"Academic historians write academic papers"
Laargely for other academics - a totally incestuous exercise
Take six histories on one subject and you are quite likely to arrieve at twice that many conclusions.
History is a balance of facts and analysis - quite often, when the facts correspond their analyses clash a major interest of mine is the political history of the late 19th/20th century of Europe
I am now on my (at least - lost count) 20th major work on the left movements of the early twentieth century
All contain valuable information, few agree overall
In the end, you make up your mind base on the sum total of all, plus your own understanding, on both factual and philosophical understanding of the subject
Unless you come into these subjects at 'Ladybird Books' level, that is what you need to do.
For 150 years, the history of the Irish Famine lay dormant, for political/social reasons
Since the 150th anniversary in 1995, the subject has blossomed, and continues to do so.
Governments and institutions protect themselves by setting time limits to which they can legally restrict public access to certain information
Without naming names (for fear of closing this thread), despite that time now being long expired, one Government has not so long ago recalled a large number of documents regarding a major historical political figure
No historian is free of such restrictions
There is an aura of supposed unbiased purity surrounding formal historians which needs bursting
All historians come to their subjects burdened by often deliberate misinformation and prejudices of their own and past generations, just like Sinbad was burdened by The Old Man of the Sea
Like Sinbad, they need to rid themselves of that burden if they are going to make sense of their subjects
In this respect, formal history is no more reliable than is folk history (in many ways, probably less, as folk history is subject to no restrictions
Jim Carroll

PS
A favourite passage of mine describing the function of History - From James Stephens's Irish Faairy Stories (1920)
Once, as they rested in a chase, a debate arose among the Fianna as to what was the finest music in the world.
‘Tell us that’ said Finn, turning to Oisin.
‘The cuckoo calling from the tree that is highest in the hedge,’ cried his merry son.
‘A good sound’, said Finn. ‘And you, Oscar,’ he asked, what is to your mind the finest of music?’
‘The top of music is the ring: of a spear on a shield’, cried the stout lad.
‘It is a good sound’, said Finn.
And the other champions told their delight the belling of a stag across water, the baying of a tuneful pack heard in the distance, the song of a lark, the laughter of a gleeful girl, or the whisper of a moved one.
‘They are good sounds all,’ said Finn.
‘Tell us, chief,’ one ventured, ‘what do you think’.
‘The music of what happens,’ said great Finn, ‘that is the finest music in the world’.