How to Use Humor in Historical Fiction With Three Examples from When Secrets Bloom

While I was writing When Secrets Bloom I fell in love with humor that’s cleverly used in historical fiction.

Humor has always been part of survival. In the harshest of times (for me that would be my childhood and teen years in communist Romania), wit becomes both shield and sword, a way to endure the unendurable. As one of my characters puts it:

‘You need to be more careful, Mo,’ she murmured, not unkindly. ‘This world’s got less mercy than a goose at Michaelmas—and you’re walking around like stuffing.‘

That kind of humor doesn’t trivialize fear. It grounds it. It makes emotion believable, action lifelike, and humanizes history. In this post I’ll share three moments from When Secrets Bloom where I deliberately used humor to deepen character, reveal cultural identity, and invite readers closer to the story.

1. How to Use Humor to Ground Fear (Kate and the Sheriff)

‘Unless this is about a goat, a fever, or a curse, I suggest you try again tomorrow.’

Humor under pressure can reveal more than stoic silence ever could. When Kate faces the Sheriff and his men in her yard, her wit is not a mask but a survival tool. By framing her fear in a dry remark she keeps her dignity intact and shows us how humor makes emotion feel more real, not less.

Using the (many) versions of my manuscript, here are the steps I followed:

Step 1 – Anchor the Emotion in Humor

I began with the principle: if I can frame an emotion with humor, then the emotion itself becomes more believable. Kate’s fear isn’t erased by a joke; it’s revealed through it. That’s why the moment of dry mouth had to stay, to ground her nerves in physical reality.

Step 2 – Test the Neutral Line
“Mr Magyar’s out of town on business, I said, struggling past my dry mouth.”
Here, the humor hasn’t arrived yet. The line does the job but too flat. It doesn’t capture Kate’s resilience or spirit.

Step 3 – Add Texture Through Metaphor
“Mr Magyar’s out of town on business, I managed, my mouth dry as a reed.”
The reed simile makes the fear more tangible and a bit more lyrical. It keeps dignity intact while preparing the ground for humor to enter without feeling forced.

Step 4 – Experiment With Bolder Humor
“Mr Magyar’s out of town on business, I managed, my mouth dry as a reed. But if you’ve come to borrow a scythe or accuse someone of witchcraft, I’m afraid I’m the only one home.”
This version leans into irony and exaggeration. It certainly shows wit but it also risks tipping into comic relief. For the weight of the scene, this felt a step too far.

Step 5 – Refine to Deadpan Wit
“Mr Magyar’s out of town on business, I managed, my mouth dry as a reed. Unless this is about a goat, a fever, or a curse, I suggest you try again tomorrow.”
Here, humor arrives quietly, almost under her breath. It’s restrained, sarcastic, and culturally rooted (goats, curses, fevers, all things that belong in her world). The joke doesn’t undercut her fear; it sharpens it, showing us a woman who deflects danger with wit, not bravado.

2. How to Use Humor to Layer Emotion and Resilience (Fro Rivka and the Commission)

“Not the sinful kind, mind you—though it might save our souls and our supper.”

Sometimes humor isn’t about laughter at all, but about layering emotion. For Fro Rivka, sharp maternal sarcasm and wordplay soften the burden of survival. By turning a simple printing commission into a pun tinged with irony, she cloaks worry in wit, reminding us that humor can be as much about resilience as it is about comedy.

How I achieved this:

Step 1 – I Looked for the Functional Line
“‘Now that you’ve arrived,‘ she called out, the fabric of her skirts rustling, her voice carrying over the din. She moved with purpose, her lined eyes brimming with enthusiasm. ‘I’ve received word of a new commission – one that could secure our future for months to come.‘”
This is clean and straightforward. It carries urgency, but it doesn’t yet reflect Fro Rivka’s sharpness, nor her tendency to fold humor into survival talk.

Step 2 – Layering in Metaphor and Personality
“’Now that you’ve arrived, she called out,’ her skirts whispering secrets only seasoned linen knew, her voice carrying over the din. She moved with purpose, her lined eyes brimming with enthusiasm usually reserved for feast days and scandal. ‘I’ve received word of a new commission; not the sinful kind, mind you, though it might save some souls and our supper for the next three months.‘”
Here, the humor emerges through metaphor (linen with secrets, feast days and scandal). The small joke about ‘not the sinful kind’ adds irony, hinting that Fro Rivka uses wordplay as lightly as she breathes.

Step 3 – Introduce Wordplay With a Double Entendre
The word commission carried playful potential. It could mean moral failing, a paid job, or even religious reform. It was actually the printing of Catholic church indulgences, coupons that, exchanged for money, offered remission of temporal punishment for sins.

That ambiguity let me stretch the humor. By twisting it, Fro Rivka could acknowledge hardship while softening it with wit.

Step 4 – Refine With Pun and Tone
“’Now that you’ve arrived,’ she called out, her skirts whispering secrets only seasoned linen knew, her voice rising above the din like a town crier with a flair for drama. She moved with purpose, her lined eyes brimming with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for feast days and scandal. ‘I’ve received word of a new commission—not the sinful kind, mind you, though it might save our souls and our supper for the next three months.‘”

Here, humor works on multiple levels: the pun on ‘commission,’ the maternal sarcasm of ‘not the sinful kind,’ and the oxymoronic pairing of ‘souls and supper.’ This line keeps her urgency intact while allowing wit to mask tenderness and worry.

3. How to Use Humor to Blend Affection, Identity, and Survival (Esther and Moise)

“He looks like a rabbi who got lost in a library and came out the chimney!”

Jewish humor, very much like the Romanian (remember I was born and lived in Romania for more than half my life), with its blend of self-deprecation, exaggeration and affection, has always been a cultural lifeline.

In Esther’s exasperated words about Moise, worry becomes bearable through wit. Her joke is not disrespect but love disguised as irony. It’s a reminder of how humor helps people endure hardship while holding fast to identity and dignity.

The steps I followed:

Step 1 – The Initial Neutral Line
“Esther’s gaze flicked to Moise, worry etched across her face. ‘But look at him,’ she said, pointing at Moise’s appearance. Iancu couldn’t cover a smile. If there was a Jew looking more like one, then that was Moise.”
The line is clear, but the humor here feels external, almost at Moise’s expense and I thought it risks sounding like a stereotype rather than wit grounded in cultural authenticity.

Step 2 – Preserve Emotion, Add Subtle Humor
“Esther’s gaze darted to Moise. Her worry was plain, etched deep into every line of her face. ‘But look at him,’ she said, pointing helplessly at Moise’s dusty, unmistakable appearance.”
This version keeps her concern visible, but it doesn’t yet carry the spark of humor Moise keeps his head in books) that reflects her cultural voice.

Step 3 – Introduce Cultural Humor Through Exaggeration (of course)
“‘But look at him,’ she said, throwing her hands up as if appealing to Heaven. ‘He looks like a rabbi who got lost in a library and came out the chimney!’”
Here, the humor is layered in exaggeration: a rabbi so buried in books that he emerges covered in soot. This has the flavor of Jewish humor: self-deprecating, affectionate, rooted in learning and faith, and blending worry with comic imagery. But I feared it’s too much.

Step 4 – Offer Another Flavor, Using Wordplay
“‘But look at him,’ she said, gesturing helplessly at Moise’s dust-caked robes and wild hair. ‘He’s one scroll short of becoming a walking synagogue!’”
This line leans into witty wordplay, using the scroll as both sacred object and comic metaphor. It’s sharper, with more bite, but still affectionate. It reveals both Esther’s exasperation and her love—the humor masks worry, not cruelty.

Why This Works as Jewish Humor (and is so similar to the Romanian humour)

• Affectionate Exaggeration: Jewish humor often exaggerates flaws without malice, transforming worry into wit. Esther isn’t mocking Moise, she’s processing her fear through humor.
• Self-Deprecation: Rather than laughing at outsiders, the joke is internal, it comes from within the community, making it warm and inclusive.
• Blending Sacred and Everyday: Rabbis, scrolls, synagogues, these sacred symbols are used with comic intimacy. It’s not disrespectful; it reflects how humor has always helped Jewish communities live with reverence and resilience side by side.
• Respect Beneath the Jest: The line acknowledges Moise’s identity while softening the tension. Esther’s humor doesn’t erase her fear; it makes her humanity and his, more visible.

How Humor Bridges the Past and Present in Historical Fiction

Sometimes the sharpest truths don’t arrive with a sword, but with a smirk.

Humor in historical fiction is never just “comic relief.” It is resistance, empathy and it builds a bridge across time. The Spartans, when threatened by Philip of Macedon, famously replied with a single word: “If.” That dry wit was more than bravado. It was defiance sharpened into language. Hilary Mantel, too, reminded us how praise, even undeserved, could be humor used as survival.

In When Secrets Bloom, humor carries the same weight. Whether through Kate’s sarcasm, Fro Rivka’s punning resilience, or Esther’s affectionate exaggeration, it becomes a way to endure. These moments of wit don’t lighten the past so much as they illuminate it, showing us that laughter was often as necessary to survival as bread.

Because, sometimes, the sharpest truths in historical fiction arrive not with a sword, but with a smirk.