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Oh, how I hate “creative” nonfiction!
It infuriates me when I start a supposed work of history to find that settings, characterizations and even dialogue, god help me, have been made up. That’s not history and by definition it’s not nonfiction. I don’t know what it is, exactly, but I don’t like it. Presumably there’s a market for this pablum and that’s fine, but I wish they’d label it so I’d give it a pass. For me, I’d rather just read a good historical novel, and really, I think that can be the best way to develop a familiarity with a subject when you know nothing about it. But I’m starting to feel like Charlie Brown and the football, as I get taken in so often.
I’m running into it a lot lately, most recently with a book about the molasses flood in Boston in 1918. I’m interested in the topic, but I’m not sure I can continue as the irritation level is so high. People stamping their feet in the cold, kissing their new babies, chatting with their spouses; why make up this crap? Where’s Joe Friday where we need him? And it’s not even as if it’s good stylistically. Obviously some can write history, some can write novels, and some can’t write either - so they write this drivel.
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