"Historian: an unsuccessful novelist"

H. L. Mencken’s quip, “Historian: an unsuccessful novelist,” encapsulates his characteristic wit and skepticism toward both historical writing and literary ambition. At first glance, the phrase seems dismissive, it reduces the historian’s craft to failed attempts at fiction. However, beneath the surface, it invites consideration of the overlapping realms of storytelling, imagination, and the documentation of reality.

Mencken’s words suggest that historians, despite their scholarly aims, are often driven by the same impulses as novelists: constructing narratives, portraying dramatic events, and seeking meaning within the randomness of existence. For Mencken, both historians and novelists select and arrange details to tell a coherent story. Yet, where the novelist is granted leeway to invent, the historian is constrained by evidence and fidelity to the facts. The implication is that a historian may be someone who aspired to the sweeping creativity of fiction, but perhaps lacked the inventiveness, courage, or skill to abandon the anchor of historical fact.

This comparison subtly challenges the objectivity of history itself. According to Mencken, the historian’s narrative is shaped by subjective choices, what to include, what to omit, and how to interpret ambiguous evidence. In this sense, the boundary between history and fiction blurs: both involve assembling fragments into a captivating whole, both demand narrative flair, and both are inevitably colored by the creator’s perspective.

The remark also pokes fun at historians’ pretensions, hinting that the gravitas of their profession masks a frustrated artistic urge. Even as it jests, the phrase acknowledges the artistry inherent to rendering past events meaningful and absorbing. Ultimately, Mencken’s observation compels us to reconsider where truth ends and imagination begins, reminding us that the stories we tell about the past are inextricably woven with the creative faculties of those who record them.