“Anonymous” Suspends Belief

Edward De Vere, 17th Earl of Oxford

Before I went to see Roland Emmerich‘s “Anonymous” I did a bit of research on the film’s premise, which is that Edward de Vere, 17th Earl of Oxford was the author of Shakespeare’s plays.  Indeed, there exists a whole De Vere  Society going back some 200 years whose members believe Shakespeare was a fake, apparently Shakespearean actor Kenneth Branagh among them.  Who really knows?  Feeling comfortable about the movie’s premise—from an historically plausible sense, off I went this afternoon, on my own (because some people who I’ll refrain from mentioning refused to join me based on the NY Times movie review).   The NYT called the film “a vulgar prank on the English literary tradition, a travesty of British history and a brutal insult to the human imagination.”  I won’t go that far, but I did start muttering “what tosh” not far into the film.

On many levels, the movie is excellent theatre. I expect to see Academy Award nominations for set, costume design, and make-up, most of which was extremely accurate to the period.  The acting was very good—Rhys Ifans stands out as De Vere and erased from my memory (almost, some things are too funny to forget) his tour de force performance in “Notting Hill” as the goofy Welsh roommate.  I enjoyed both Redgraves, Vanessa and daughter Joely Richardson, as Elizabeth I, and I got a kick out of Shakespeare’s cockney accent and slang (which, given he was from Stratford-upon-Avon he would not have had, but details!).  David Thewlis makes an excellent William Cecil.  Jamie Campbell Bower does a creditable job as the young De Vere—much better than his work in the mini-series “Camelot.” But why was the most excellent Shakespearean actor Derek Jacobi given a bit part?  I’ve seen Jacobi as Richard III (front row seat, she bragged) and having him introduce the film and disappear until the end was a giant tease.

Then there’s the plot—ah, there’s the rub.  Let me first say something nice.  What writer Christopher Orloff did well, and which I have not seen in other historical films, was to set up the Cecils pere et fils (William, Lord Burghley and Robert) as the villains of the piece, pursuing fanatical Puritanism at the expense of arts and culture.  Knowing something of how William Cecil plotted the downfall of Mary, Queen of Scots, I could buy this.  The film also did a nice job of portraying the real animosity that existed between Robert Cecil and the Earls of Essex and Oxford.  Orloff ‘s Cecils are master playwrights, and everyone, even Queen Elizabeth, are merely actors on the stage that is England.

Much of it was historically accurate.  Most of Edward De Vere’s life—including  killing a member of Burghley’s household–was true, as was De Vere’s estrangement from his wife.  Essex’s rebellion was fairly accurate, though the role of the play in his downfall—which was actually Richard II not Richard III—was overstated.

If they’d only sailed closer to historical winds of fact, this would have been a great film, especially for 16th C history aficionados. But, Orloff took some, er, creative license, that had me squirming in my seat through much of the movie.  The Earl of Essex AND the Earl of Southampton were Elizabeth’s children—Southampton her child by the Earl of Oxford, who was ALSO Elizabeth son.  Now, I’m sorry, but I could take one fictionalized bastard of Elizabeth I—many a good historical fiction novel was published about the rumor she had a child.  But three, and one the product of incest? This is where belief is suspended and fantasy fiction takes over. Elizabeth might as well have been a shape-shifter or a werewolf.  I do hate it when facts are flung out the window, because so many people will watch the film and believe Elizabeth did have multiple children and an incestuous relationship.  Hollywood. *Sigh*

I did enjoy the movie, although if it had stuck to its premise and worked a bit harder to be believable, it could have been a great film.  Was De Vere the “real” Shakespeare?  If, after seeing the film, you’re curious to learn more, head to the De Vere Society. But if you think it is bunk, then here are a few NY Times articles (“Hollywood Dishonors the Bard” and  ”Wouldn’t It Be Cool if Shakespeare Wasn’t Shakespeare“) as grist for your mill.  In contrast, the UK’s Guardian review was much kinder.

Review: “Elizabeth I” by Margaret George is a Thoughtful Novel

Margaret George’s latest novel, Elizabeth I, is not a book that could have been conceived of, or written by, a young woman.  George’s insight and understanding of what it is to grow old (according to Wikipedia she is 68 years old) is what sets this novel, which focuses on the last thirty years of Elizabeth’s life, apart from the several hundred others about her (at least 50 of which are in print as I write) because you have to be aware of your own mortality to understand it enough to write about it.

The book opens with England facing invasion from the Spanish Armada.  The battle is inevitable, and Elizabeth is prepared.  This Elizabeth really is married to England, and you feel this throughout the novel. When Elizabeth narrates, the voice is regal.  Physically, she’s suffering through hot flashes, aching bones and is a bit forgetful, but she keeps the “show” alive—fantastical dresses, amazing jewels, and pageantry.  She’s wise—she’s the sum of life experiences about her legitimacy, scandalous affairs (Thomas Seymour, Robert Dudley), rebellion and Reformation and war with Spain.  She is old, burying her closest confidantes – Robert Dudley, Blanche Parry, William Cecil, Henry Carey, Francis Walsingham—and realizes she’s next.

Many authors paint Elizabeth as the vain, older woman who believed in a love affair with Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex, a much younger man—but George’s Elizabeth is smarter than that.  She sees Essex for the egotistical man he is, tolerates his foibles and failings, seeing him as harmless until it is nearly too late and he mounts a credible rebellion.

Because few authors have focused on the last years of Elizabeth’s reign, not many realize the challenges she faced at home and abroad.  She dealt with poverty and famine and continued religious strife between Catholics, Protestants and Puritans, rebellion from the Earl of Essex and of course, death.  Abroad, she faced down the might of Spain, quashed rebellion in Ireland, and founded colonies in Virginia.

So many books about Elizabeth revolve around the love story between her and Robert Dudley.  This is not that kind of novel—it is a thoughtful book, not a love story—unless you consider it a love story between Elizabeth and England.   And, though it took me a while to make up my mind, I like this Elizabeth who is more disciplined, less romantic than most portrayals.

The novel is narrated in two voices:  Elizabeth’s—regal, sometimes cynical, always shrewd; and the more earthy, sensual and desperately ambitious voice of her cousin, Lettice Knollys (granddaughter of Mary Boleyn).  Lettice is Elizabeth’s alter ego—she is the sum of choices Elizabeth did not make, i.e., to be a wife, mother and lover.   Her promiscuity stands in sharp contrast to Elizabeth’s virginity.  She looks like the Queen, only younger and still attractive enough to attract Elizabeth’s long-time love, Robert Dudley, and when the two marry Elizabeth banishes them from court, but Lettice craves reinstatement—missing the limelight and boisterous court life.  Lettice pins her hopes for reinstatement at Court on her beautiful, gifted but rash son Robert Devereaux, Earl of Essex.  Those hopes end with third husband and her son being executed.  I can’t say I liked Lettice very much, but as a foil, almost a doppelgänger to Elizabeth, her character is perfect.

I’ve now read most of Margaret George’s novels and this one ranks up there with The Autobiography of Henry VIII and Mary, Queen of Scotland and the Isles as a favorite.  I read this book twice, and liked it even more the second time, when I understood the plot and could follow the depth and nuances George brings to her characters. It is beautifully researched, evocatively written and a satisfying, thoughtful read.  Like Elizabeth, and George, I’m not getting any younger, and I appreciate a novel that celebrates the older woman and mighty Queen Elizabeth became.

Confession: It was this book that sent me to an e-reader (after I got my autographed hardcover copy from Margaret George). At 688 pages, it is a heavy read – I did not mind the length as much as the weight! When I heard George speak about the book at a reading she talked about how her editors always want her to write shorter novels, but she says she cannot seem to! Perhaps it is because she researches her subject so thoroughly that it is hard to leave anything on the cutting room floor.

Elizabeth I: A Novel by Margaret George was published in April 2011 by Viking

Review: “VIII” by H M Castor Is A Great Read

Much of Henry VIII’s notoriety revolves around his six wives and marital peccadilloes, and it is a refreshing change to find an author who takes the reader back to before Henry was king (when he was Hal, the “spare,” not the heir) as Harriet Castor does in the YA novel “VIII.”  Told in the first-person, the author puts the reader inside Hal’s head for his perspective on life, and we begin to understand the events that shaped him and how he grew from the most celebrated, handsome prince of his day to become grotesque, suspicious, villainous King Henry VIII.

The novel begins with Hal as a boy, fleeing into the Tower of London from The Pretender (not named, but presumably Perkin Warbeck, who claimed he was the son of the Edward IV, and thus the rightful King of England).  You forget—or at least I had—how much of Henry VII’s reign was spent subduing rebels, pretenders, and unifying a country divided after the 100 Year’s War.   Hal grapples with fears for his life and a desire for paternal recognition.  He copes by wrapping his beliefs in a scrap of prophecy, which says he’ll be King someday.  Yet his belief is balanced by a terrifying apparition—one that haunts him all his life—that augurs impending disaster and seems to feed and grow on Hal’s fears, insecurities and obsessions.

The reader comes to understand the overwhelming pull of Hal’s belief in his own destiny, a belief reinforced by events in his teenage years that pave the way to the crown, such as Prince Arthur’s death and Hal’s growing popularity and strength in the tiltyard.  Hal thinks he is a combination of Henry V and a knight of Camelot. He’ll become king, woo and win the Princess Catherine, conquer France and found a dynasty.  He’s got the bravado of a young lion: “I’ll show them all.”

When he becomes King, events unfold as expected.  Hal—now King Henry, anointed by God—wages military and political campaigns to conquer France that seem to bear fruit and  Catherine of Aragon is young and pregnant wit his heir.  But we all know how this ends for him: instead of a paving a glittering future he leaves a trail of death—his unborn sons, his wives, his friends and advisors.

Castor weaves a compelling portrait of how Hal the promising young Duke of York turned into the tyrannical Henry VIII.  It was written for the Young Adult audience, but like many YA novels, it will garner readers from all ages. It is a great read!

“VIII” by H. M. Castor was published in Oct 2011 by Templar in the UK–US publication date pending.  If you can’t wait,  order it via Amazon.co.uk  (I did!) 

The Other Boleyn Girl: Victim or Tramp? Review of Alison Weir’s “Mary Boleyn: The Great and Infamous Whore”

Mary Boleyn: The Mistress of Kings By Alison Weir

History has long maligned the other Boleyn girl—Mary—as the slightly slutty sister of Anne, infamous for attracting the amorous attentions of two Renaissance kings, but failing to hold the attention of either and failing to profit (jewels, castles, titles) from either liaison.

Was Mary Boleyn a tart, or a beautiful, well brought up young English girl who caught the eye of two powerful men who did not take “no” for an answer? Historian Alison Weir, in her latest book Mary Boleyn: The King’s Mistress  (UK: Mary Boleyn: The Great and Infamous Whore), concludes the latter is the more accurate historical representation.

Until Philippa Gregory’s historical fiction novel The Other Boleyn Girl propelled Mary into the forefront of the Tudor mania, she was an historical footnote—“Henry Rex Slept Here.” It is an accepted historical fact that Henry VIII had an affair with her, and that Francois I of France “had” her first.  Weir does not dispute these liaisons, but she examines the purported facts of Mary’s life and behavior and does her usual splendid job of separating fact from fiction, and dispelling historical myths—chief among them that Mary was, well, a bit of a goer.

Little is known of either Boleyn girl’s early life in Norfolk, primarily at Blickling Hall and later at Hever Castle in Kent.   Their education may have been better than most girls of the time, preparing them for a marriages that would elevate their family’s social standing.  Their father Thomas Boleyn, was rising rapidly at Court, and his status as Ambassador to France helped secure two coveted positions for his daughters in service to Mary Tudor, Henry VIII’s younger sister, on the eve of her marriage to Louis XII.  Mary was almost certainly the elder daughter, but Anne might have been the more academically “toward.”   This is consistent with history: Mary the beauty, Anne the brains.

Sometime in 1515, while serving Mary Tudor at the French Court, Mary was seduced by the “young, mighty and insatiable” King Francois I—who considered “whoring a daily sport on par with hunting.”  When, where or how she came to his attention is unknown–whatever Mary’s relations with Francois, they caused absolutely no comment at the time. There exist no contemporary diplomatic or court reports, or other records that discuss Mary, let alone behavior to give rise to the “great and infamous whore” comment that has dogged her reputation for 500 years.  This void of commentary is significant proof Weir says, of a quiet, insignificant interlude between Mary and Francois.   To have been a great whore in the licentious French court, Weir suggests Mary would have to have been remarkably dissolute, and as a lady-in-waiting to Mary Tudor, who held stricter English morals of the day, would have earned her rebuke, or dismissal—neither of which happened.  Weir does a stellar job of dissecting multiple statements made about Mary Tudor’s behavior and dismisses them based on facts.  In sum, there is just one historical source for the comment that Francois I “knew” Mary as a “whore” (as opposed to a formal mistress), and this source comes to light 20 years later—about the time Cromwell was orchestrating Anne Boleyn fall (for more on this read my earlier blog post)

So—Mary had what may have been a fling with Francois I, but she eventually returned to England and in February 1520 married William Carey, one of Henry VIII’s Gentlemen of the Privy Chamber.  Here again, history (especially TV and film) has maligned Carey as a man of no account.  William was a cousin and favorite of Henry VIII’s and an up-and-comer at Court, a member of the Privy Chamber.  He was a prestigious match as a rising star in Henry’s court, and must have been all Mary’s father Thomas Boleyn could have wanted to bolster his ambitions for elevating the Boleyns.   This match, Weir argues, would not have been possible if Mary had a tarnished reputation.

Sometime after her marriage—no later than 1522—while living at Court with William, Mary had an affair with Henry.  There are no historical references to when it started, how long it continued and when it ended.  Again, there are no in contemporary references to an affair, which suggests the affair was discreet—if not, it is surely a weapon, Weir argues, Queen Katherine would have used against Henry when trying to divorce her using the Leviticus defense (i.e., that he’d known his brother’s wife, a forbidden degree of affinity).  The only reason we can claim historical certainty about it is because Henry, in his eagerness to marry Anne in 1528, received a dispensation from Pope Clement to marry within anyone within the forbidden degrees of affinity and in 1533—the year Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn married (1 June 1533)— an Act of Parliament made it permissible to marry the sister of a discarded mistress.

Weir believes the affair ended in late 1523 or 1524 when Mary became pregnant—but was her child Henry’s or her husband’s?  I will not give a spoiler here, but it is fascinating reading. Mary had a tough time after William Carey died, and her family almost disowned her—and then really did disown her when she married a common man, soldier William Stafford.   You have to take heart that she lived a longer, probably happier, life than her siblings.

As my earlier blog attests, I’m a huge fan of Alison Weir’s biographies for the 360-degree view she takes of a subject and the times they lived in.  I could not wait to delve into this latest work—and it did not disappoint.  But am not sure I whole-heartedly come around to see Mary as the victim of the lust of two kings.  Perhaps Francois, but Henry as well?   I think there may have been more than coercion at play with Henry VIII.  While I don’t think Mary was a tramp, I am not totally convinced she was a victim either.

What do you think?

Letting the Sources Speak: A Review of Alison Weir’s “Lady in the Tower: The Fall of Anne Boleyn”

On 1 May 1536 Anne Boleyn and her husband Henry VIII attended the merry May Day jousts. At some point in the afternoon Henry got up and left. It was the last time Anne saw her husband–she died 19 days later, her abrupt fall still breathtaking even from a distance of 500 years.

Alison Weir’s magnificent biography focuses on the last month of Anne’s life and the events leading up to the charges of adultery and incest for which she was beheaded. Weir’s painstaking research is evident: the book examines every angle and cites source bias, credibility, and access to defend her analysis.

Weir first looks at how rocky was the marriage between Anne and Henry? Answer – quite rocky, given Henry’s sudden desire for an alliance with the Charles V, the Holy Roman Emperor; Anne’s recent miscarriage; Henry’s dalliance with Jane Seymour, among other factors. But it was not necessarily doomed—in fact, Henry and Anne had a trip to Calais planned for early May that was only cancelled one week before its scheduled date.

Second, Weir looks at the various accusations against Anne, for example that she was a witch, a whore, a harlot… and again debunks these characterizations. Anne was, however, unpopular with the people and increasingly at Court. In April 1536 she still had supporters at Court, although she had alienated many over the years—including her Uncle the powerful Duke of Norfolk and of course the gossipy Eustace Chapuys, the Spanish Ambassador and, fatally, Thomas Cromwell.

Third, who orchestrated Anne’s downfall? It is usually portrayed as something Henry was complicit in, yet Weir suggests Cromwell, at odds with Anne over religion, disbursement of the booty from the dissolution of the monasteries, orchestrated the events beginning in mid-April 1536, and did it so well that the Boleyn faction at court did not know what hit them. The coup itself was not planned until mid-April, which seems such a short time to prepare the “evidence.” Once initial findings were compiled, Henry VIII—sometime in the third week of April—asked for further investigation.

New light is cast on the other victims: Smeaton, Brereton, Weston, Norris and Anne’s brother, Lord Rochford. Each of these men had done something to upset Cromwell and his cronies. The reader comes to understand that there was rhyme and reason to the men who were selected as Anne’s co-adulterers, whose lifestyles made them easy targets for Cromwell.

Could Anne have been guilty? Weir also considers the deathbed confession from Bridget Wiltshire, Lady Wingfield may have been the first evidence that led to Anne’s downfall. In other words, Cromwell may have fabricated most, but there was perhaps a kernel of truth, enough to build upon.

Weir’s books are always compelling reading, because not only does she write clearly and engagingly, but she weighs the facts in evidence and consider the bias of multiple sources, and lets the sources speak. For example Spanish Ambassador Eustace Chapuys wrote reams of letters about “La Ana” or “The Lady” but he hated her. Weir assesses his reports to his master in light of his bias, and compares them with others. The result is a measured, thoughtful and well-written account of Anne Boleyn’s destruction. It is a must-read for any fan of the Tudors and their times.

“The Lady in the Tower: The Fall of Anne Boleyn” by Alison Weir (C) 2009 Random House.