It might be the clothes (the Directoire fashions pulled me right into that corrupt but pretty period for about two years). It might be the architecture (Napoleon certainly gets me that way with his beautiful bridges and I am quite sure my writing about Nell Gwyn can be laid on Christopher Wren's beautiful stone doorstep).
The love of the clothes and music and architecture run into the literature and vice-versa. I get addicted. Between the wars poetry gave me an undue love for totally impractical 1930's hats. On any given day I can get lured into the look, sound, feel, color and noise of any given time. And then I want to move there, write there, live there and read there. I choose books to read by the cover certainly (I know terrible but I can't help it), but I also choose them for the period. There are days that are perfect for turn of the century New York and then there are days that are just built for Left Bank Paris. Strange. I have no real idea why.
I finished my book yesterday and went hunting for another. I tried out different times and places and settled on Revolutionary France and Bombay circa now. Funny but it was just that kind of Tuesday.