Worldbuilding
Historical fiction has a small practical trap built into it: the units of the world are part of the world’s truth, but too many conversions can flatten the scene into arithmetic.
A pound, a stone, a yard, a gallon. Keep them and the period feels lived-in. Translate every one and the prose starts sounding apologetic, as if it doesn’t trust its own setting.
So the real question is usually not accuracy. It’s how much friction the page can carry before it turns into a quiet maths lesson.
A pound, a stone, a yard, a gallon. Keep them and the period feels lived-in. Translate every one and the prose starts sounding apologetic, as if it doesn’t trust its own setting.
So the real question is usually not accuracy. It’s how much friction the page can carry before it turns into a quiet maths lesson.
Sometimes the conversion is the point, though. If a character is thinking in pounds and shillings, translating it for the reader can make the world feel tidier than it should. A little uncertainty is often more honest. Most people in the past were not carrying a neat modern calculator in their heads.