Today I’m delighted to introduce Elizabeth Bell, historical fiction novelist and author of The Lazare Family Saga, to talk about her wonderful four-book series.

Welcome, Elizabeth, and thank you for being here. Please tell us more about the Lazare Family Saga.

The Lazare Family Saga transports readers from the West Indies to the Wild West, from Charleston, Paris, and Rome into the depths of the human heart. Passion, prejudice, secrets, and a mother’s desperate choice in the chaos of revolution echo through five generations as the multiracial Lazare family struggles to understand where they belong. A French baroness, a Catholic priest, a daring physician, an unconventional Southern belle, an enslaved maid, and a blond Cheyenne Indian find love in dangerous places in this epic spanning 1789-1873.

Sounds fascinating. What inspired the idea?

This series grew out of my love of two places: the High Plains of the American West and Lowcountry South Carolina. My family visited Charleston on a vacation in 1987, and we moved to Colorado in 1991. I’ve always thought I was born in the wrong century. I wanted to know what these places were like in the past, and I wanted to know about the people who lived there.

It’s interesting how historical novels always seem to be born through an author’s curiosity. How would you describe your books’ ideal reader?

Someone who loved the classic family sagas of the 1970s and 1980s: Alex Haley’s Roots, Colleen McCullough’s The Thorn Birds, and John Jakes’s North and South trilogy. A hopeless romantic who nevertheless wants meticulously researched historical fiction. The past was often an ugly place—slavery and genocide are part of American history. The love stories in my work have tragic elements, but the joy balances out the pain.

Those were all stories I loved! How long did it take you to write the series?

Almost three decades. I started when I was fourteen. I didn’t know what I was doing yet, and I didn’t realize the immensity of the project I was beginning. I had to learn how to write—among other things, I got a master’s degree in Creative Writing. This series spans so many decades, countries, and subjects, the bulk of those years was research: into the Haitian Revolution, Charleston architecture, enslaved communities, Catholicism, the Oregon Trail, Plains Indian life, early blood transfusions…

It must have been a challenge to research so many different areas, cultures, and topics. How did you come up with each book’s title?

My series is about grey areas, about people and things that aren’t A or B but A and B—and sometimes C! The central family, the Lazares, are multiracial: they have French, African, and Native American ancestry. All my titles tie into that complexity; they’re seeming contradictions. Necessary Sins is a phrase straight from my research, actually from an Easter hymn called the Exultet. Lost Saints is from Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s Sonnets from the Portuguese. Sweet Medicine has multiple meanings. The phrase itself is from Cheyenne Indian culture, and the Cheyenne play a large part in my series. I came up with Native Stranger when I realized I’d have to break the third book into two books, creating a tetralogy. Native Stranger mostly refers to my adopted Cheyenne Indian character who comes East seeking his birth family. Juxtaposition and duality are at the heart of my fiction.

Multi-layered novels bring deeper meaning. What do you hope readers will take away from the series?

I want my readers to feel they’ve stepped into the 18th century Caribbean, antebellum Charleston, and a Cheyenne village. I want to make my readers’ hearts race. I want them to rejoice and grieve with my characters. I hope I draw readers out of their comfort zones. I hope they see American history in a vivid new way and not just through rose-colored glasses. I hope that my readers will walk away with a little more empathy for their fellow humans.

Worthy goals indeed. How do you approach your writing process? Are you a plotter or pantser?

I’m a total pantser. I used to hate writing outlines in English classes. I have character arcs in my head, and I know the major plot points. But mostly I let my characters tell me the story, because only they know how they get from Point A to Point B. I’m not someone who can write every day. I write best when I can get several days off my “real job” and can disappear into my fictional world. My creative juices start flowing, and I write practically nonstop—as long as the characters are cooperating and I don’t hit a roadblock where I realize I need to do more research.

Research is my favorite part of writing historical fiction. What research methods are the most fruitful for you?

I like to steep myself in secondary sources so I can get my bearings. Then I do as much primary source research as I can. Reading letters and diaries of the period. Viewing the artwork created by the cultures I’m studying. As much on-site research as I can, “walking the ground.” I love historic house museums. I love historical interpreters at Civil War reenactments and Colonial Williamsburg. I become a sponge. I never know what detail might be pivotal to my story, so I absorb them all.

I think we each have our own favorite reads. What book has most shaped you as a writer?

Colleen McCullough’s The Thorn Birds. This is a novel that holds up to repeat reads, and I get more out of it every time. Most of all, I love how interconnected each generation of this family saga is, how Fee’s story echoes through her children and grandchildren. I loved the idea that (potential SPOILER) the earlier generations screw up and miss their chances at happiness, but eventually the youngest generation is able to break the cycle and find fulfillment. It’s not reincarnation, but it’s like the family is a single being that’s failing and slowly learning and finally growing—the story arc isn’t just about a single character’s journey but all the family members together. I find that grand scale so emotionally engaging and satisfying, and I’ve tried to recreate that in my own family saga.

Wow, I’m hooked! Thank you for joining us, Elizabeth, and many congratulations on this tantalizing historical saga. 

Readers, I’m thrilled to share with you an excerpt of the Prologue to the Lazare Family Saga. And don’t miss this chance to snap up Book One of the series. It’s on sale for a limited time.  

 

 

 

 

 

Necessary Sins (Lazare Family Saga, Book One)

Prologue

Charleston, South Carolina

September 1822

Joseph knew he was committing a terrible, terrible sin, but he could only draw closer. He’d been alive ten whole years, and he’d never seen anything so beautiful. It occupied the very center of the painting. Soft and round, smooth and crowned—there, between the lips of the Christ Child, unmistakable: the perfect pink nipple of the Mother of God.

Joseph should be imitating his patron saint, who stood at the edge of the canvas. White-haired and lumpy-faced, Mary’s husband seemed oblivious to his wife and Son, peering at a book through the spectacles on his nose. Much as Joseph himself liked to read, he could not imagine concentrating on lifeless pages in such company.

Draped in rich robes and her own golden hair, the Blessed Virgin gazed down serenely at her divine Son. The Christ Child’s arms encircled Mary’s right breast possessively, His green eyes pointing out of the painting as if He sensed Joseph’s unholy stare.

“Joseph!”

He jumped and closed his eyes. Only then did he realize his mouth was open too.

His sister Cathy continued behind him, from the threshold: “Haven’t you found it yet?”

Joseph turned quickly, to distract her from the painting. He’d completely forgotten why he’d come into Papa’s office. Mama, Cathy, and Hélène were knitting something for the children at the Orphan House, only their scissors had broken. Joseph had been seated nearby at the piano-forte, and he’d offered to fetch another pair from Papa’s office.

Huffing with impatience, Cathy strode to his desk. Joseph tried the drawers of Papa’s medical cabinet and found scissors. On their way out of the office, he and Cathy passed the painting of headless Saint Denis, the one their father had had for years. Joseph had never seen the portrait of the Holy Family before. Papa must have brought it back from Paris.

In the parlor, Mama signed her thanks for the scissors by touching her fingertips to her mouth and then gesturing toward Joseph. She would not be smiling if she knew why he had lingered in Papa’s office. Mama snipped whatever needed snipping, then returned her attention to her work.

Joseph sat down again at the piano, but as he stared at the pages in front of him, the notes became fuzzy. He dropped his eyes to the keys, but all he could see was that breast, that nipple. Were all women so beautiful?

Were all boys as wicked as he was?

Joseph closed his eyes tightly, and still the vision lingered. He tried desperately to pray, but the words would not come.

Fortunately, before too long Papa returned from visiting patients. Hélène ran to show him the mess of wool she claimed would soon be a mitten. Papa praised it and kissed the top of her head.

Joseph ventured: “Papa?”

“Yes, son?” he answered as Hélène scampered back to Mama.

“May I go to church before supper?”

“Is the choir practicing today?” Papa sounded confused, though Joseph didn’t see his expression because he couldn’t meet his eyes.

“No, sir.”

“Joseph? What’s troubling you, son?”

His sisters stopped chattering to each other, and Joseph felt their stares. Mama must be watching too.

Papa moved a chair next to the piano stool and sat facing Joseph. When Papa spoke, he sounded very grave. “You want to go to Confession, don’t you?”

Joseph nodded miserably. He’d committed a mortal sin. His soul was in peril. What if the negroes tried to rebel again and weren’t caught as Denmark Vesey had been? What if they killed Joseph in his sleep tonight? He would go straight to Hell. He deserved it.

“Whatever it is you think you’ve done, Joseph, you know you can talk to me about it?”

Again he nodded. But his earthly father couldn’t grant him Absolution, couldn’t make his soul clean again.

“You do realize that most people confess only once a year?”

“Father Laroche says he confesses every week,” Joseph murmured, “and that we should too.” What a Priest had to confess, Joseph still didn’t understand.

He heard Papa draw in a breath to respond; but then, from the other side of the room, came the familiar, insistent-yet-polite finger-snap Mama used to attract their attention. Cathy must have been translating for her. Mama made Papa’s sign name, and the expression on her face turned it into a plea. ‘Let him go,’ she said with her hands.

Papa turned to her. ‘In the three years since he began, our son—our perfect son—has made more Confessions than most people do their entire lives.’

Mama frowned. Papa was criticizing her too: she took Joseph every Saturday. Cathy would go with them only once a month. None of her friends confessed more often than that, she said. At the church, Mama always went first, clutching her little notebook till she passed it to Father Laroche. He would read her transgressions and then write down her Penance. Afterward, as Joseph watched Mama burning the pages, he would wonder what she had to confess every week. Apart from her deafness, Mama was perfect, as sinless as a Priest.

Unlike him.

‘None of us is perfect yet,’ Mama argued with her hands and expression. ‘It is only through union with Our Lord—through the Sacraments—that we can become perfect. We are blessed to receive Absolution every week. Have you forgotten Bastien already?’

‘Of course not,’ Papa signed impatiently.

‘He is lucky if he sees a Priest once a year.’ Joseph knew his mother’s brother lived somewhere in North Carolina, surrounded by Protestants. ‘Here, we even have a Priest who knows our language!’

‘Father Laroche does not know your language,’ Papa insisted, emphasizing the sign. ‘He knows French. Your English is just as good, Anne. It’s certainly better than his. I wish you’d confess to one of the Irishmen instead.’

Mama tensed. ‘Father Laroche—’

‘Father Laroche makes you do Penance for’—Papa’s hands hesitated—‘for being a woman!’

Mama drew in a sharp breath, and crimson flooded her cheeks. Her eyes darted nervously to Joseph and his sisters. They were still watching, though Joseph didn’t understand what Papa had meant or why it should make Mama blush. ‘We were talking about Joseph. Please don’t discourage him.’

Papa sighed, glanced away, then finally signed his consent. But he added aloud: “If it’s Father Laroche, son—promise me you won’t believe everything that French bull-dog says.”

Joseph worried about Papa’s soul, too. At Mass, he always looked bored or angry. Now, Papa was acting as though a Priest could be wrong. That was like saying God could be wrong.

You can find Elizabeth Bell on the following social media platforms: 

Website

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Goodreads

Amazon Author Page

Bio

Elizabeth Bell has been writing stories since the second grade. At the age of fourteen, she chose a pen name and vowed to become a published author. Upon earning her MFA in Creative Writing, Elizabeth realized she would have to return her two hundred library books. Instead, she cleverly found a job in the university library. She works there to this day. Her historical series the Lazare Family Saga follows a multiracial family struggling to understand where they belong in the young United States. The first book, Necessary Sins, was a Finalist in the Foreword Indies Book of the Year Awards. The second and third books, Lost Saints and Native Stranger, were Editors’ Choices in the Historical Novels Review.

Thanks again for spending time with us, Elizabeth! I look forward to reading your series.  

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Pat Wahler is the award-winning author of Western Fictioneers’ Best First Novel of 2018, I am Mrs. Jesse James. She is also the author of the Becker Family Novels, a contemporary romance series; and Let Your Heart Be Light, a yuletide-themed holiday collection.