How do I write anachronisms without making them seem accidental?

This is a common worry, but honestly one that I think we worry about far too much. Readers expect some anachronism and have a decent tolerance for a lot of it. With that said, there is definitely a happy medium between thinking about it too much and not thinking about it at all. Too far to either side, and your writing will suffer, so that does make it important to find the sweet spot.

Embrace accidental anachronism

Avoiding anachronisms entirely can make your work feel dry and lifeless. My go-to example of this in real life is when you read novels written by people with very specific interests and knowledge.

I read a novel by a Mediaeval Historian a few years ago where he tried so hard to properly represent all his history in perfect, minute detail he forgot that the most important elements of any novel are its characters and plot. It was historically accurate, but not fun or interesting to read.

Readers require clarity of meaning, rather than perfect accuracy. There’s no point perfectly replicating Chaucerian Middle English if readers can’t understand it, so with that in mind, a certain level of anachronism is both expected and welcome. You won’t need to worry too much about whether or not it’s intentional, because if it makes your work easier to read and understand, then we’re all perfectly willing to suspend our disbelief a little bit.

Know your story

With all that said, while you can stop worrying about every little detail, there are times when you do have to think about how you represent anachronistic details. Using a phrase that is glaringly out of place, contradictory, or actively inaccurate will take a reader out of it and stop their ability to suspend their disbelief, unless you signal it as intentional.

Sofia Coppola’s film Marie Antoinette (2006) is a good example of this. It embraces its anachronisms in a way that fits the story it’s telling, rather than focusing on historical accuracy. The soundtrack has a new wave and post-punk feel (New Order, Siouxsie and the Banshees, etc.) that sits alongside baroque pieces, with a pair of Converse Chuck Taylors visible in a scene alongside period-style shoes.

The reason this worked so well is that the context surrounding the anachronism signalled intent. If everything except the Chucks had been period accurate, then it would have come across like a mistake (remember the Game of Thrones Starbucks cup?), but with the context surrounding it, it was clear that it was a stylistic choice, and not something left in by accident.

The takeaway is that readers don’t judge an anachronism in isolation. They judge it against everything around it.

How do you signal intent?

Context is everything.

If you’ve used modern dialogue in a work of historical fiction, then this signals a choice. But if you write all your dialogue in a period-accurate voice, but slip in an “O.K.”, then this is probably going to come across as a mistake.

Consistency is also important in these instances. What anachronisms are you using, and what do they signal in your work? Are you choosing language for ease of understanding, or are you choosing an object that doesn’t belong in order to signal something within the plot?

Your use of anachronism should do something that accuracy can’t: make a distant era feel immediate, land a joke, or let a character be relatable. Coppola’s reason was to make the people in her story feel human rather than distant historical figures. If you can name your reason, the reader will usually come along for the ride.

Proofread to make sure you mean it

Deliberate anachronism only works if you don’t also have accidental ones. You’ll need to proofread carefully to make sure the things you’re signalling are intentional.

The slips that get through are rarely the dramatic ones. They tend to be the words, objects, and attitudes that feel so natural to you that you don’t notice their modernity.

Read your work back with a critical eye, and if something leaps out at you as specifically modern, ask yourself whether you chose that word intentionally, or if it’s just the one you thought of first. If you chose it, check that it fits with your other deliberate choices and is doing the job you’ve given it. If it was just a convenient word to use, then you have two options. You can keep it and let it become part of the pattern of anachronism intentionally, or you can change it to something that suits what you’re writing. What matters at this point is that you make the decision intentionally.

It’s also worth keeping this in proportion. You won’t catch everything, and you don’t need to. You’re looking for the details that would pull a reader out of the story, not trying to purge every modern word from the page. If it leaps out at you, it might need some more thought. If it doesn’t, then it’s probably fine to ignore (and if you’re still not sure, then get some beta readers to give you their thoughts).

The Tiffany problem

No matter how hard you try to be accurate and intentional with your anachronism, there is always going to be something that rubs certain readers the wrong way. It’s just the way of the world, and something you’ll need to make peace with.

We also get caught out in the other direction, because some details feel modern but are perfectly accurate. This is often called the Tiffany problem (or the Tiffany effect).

The Tiffany problem is what happens when a detail is historically accurate but reads as wrong to a modern audience. The name Tiffany is the classic case: it sounds like a modern name, so modern readers see it as anachronistic, even when it’s not.

Etymologically, Tiffany comes from Theophania, a girls’ name used in mediaeval England and France, with an Old French form Tifinie recorded around 1200 CE. The modern spelling we use, Tiffany, appears in English as early as 1600 CE. Despite this, it still sounds too modern to feel realistic to most readers.

So how do you deal with that? It’s a tough one. Because it’s not incorrect to use something that gives the impression of anachronism but isn’t anachronistic, but at the same time, realism doesn’t matter if it gives the impression regardless. There’s no easy answer, but just know that you might be called upon by your readers to justify it. So long as you’re willing to answer the questions, have your sources handy, and enter into discussion, then there’s no harm in sticking to your original plan. But there’s also no shame in making an edit to avoid the discussion altogether. Ultimately, it’s up to you.