PHOTO: Mario Escobar, photographed by Beata Praska, blends history and humanity in stories that transcend borders.
Uncovering Forgotten Heroes and the Human Heart in Times of Darkness
Mario Escobar discusses his passion for historical fiction, the emotional truth behind his novels, and the power of literature to heal and illuminate.
Mario Escobar is a storyteller whose pen bridges centuries, continents, and the aching depths of the human condition. A bestselling author and historian, Escobar has devoted his life to uncovering the silenced voices of history and breathing new life into them through fiction. With a profound understanding of the past and an unwavering belief in the resilience of the human spirit, he crafts narratives that both educate and inspire. In this compelling interview with Reader’s House Magazine, Escobar speaks of the sacred calling of literature, the hidden treasures of forgotten heroes, and the transformative power of empathy. From the horrors of Auschwitz to the quiet courage of unsung figures, his works are a testament to the light that endures even in history’s darkest hours.
Escobar’s storytelling brings forgotten histories to life with empathy, grace, and a voice that resonates across cultures and generations.
What initially drew you to explore historical themes, particularly the Inquisition, the Protestant Reformation, and sectarian groups?
Since my earliest years, I have been enthralled by history and literature. History unveiled the intricate tapestry of human passions and the often-concealed forces that drive us; literature, on the other hand, invited me to inhabit the lives of others and to experience, with tenderness and awe, the fullness of their joys and sorrows. In truth, history is but a grand theatre: the backdrop shifts, costumes change, customs evolve—but the human drama remains timeless and eternal.
The Reformation, in particular, captivated me because it heralded the birth of humanism, the awakening of conscience, and the dawning of maturity for mankind. Protestantism tore away the veils of childhood and cast the soul into the light of reason and responsibility, though the passage was steep and dearly paid for.
“History is but a grand theatre: the backdrop shifts, costumes change, customs evolve—but the human drama remains timeless and eternal.”- Mario Escobar
Your novels often focus on lesser-known historical figures and events. How do you decide which stories to bring to life?
I often feel that I do not seek out stories—rather, they find me. Auschwitz Lullaby and the tale of Helene Hannemann came to me during a conversation with the president of an association dedicated to preserving the memory of the Roma genocide under the Nazis. He recounted Helene’s extraordinary courage, and I knew at once it was a story that demanded to be told.
In the case of Children of the Yellow Star, it was a journey to France that led me to the luminous life of André Trocmé. I am convinced that stories wait in silence, like forgotten treasures, yearning for the right soul to unearth and give them voice.
Auschwitz Lullaby is based on true events. How do you balance historical accuracy with creative storytelling in your novels?
As a historian and professor, I hold truth in the highest regard. But to novelize a story is to clothe truth in flesh, bone, and breath. It is to bring warmth and movement to the stillness of memory. My aim is always fidelity—verisimilitude not only to facts but to the spirit of those who lived them.
In the end, I believe Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar feels more real to us than the historical figure himself. That is the alchemy of art: it grants the past a heartbeat.
In The Librarian of Saint-Malo, books and literature play a powerful role in resistance. What do you think is the role of literature in times of conflict?
Literature is a sacred balm against darkness. It warns us of the storms ahead, fosters empathy for the other, and heals the silent wounds within. Wherever tyranny takes root, the first to fall under suspicion are always the writers, the poets, and the keepers of books—because words, well-wielded, can unravel empires.
Books are not merely ink and paper; they are the conscience of humanity.
Your books have been translated into multiple languages. How does it feel to have your stories reach audiences worldwide, and do you find that cultural perspectives influence how your work is received?
It is nothing short of miraculous—a grace I never cease to marvel at. Becoming a writer, and living by the word, was once a distant dream. When my books began to speak in tongues as diverse as Chinese, Japanese, Indonesian, and English, I felt as though the world itself had opened its arms to me.
What allows a story to traverse oceans and continents is not plot, nor setting, but the universal language of emotion. When we write from the heart, we speak to all hearts.
Many of your works deal with war and human resilience. What do you hope readers take away from these powerful narratives?
That ordinary people are the quiet architects of salvation. That we do not need thrones or titles to change the world. To save a single life is to cradle the whole of humanity in our hands.
In these times, we are forgetting this sacred truth—we are unlearning what it means to be human. My books strive to restore the infinite worth of every soul and to proclaim, again and again, that love is the final answer to evil.
We are each a unique spark, and when we kindle the flame of compassion, we illuminate the darkness for others.
You have written both fiction and non-fiction. How does your approach differ when writing a novel versus a historical essay or biography?
When I write non-fiction, I speak to the mind; when I write fiction, I whisper to the heart. We like to imagine ourselves as rational beings, but it is emotion that shapes our choices and carves the paths we follow.
I take great joy in writing biographies—they offer clarity and precision. But fiction allows us to walk in another’s skin, to feel the ache of their footsteps, the beat of their fears and hopes.
Through my novels, I explore the transformative power of forgiveness. What greater miracle is there than to love those who have wounded us?
What advice would you give to aspiring historical fiction authors who want to write compelling and well-researched stories?
Do not rush the telling. Before the pen touches paper, immerse yourself. Read deeply. Breathe the dust of the past. Let the era seep into your skin.
Craft your plot with care, let your characters bear the full weight of their time, and above all, seek to touch the reader’s heart.
Dickens moved an entire society to compassion with his words. That is the power of the novel—to awaken, to stir, to transform.
Build, as Balzac would say, a grand canvas upon which the human drama unfolds in all its radiance and sorrow.
Stephen King once said that writing is human, but revision—that is divine.
I believe the world hungers for stories that speak of what truly makes us human: love, friendship, sacrifice, courage, surrender, and the quiet but invincible triumph of truth.
That is the sacred purpose I pursue with every book I write.
