Voices Across Time: Crafting Believable Dialogue in Historical Fiction

One of the most quietly contentious aspects of writing historical fiction lies in the way characters speak. Readers expect to be transported convincingly into another time period, and yet, language is a barrier—not just the facts of vocabulary or syntax, but the deeper rhythms and cultural sensibilities embedded in dialogue. If characters speak too much like modern people, the illusion of the past can feel paper-thin. But if they speak too much like their actual contemporaries, the result may alienate or even bore a reader unfamiliar with archaic forms of expression. This delicate balancing act—how to write dialogue that is both historically believable and emotionally accessible—is one of the craft’s most pressing and least discussed challenges. And it is precisely in this space where the intervention of a skilled manuscript consultant can be transformative.

When an author sits down to write a scene set in the eighteenth century, for instance, the instinct may be to dive deep into research, to comb through letters, legal documents, or literature of the era in an effort to replicate the speech of the time. This diligence is admirable and even necessary. However, replicating historical dialogue too faithfully can lead to stilted or opaque prose. The cadences of older English are often longer, more formal, and less emotionally direct than contemporary readers are accustomed to. Worse, they may contain cultural references, idioms, or assumptions that are no longer legible without annotation. The risk here is that readers will trip over the language rather than be carried along by it.

On the other hand, if a writer leans too far into modern phrasing or inflection, the characters may begin to feel anachronistic. A seventeenth-century sailor using twenty-first-century slang—or expressing a worldview built on twenty-first-century social norms—can snap the reader out of the immersive experience. Even when the story is gripping and the setting richly described, dialogue that feels out of place can undercut the authority of the work. It’s not just about the authenticity of the words; it’s about the believability of the consciousness that animates them.

This is where an experienced manuscript consultant, especially one attuned to the demands of historical fiction, becomes invaluable. A good editor is not merely a fact-checker or line-level copyeditor. They are, at their best, sensitive readers of tone, rhythm, and voice. They are capable of spotting the moment when a character sounds too much like the writer and not enough like themselves. They can point out a turn of phrase that didn’t exist in the era, or suggest a subtle tweak that better matches the mood and idiom of the time without overwhelming the reader in period-accurate but unreadable speech.

Beyond catching anachronisms, a manuscript critique can also identify where dialogue has become so encumbered by historical imitation that it ceases to be functional. Dialogue in fiction must serve multiple roles: it reveals character, advances the plot, and builds the atmosphere of the world. When it gets bogged down in mimicry, it can stop doing all three. A critique partner or editor with experience in the genre can help the author tease apart what kind of speech adds richness and what kind simply gets in the way. They can also ask pointed questions: Does this character sound like someone of their class, region, gender, and time? Does their speech change as they grow? Is there a meaningful contrast in how different characters speak, or has the author applied a blanket historical tone to everyone, flattening them?

It’s worth noting that there is no single “correct” way for historical fiction to approach dialogue. Some novels opt for a near-modern register and trust the other elements of worldbuilding to carry the historical illusion. Others lean into stylization, using dialects and speech patterns that evoke a particular moment without attempting strict accuracy. What matters most is internal consistency and the clarity of authorial intent. A manuscript consultant can help the writer define and refine that intent, ensuring that whatever linguistic choices are made, they serve the narrative rather than disrupt it.

One of the more subtle contributions a critique service can offer is helping the writer think about how historical language conveys power, emotion, and intimacy. In some eras, formal speech and rank-based address shaped not only what people said but how they said it—and to whom. An editor who understands these nuances can help a writer think through the implications of tone: when should a servant address their master with clipped subservience, and when might that surface politeness hide subversive irony? How do lovers speak to each other in a culture that discourages overt sentimentality? What does silence mean in a time when public speech is censored or surveilled? These questions reach beyond vocabulary and into character development and the overarching themes of the work. Dialogue becomes not just a reflection of the past but a mechanism for exploring the tensions within it.

It’s also important to consider how emotional expression has changed over time. In many historical periods, people were discouraged from expressing vulnerability openly, and the language of the heart was filtered through codes of propriety, religion, or duty. A modern writer may be tempted to give their characters the freedom to say exactly what they feel in moments of grief or joy, but such moments may feel jarringly out of place unless carefully framed. A manuscript consultant can help locate moments where emotional intensity is powerful but tonally mismatched with the world of the story, and offer ways to revise that retain the impact without sacrificing credibility.

Of course, the final decisions always belong to the writer. But one of the greatest advantages of seeking out critique—especially from someone experienced in the genre—is the opportunity to see the work through another lens. Historical fiction is, at its core, a negotiation between two times: the past it seeks to evoke, and the present in which it is written and read. Dialogue is where these two forces meet most visibly. It must sound real, but not be real; it must feel old, but not be too old-fashioned. It must evoke the world of the story, but it must also speak to the reader who holds the book in their hands now. This balance is not easy, but it becomes far less precarious with a steady editorial hand to guide the process.

Writing historical fiction is not just about being a historian—it’s also about being a translator. The writer translates experience, gesture, and voice from one world to another. And as with any translation, the best results come not from a dictionary, but from deep listening. A manuscript critique can help writers listen more carefully, speak more clearly, and let the voices of the past ring out, vibrant and true, across time.