Reader Response: Devil in the White City

Erik Larson’s rendering of Chicago in the 1890s is remarkable. I’ve always been interested in how to write historical narratives and Larson, it seems, is a master. The story is anchored on two heavily archived events (or series of events), the murders of H.H. Holmes and the orchestration of the 1893 World Fair by Daniel Burnham.

In the preface Larson notes that “this is not a work of fiction. Anything between quotation marks comes from a letter, memoir and other written document.” Even so, I couldn’t at times help but wonder about the moments not in between quotations.   

At times Larson carefully chooses his words when he’s imagining a drama that can’t possibly be verified such as the anecdote from Holmes' memoir when the childhood bullies force him to confront a skull in the local doctor’s office.

Larson says: “The incident probably did occur but with a different choreography. … he merely gazed at the skeleton with cool appreciation. When his eyes settled back upon his captors, it was they who fled.” (pg. 39)

“Probably” is the type of springboard word that allows Larson to build the drama, and I think this scene was quite effective. In fact, somehow when dealing with a villain like Holmes it seems practical to dramatically indulge.

But I was more curious about how Larson made his decisions on some of his more menial details. Well, actually they’re not menial details. I should call them “everyday” details. I’m interested in how Larson chose to move his characters across a room, how he sets atmosphere, and to what degree they’re founded in historical documentation.

For instance in the chapter titled ‘Convocation,’ Larson sets up a scene where the architects are sharing their designs. He describes the room: “The light in the room was sallow, the sun already into its descent. Wind thumped the windows. In the hearth at the north wall a large fire cracked and lisped, flushing the room with a dry sirocco that caused frozen skin to tingle.” (pg. 113)

Burnham and some of the other architects recorded memoirs of the events, and perhaps Larson could figure out that the meeting was held as sundown on a windy day. And someone may have made a note about the fire. But did the fire cause frozen skin to tingle?

Whether this detail is true or not, I’m not so concerned. I wouldn’t claim that this book is inaccurate. But I wonder how Larson makes these decisions. Obviously the caption above, is full of rich wonderful detail that develops the scene, but when can a nonfiction author say the skin tingles? And when can’t he?