"I will eviscerate you in fiction..."

Hands down, one of my all-time favorite movies is A Knight’s Tale.

This 2001 historical rom-com centers around a lowly squire’s attempt to “change his stars” by assuming a fake, noble identity and entering jousting tournaments across Europe. My die-hard love of Heath Ledger aside—no shame, my eighth grade AOL screenname was Heathschic52—this early 2000’s classic is chock full of quotable lines and a kick-ass soundtrack. But many don’t realize it’s loosely based on the most notable story from Geoffrey Chaucer’s masterpiece, The Canterbury Tales.

It’s safe to say I’m fairly familiar with Chaucer’s work; I spent an entire college semester translating the tale of 30 pilgrims, in route to the shrine of Thomas Becket, from Middle English to our current vernacular. “It’s still English! How difficult could that be?” you’re asking yourself. Well, it was—the first day of class our professor gave a well-rehearsed speech, explaining to those simply trying to fulfill their liberal arts requirement (i.e. non-English majors) that they should turn back now because the majority would fail the course. Half the class dropped it immediately, but I—as well as my fellow English majors—did not have that luxury. And she wasn’t kidding; for the final exam, we were given an excerpt of one of the tales, and told to translate it word for word. We were allowed to use our textbooks—I spent the entire semester transcribing each tale in the margins—but that was very little help; a massive curve was the only way any of us passed.

Here’s a little sampling of the Prologue in the original Middle English:

So yes, Paul Bettany’s (frequently naked) character is a very deliberate addition to the cast of A Knight’s Tale. In fact, scholars lost trace of Chaucer for one year, which the filmmakers used as their timeline for the movie, inferring that this is where his inspiration originated. Oh, the genius of film!

Only after taking that god-awful class did I realize the little nods to Chaucer’s work and the “easter eggs” purposely placed throughout. There’s one scene in particular that appeals to both the scholar and writer in me.

Now, if you’re familiar with The Canterbury Tales you’ll know that the Pardoner and the Summoner are the most hypocritical, grotesque and evil pilgrims of the 30. And Chaucer does not mix words when it comes to their hideous features and personality traits; the Summoner’s face is pox ridden and scaly, and the Pardoner’s voice is as high as a goat’s, effeminate and he sells counterfeit religious relics to lay people—exactly as they are depicted in the film. Chaucer clearly had no love for either character/profession and, as Paul Bettany so eloquently put it in the above scene:

“I will eviscerate you in fiction. Every last pimple, every last character flaw. I was naked for a day; you will be naked for eternity.”

This scene is the cinematic embodiment of a writer’s super power: our pens are the vehicles for truth. And when writing about an actual person—intentionally or unknowingly—that truth can either exult or annihilate someone’s character. Which is why being friends with a writer is a slippery slope, because everything—good or bad—can be used as inspiration. An overheard conversation can become dialog in a short story, a traumatic event can become a moving poem, the unflattering traits of a friend can find their way into the personality of an antagonist.

My husband and I have a running joke about this topic:

“So, when are you going to include a character named Justin? You know, the devastatingly handsome, genius British man?” he asks.

To which I always reply, “I will, once I meet him.”

All joking aside, there is a lot to consider when writing anything based on a true event or person. With touchy subjects or unflattering depictions, you’ll be dealing with the opinions and feelings of your subject matter and that can be messy. You could be writing your truth, but it may not be everyone’s intention to lay out their histories for public scrutiny. So then you have a choice to make: to steer clear of personal stories or clear-cut characterizations based on someone in your life, or stick to your guns and push forward with your narrative.

This was a choice I faced with my first novel.

My first book—Codename: Sob Story—is an “as-told-to memoir” of my grandfather’s time in the Pacific during WWII. Every single story was his, and I spent hours upon hours interviewing him. I took his detailed memories and fleshed out the material into a novel format. It was very important to me that everything I committed to page got the “sniff test” from him, so I sent him my complete pages to look over. And the first few chapters went great—he corrected me on the proper names of parts of the ship, his position on a certain island, and the minute details of welding. But when I dug into the specific, personal details of his life at home, he wasn’t as receptive. There is one chapter in particular that he did not like. Specifically how I depicted one character and his mindset on a certain big decision. You see, Steiny did not mince words; he was very blunt and direct, his exact words on this person were, “He was chicken-shit.” Those were the kinder of his words. That particular person had long since passed, but their memory would be eviscerated AND it wouldn’t cast Steiny in the best of lights. So I made a decision to soften that specific storyline and add a bit of moral reasoning that justified the character’s decision.

Well.

In true Steiny fashion, he didn’t like it. Not one bit. He called me up and told me just that. He even convinced himself that I hadn’t written it, and was being forced to add it into the book. He went on for quite a bit and ended by telling me to take the whole thing out. I was struck dumb—I truly believed that chapter was one of the strongest I had written, and it tied a modern day topic to his 70-year old story. I stumbled with my words and tried to explain my perspective, but he wasn’t having it.

Later, I met up with my college professor, whose class the novel was originally for. She had read the pages and agreed; they were my strongest and an important part of the story. But could I handle my grandfather’s disapproval? “You’re the author,” she told me. “It’s his story but your name will be on the cover.”

Luckily, I didn’t have to agonize over it for long. A few days later, Steiny called—undoubtedly urged by my grandmother—and said, “I trust you. Keep it in.”

It was the right decision—for me and the book. Going forward, I’ve always kept my college professor’s advice in mind. Especially with my current novel; a work of fiction with a few characters who are loosely based on real people in my life. An unintentional add on my part, one that was pointed out by the two people who’ve read my book. Now that it’s been made clear, it is glaringly obvious who those characters are based on and…I’m not sure how it will be received. It’s not exactly eviscerating but I stand by it. After all, my name will be on the cover.

And no, a British gentlemen named Justin does not make an appearance.