S. Lewis had married, quite late in life, the two authors were alike in spending most of their life single. Sutcliff, in fact, lived with her parents during most of her life, having suffered crippling arthritis as a child. She did not resent remaining unmarried. In a 1992 interview she said,

Beatrix Potter wrote all her gorgeous stories when she was very lonely and not very happy—after she married, she never wrote another thing. Nothing worth reading, anyway.

Another similarity between the two was that they both fell under the powerful sway of myth during their childhoods. They used their familiarity with its rich echoes to imbue their own work with themes that flowed far beyond the familiar channels travelled by other writers.

Each of them took their readers seriously, and refused to speak down to them. That is why they share one more quality I wish to mention in closing—their high standards. Neither Lewis nor Sutcliff could tolerate poor writing. And their finely tuned skills meant neither ever needed to resort to gadzookery.


* Excepting, of course, the Bible itself, which is literature of an entirely different sort. I don’t consider it fair to compare mortal writers, no matter how inspired, to a volume I regard as God’s written word.

8 thoughts on “Avoiding Gadzookeries

  1. (Now that’s a lovely word.)
    If the story is strong enough it sweeps young readers along despite vocabulary and complex sentence structure. The whole is important, not the pieces – something literacy researchers and some educators have forgotten – and as a result broad timeless universal themes are discarded along with character studies, cause and effects in order to babystep through “relevant” “on-level”(below level) barren pieces to read.
    (Of course students then generally write just like the sentences they read in their stories.)
    Good writers and great teachers know if you throw your own heart over, the students will follow.

  2. I don’t mind archaisms if they add to the meaning of what is being said, or if the alternative is an anachronism:’ “Oh, like the Queen is so gonna fund Columbus,” she LOL’d, oblivious to her prediction fail’ — e.g. It’s better by far than the habit of having historic characters act as if their own time periods are foreign to them and need exposition: “It is a good thing that the hurricane lamp was invented, which uses oil and a glass chimney,” he remarked, “for previously, the only source of light was open flame, prone to going out or spreading in the wind.” Or constantly referring to current events even if the action is far removed from the decisions that made history: “I have come to deliver the stones for the new temple” he said, “and for the rising priestly caste that I hope will not become corrupt as it did in each of the last two dynasties.’
    Or the political anachronism characters: “Daniel was a sailor in 1692, and a kickboxer, and a courtier, and a woman — a beautiful redhead who never let her society define her. She was roaming the seas alone in search of her one true love, Nolan, a rescuer of animals last seen in the New World organizing the Native Americans into cooperative networks to protect the rights of beavers and raccoons and to promote intercultural understanding between the Native Americans and the French and Russians, whom he saw as victims of unrealistic expectations of masculinity.”

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