We historians are a fairly well-disciplined mob. Most of us follow well-established conventions, and claim recognition on the basis of thorough and well-documented research, and a commitment to ‘historical truth’. Leaving aside the relatively few who have undergone makeovers to become novelists, we are wary of fictional escapades – and those who do delve into fiction while still wearing a historian’s label set themselves up for a savaging.

This disciplinary purity seems a pity. By invariably denying ourselves the opportunities that fiction presents, we stand to lose a lot. Who can doubt that historical novelists attract more readers than academic historians, or that fictionalised history, especially when presented on the screen, has a greater influence than academic history in shaping popular perceptions of the past? And what do we sacrifice by eschewing the techniques of novelists, in relation, for example, to imagining dialogue?

Is there a way of drawing on the techniques of historian and novelist, without compromising the historian’s claim to authenticity? I’ll explore this question in the context of two microhistories. One, completed, explores a child custody case in Guernsey in 1825 (www.zoffanysdaughter.com); the other, projected, a power contest of operatic complexity near Bombay in the 1770s.