Historical fiction gives us the opportunity to discover people and places in history we otherwise wouldn't have considered. Nonfiction demands factual accuracy and truth, but historical fiction can add drama and tension to stories or events that need more attention. Christina Baker Kline's new novel, The Foursome (Mariner Books; 384 pages), tells the story of, well, a foursome from the American Civil War era. At first glance, it's a story that's hard to believe is true, but it highlights the genre's power to reveal surprising narratives.

The novel traces the history of Eng and Chang Bunker. The twins, born in Siam, were conjoined at the ribs by a short, shared ligament. (They’re the original source of the term "Siamese twin.") As teens, they were essentially sold into servitude and traveled the world as a sideshow act for two odious American businessmen. Eventually, the pair settled in North Carolina in the early 1840s, where they married a pair of sisters, Addie and Sallie. Together, these "two families" produced twenty-one children. The narrative begins with the twins’ arrival in North Carolina and follows them through to their deaths. Twenty-one kids? Now you’re thinking about it.  

Using Sallie to narrate the book is a decision both careful and correct. Compared with the other three family members, Sallie feels most like an outsider. That distance allows her to tell the story with realism rather than drama. Bouncing between all four members of the marriage would feel chaotic, and it would likely be hard to distinguish between Eng and Chang’s voices. Sallie also operates as a moral middle ground in a way that Addie does not, especially as the issues of slavery and the Civil War emerge. Here, the point-of-view choice is more about maintaining an even-handed stance on divisive topics. If Addie narrated instead, her pro-South, pro-slavery stance would shift focus away from the family-centric narrative Baker Kline seeks to establish. Family-centric, but you're still thinking about it.

The book's tone is shaped by the way the narrative handles the perception of the twins. They're neither sensationalized nor flat. Sallie treats them with compassion and humanity, which Addie echoes in dialogue. Sallie sees Eng and Chang as two different people, often highlighting their distinct personalities. At times, chapters pass without reminders that the twins are conjoined. For example, when Sallie is in labor with her first child, she states: "I pictured Eng in the parlor below, pacing, rattling peanuts in his pocket. Forcing his brother to pace with him." It’s an 'oh, right' moment, a reminder that one twin’s actions force the other to do the same. They're always together, ever present in each other’s lives. Now you’re thinking about it more.

Baker Kline also uses parallels, metaphors, and newspaper stories to broaden perspectives and add variety. Though Sallie comes to love Eng, she spends much of the novel illustrating the biblical story of Leah and Rachel in her needlework, paralleling her duty to marry Eng for her sister's sake and the way each twin is tied to both sisters. Outsider views also appear: the twins are often forced to tour to raise money, and the narrative is enriched by newspaper clippings and letters. The public mostly treats the twins with contempt, calling them grotesque, "yellow," or monsters, while the newspapers are happy to point out the irony of twins who are slaves to each other acting as slaveowners. These opinions give the characters depth beyond Sallie's perceptions.

Because the story begins when the twins settle in North Carolina, it's essential to provide information about their earlier lives. Allusions to their history are presented through gossip and summary, but the primary explanation comes through an extended dialogue scene in which the twins recount their upbringing in Siam and their subsequent world tour. However, the reliance on dialogue for exposition sometimes feels inauthentic to the characters' voices, making the backstory feel forced rather than naturally revealed.

The book also struggles with inconsistent pacing. It’s essentially divided into three acts. The courtship and the initial period following the marriages, and the outbreak of the Civil War bookend a middle section in which the sisters give birth to one child after another and adapt to their circumstances. Aside from brief conflicts, little action happens. The pacing issue arises because Baker Kline avoids adding too much manufactured drama or fictional details. Particularly, details about what you're still thinking.

And since you keep thinking about it: the sex. Upon hearing that conjoined twins married two sisters who combined to birth twenty-one kids, many readers will wonder about the mechanics of sex. How do they do it? What did the other twin do during the act? Ever at the same time? And, depending on the luridness of your mind, did they ever trade? The novel builds to it slowly, in part because Sallie takes time to agree to have sex with Eng following their wedding day. When it happens, it's mechanical, dispassionate, and brief. After Sallie's initial sexual encounter with Eng, the book largely ignores the issue. It's clear Baker Kline was aiming for pragmatism, not eroticism, and did not want sex to take the spotlight. Still, the brief description may not satisfy a particular set of curious minds.

Each historical fiction piece falls on a spectrum of truth. Authors must decide how closely to stick to facts, and how much to embellish for drama. In The Foursome, Baker Kline avoids salacious details and does not turn the twins into the sideshow act they once were. Instead, the novel describes the ups and downs of married life, with someone else always present. It shows how to find peace in difficult situations. Ultimately, the book's mid-Victorian tone and focus may be enough for some readers, but the level of detail about certain subjects will leave others wanting more.