Bestselling historian Ross King delves into the brilliant but troubled mind of Claude Monet in his book Mad Enchantment. Winner of the 2017 RBC Taylor Prize, the book tells the fascinating story behind Monet's famous water lily paintings.

Below, Ross King answers eight questions submitted by eight of his fellow writers in the CBC Books Magic 8 Q&A.

On the most mundane level, I've learned through painful experience to keep my bibliography updated and my footnotes in good order. More upliftingly, I've learned that many consecutive days of writer's block will always eventually reverse themselves, so nil desperandum.

Of course it does. And not only the novel, I would argue, but all books — historical nonfiction (ahem!) included. At the very least, books retain the job they've always had, which is to inform, amuse, provoke and enlighten. In these post-truth days of "alternative facts," well-researched, fact-checked books on politics, culture and history are more important than ever.

I would be intrigued. I like to think my books have their comic moments. There's even the occasional musical interlude: Claude Monet used to sing the "Toreador Song" from Carmen at his easel when his work was going well. Leonardo da Vinci was a brilliant musician who designed stringed instruments. He was also a prolific and creative practical joker, as was Filippo Brunelleschi. Nonetheless, it would be a tough brief for someone to turn them into Broadway stars. But then Ron Chernow probably thought the same about his own work. So I live in hope.

Yes, I would trust both the publisher and the translator. I've been lucky enough to meet some of my translators and they're incredibly professional, committed and capable. If the book became a huge success, it might even inspire me to learn the language.

None at all. I hope no writer today succumbs to that kind of pressure. Toeing the totalitarian line does not make for good art.

Leonardo da Vinci. Who wouldn't want to sit down with him, tête à tête? When I wrote a book on him a few years ago, I was continually hungry for more information. He was such an elusive character, deliberately keeping parts of himself concealed from what he knew would be the prying eyes of posterity. It would be wonderful to win his confidence and crack that carapace of mystery.

My favourite stage is when I first sit down with my editor, George Gibson, after he reads the manuscript for the first time. We then talk about the book as a whole, in general terms, the way that two friends might discuss a book written by a third party, looking at the pros and cons. I suppose my favourite type of conversation would be when and if he said: "This is fantastic, Ross, the best thing you've ever written!" But more often we try to identify the defects, which, frankly, is much more useful.

I've thought about this question because one of my books, The Judgment of Paris, is about contemporaneous fame versus obscurity in the hereafter. But maybe it's not such a tough call. "Relative comfort" certainly sounds better than "miserable and destitute" — although I wish the question had contained the words "fabulously wealthy and universally acclaimed," which would make the choice a bit easier.