Fantastic History #50: Writing Truth into Fantasy Fiction in the Blood of Earth Trilogy by Beth Cato

I was probably about ten years old when I asked my mom, “Why does Hanford (our hometown) have a China Alley and none of the surrounding towns do?” At that point, I understood that many towns throughout Central California were founded because of the railroad and that Chinese immigrants supplied the labor for that construction. Hanford was–and still is–very proud of its China Alley with its Taoist Temple Museum and annual Moon Festival. But where were those things in Selma? Fresno? Tulare?

“Those cities have changed a lot in the past century,” my mom said. “Hanford just happened to keep their alley.”

Over twenty years later, I found out the truth. Selma, Fresno, Tulare–they all had Chinatowns, sure. Chinese fruit packers were expelled from Selma by a posse of forty men, and when the Chinese came back that night, they were dragged from their homes, and as the police watched, forced to leave. Everything left behind was looted. In Fresno, laundrymen and shopkeepers were given five days warning to leave the city, or else. In Tulare, where 20% of the town was Chinese, fires burned through the Chinese quarter, and then white citizens evicted those that remained and intentionally burned down the rest of the district. In the 1890s, Chinese immigrants across the valley fled in terror as rumors spread of an actual anti-Chinese army that would make the Celestials ‘git.’

My Blood of Earth trilogy, which begins with Breath of Earth, takes an alternate history spin on the 1906 San Francisco Earthquake by adding in geomancy and incredible creatures. Though the fantastical element is strong, to me, it was very important to get my facts right. In changing history, I wanted to make conscious changes rather than ignorant ones. That was especially important when it came to representing the Chinese experience. It’d already been dismissed from the mainstream historical narrative. I didn’t want to be part of the problem.

As much as I love research, though, when it came to this particular topic, sometimes the reading was outright depressing. Assault, murder, injustice; some people denied that the Chinese were human beings at all.

As I dug deeper, as I uncovered the connections to my own hometown, my research became personal. My mood switched from dismayed to furious. I found mention that my town paper (still in existence today) included an 1893 editorial that admonished young women of Kings County to learn the ways of the kitchen so that they didn’t need to hire a Chinese cook.

I hadn’t been taught about any of this in school. Neither had my mom. Even worse, my grandma didn’t know, and she grew up in the 1930s on a ranch three miles away from Hanford right outside the still quite-small town of Armona; the only remnant of its Chinese district is Shanghai Street, which borders the cemetery.

We hadn’t even been lied to across the generations. The historical facts had been utterly erased. The vineyard laborers driven out by an armed posse, forgotten. Firebombed buildings, built over.

Turns out, outrage over historical injustices makes for good writing fuel.

In my books’ world, the United States and Japan are allied as the Unified Pacific and in the process of taking over mainland Asia. The Chinese are treated even worse there than in our actual history, but I base everything on fact.

I’ve heard from many readers that they thought I had made up everything. I talk about things like the Dog Tag Law, how the Chinese were forced to carry photo IDs (a first in the world) or risk deportation. That and so many other details are real, and I make sure readers know that, too. At the end of each book in my trilogy, I include an Author’s Note where I break down the major changes from history and include a complete bibliography. My sources are also listed on my website.

Breath of Earth, Call of Fire, and Roar of Sky might be shelved with the Fantasy & Science Fiction and include a whole lot of magic, but writing about history also includes a responsibility to shine a light on the darkness of the past. My books make for entertaining reads, sure, but I hope they are also enlightening ones… and that at the end, readers look at my source materials and dig a little deeper on their own, just as I did. Maybe they’ll find out some things that hit close to home, too.


Beth Cato hails from Hanford, California, but currently writes and bakes cookies in a lair west of Phoenix, Arizona. She shares the household with a hockey-loving husband, a numbers-obsessed son, and three feline overlords.

She’s the author of The Clockwork Dagger (a 2015 Locus Award finalist for First Novel) and The Clockwork Crown (an RT Reviewers’ Choice Finalist) from Harper Voyager. Her novella Wings of Sorrow and Bone was a 2016 Nebula nominee. Her alt-history Blood of Earth trilogy includes Breath of Earth, Call of Fire, and Roar of Sky.

Follow her at her website and on Twitter at @BethCato.

Fantastic History #49: Whose Middle Ages? by Ariel Bolton

In recent years many writers of secondary world fantasy have been making a conscious effort to broaden their world building beyond the pre-modern quasi-European settings that have been the defaults for decades. Nevertheless, a lot of us still like to set at least some of our stories in analogues of medieval Europe. That’s why the most stimulating writing book I’ve read recently is Whose Middle Ages? Teachable Moments for an Ill-Used Past (Fordham University Press, 2019).

It’s a collection of short chapters, each looking at a different way that twenty-first century culture, from op eds to renaissance fairs, has referenced medieval history and tried to turn it to present-day purposes. The pieces are all written by scholars of Medieval Studies, mainly historians and art historians, and they’ve been edited by five professors at Fordham University’s Center for Medieval Studies.

While the book wasn’t meant specifically for writers of fiction, I found it useful as a catalyst for thinking about some of the tropes and casual assumptions in our genre that are due for overhaul and re-imagination. Here are some examples.

“Real Men of the Viking Age” by Will Cerbone examines the trope of the Viking as a lone warrior with a taste for plunder and axe violence. Cerbone points out that while such men certainly existed in early medieval northern Europe, the Icelandic literature that is the source for much of what we know about Norse culture consistently portrayed them as “tragic misanthropes, awful neighbors and primitive monsters.” The valorization of strongman characters who cared for no community happened only centuries later, when European nationalists tried to use Norse literature as origin stories justifying their own aggressive agendas.

“The Invisible Peasantry” by Sandy Bardsley discusses all the sources that historians use to construct a picture of medieval peasants’ lives. Despite the fact that this class left very few records of their own, a remarkable amount of information about them can be discovered in court documents, tax rolls, sermons, mystery plays, and archaeological sites. When the peasantry, who made up 90 to 95 percent of the population, are left out of modern stories and re-enactments of medieval life, it is not for lack of information about them.

“Ivory and the Ties that Bind” by Sarah M. Guérin traces the source of the ivory used to make three thirteenth-century statuettes found in the Louvre. The fact that French artisans could procure the tusks of savanna elephants to carve reminds us that neither medieval Europe nor medieval Africa were as isolated as has traditionally been believed. In reality, a complex series of economic ties linked Mande hunters in what is now Senegal with Amazigh caravan traders crossing the Sahara, port cities in North Africa, and Italian merchants plying the Mediterranean.

Stephennie Mulder’s “No, People in the Middle East Haven’t Been Fighting Since the Beginning of Time” takes on the cliché that Diana Wynne Jones dubbed the “Fanatic Caliphates”. Some of the responsibility for this image of the Middle East falls on medieval Arab chroniclers themselves, who were fond of depicting conflicts between Sunnis and Shiites as eternal and unrelenting. However Mulder, an architectural historian, points to evidence that tells a more complicated story. The Mashhad al-Husayn (shrine of Husayn) in Aleppo honours a major figure of Shia Islam, but it was built with the help of a Sunni governor during a period of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries known as the Sunni Revival. Inside, linked inscriptions honor the twelve Shiite imams and the four caliphs revered by the Sunnis. Hundreds of structures with similar programs were built and visited by both Shiites and Sunnis in the medieval Middle East, complicating the rhetoric of the chroniclers with the reality of everyday life.

Other chapters discuss medieval sexuality, immigration in the Middle Ages, blood libel, concepts of race, and the crusades. Each one ends with three or four suggestions for further reading. It’s a quick and digestible tour of some of the flashpoints in the current study of the Middle Ages. If you love medieval world building, but worry that it sometimes lacks texture, this book can be used as a primer for imagining a richer, more nuanced medieval world without accidentally setting off alt right dog whistles or tripping over discredited Nazi lore.

A recurring theme in Whose Middle Ages? is the invocation of distorted medieval imagery and medieval themes by modern people to further present-day political agendas. The old medieval tropes still have a power to stir emotions and shape narratives. And that is where our role as writers comes in. We need to think carefully about how we use the power of medieval world so that it is used for good.


Ariel Bolton lives and writes in Toronto. Bits of her PhD in Medieval Studies sometimes show up in her work. She has published work in Flash Fiction Online, Heroic Fantasy Quarterly, and the anthology Myriad Lands.