Against this background, a few weeks ago I read Julian Barnes’ The Sense of An Ending  and it is still so much with me and has had me talking and thinking about it like a raving fan – one book I know I will not forget.

This was my first novel by Barnes, which I bought because it won the 2011 Man Booker prize and I always feel the winning novel must be worth a read.  (Last year’s winner was Wolf Hall, by Hillary Mantel).  And I’m glad I did – this short and simple yet elegantly crafted novel has captured and held me long behind the last page. This must-read might be one of my favorite novels of the past decade.  I’ve thought about it over and over in the last weeks since I read it, and I will certainly re-read it.

Barnes’ chief protagonist Tony Webster is a middle-aged man who has lived a very average sort of life and is quite content to look more forwards than backwards, accepting his lot.  That is, until a death bequest from someone he thought he barely knew rips open his past, sending him back to feelings and misgiving from his halcyon teenage years with his first “real’ girlfriend.  It turns out nothing is as he thought (no I won’t spoil it for you.)

Reading award-winning literary fiction is, sometimes, frankly above me.  [Case in point – last year I read A.S. Byatt’s The Children’s Book and came away feeling “meh” – and that I was probably not clever, or well-read enough to understand all the literary allusions in it.] Not so with The Sense of an Ending, which was so well done and of such emotional depth that it evoked a wave of introspection about endings and misgivings from my own college days and about how as Barnes protagonist Tony says “what you end up remembering isn’t always the same as what you have witnessed.”  Ain’t that the truth.

Read it, come back and tell me if you enjoyed it as much as I did.

Related articles

• The Sense of an Ending by Julian Barnes (crazygoangirl.wordpress.com)
• The Sense of an Ending by Julian Barnes (aimlesswithpurpose.wordpress.com)
• Book Review: The Sense of an Ending by Julian Barnes (blogcritics.org)
• Julian Barnes reviews The Iron Lady (3quarksdaily.com)

Whispers in the Sand by Barbara Erskine

Someday, I hope to cruise the Nile and visit the sights of ancient Egypt, following a similar route that Barbara Erskine’s characters travel in Whispers in the Sands, a time-slip historical fiction novel that weaves the majesty and mystery of ancient Egypt that connects the lives of two women, Anna Fox and her great-grandmother Louisa, through a cursed glass bottle from a Pharaoh’s tomb.  In Anhotep and Hatsek, the priests whose spirits inhabit the glass bottle, Erskine invokes the legends of old Egypt, who wreak havoc on the lives of Louisa and Anna.

Despite the 150 years that separates their stories, Anna and Louisa share common traits and tribulations.  Both women seek escape in Egypt after the end of their marriages; both have artistic talents – photographer and painter respectively, that find an outlet in the vistas of ancient Egypt.

Anna’s 21^st Century journey follows the same route Louisa took by steamer ship, recounted in a diary, which recounts Louisa’s journey and the mysterious events that occur.  Both women meet a rich cast of fellow travelers from rogues, harridans, mystics, and of course, romantic interests.   Erskine has done her research well—describing beautifully the 19^th century modes of travel, fashion and customs—both English and Egyptian.

The reader feels the heat of the sun and the pace of life in a foreign (in this case non-English) climate – you can tell that Erskine has been to Egypt. She writes with all five senses—the heat of the desert, the sights and sounds of life of the river cruising to Aswan, the smells and tastes of local food.  Above all, you feel her respect for the temples as holy places, inhabited by spirits of the ancient Pharaohs and those who served them.

I really enjoyed this book—though I was less comfortable with Anna’s character arc.  Her journey felt less complete, less transformational, than that of her great-grandmother Louisa.   Erskine deliberately (so deliberately she writes a note to say so) leaves you hanging at the end.  I wish she had given me something more concrete—though perhaps I get to imagine the ending I want for Anna.

I have four dog-eared books by Barbara Erskine, much-loved, read and re-read.  Erskine, who writes paranormal historical fiction, has never disappointed me.  Lady of Hay, her first book, now celebrating its 25^th year in print is still my favorite, followed closely by Kingdom of Shadows and Child of the Phoenix.   For those who want more on ancient Egypt, the Ramses series by French author Christian Jacq is compelling, stay-up-all night reading.

Related articles

• Book Review – Whispers In The Sand by Barbara Erskine (quirkygurl.com)

The Princess de Montpensier in French with English subtitles

Not to proselytize for Netflix, but they have refined their film categories to include excellent sub-categories for “Period Pieces” and “Royalty,” to the delight of this History Lady.  First up under “Royalty” queue was “Le Princesse de Montpensier,” a story about love and jealousy set in civil war-ridden France in 1567.

Against the background of religious wars is the story of French noblewoman Marie de Mezieres. Marie is infatuated with her cousin, Henri, Duc de Guise yet is given in an arranged marriage to Philippe, Prince de Montpensier.  At first she is reconciled to the marriage and settles into life in rural France where she is tutored by Philippe’s old teacher – Francois, Count de Chabannes – learning to read, write and studying philosophy.  In the process, Chabannes develops an unrequited love her.

Philippe returns from the war, she tries to make him happy, but he’s a jealous sort and when the Duc de Anjou visits with her former beau Henri de Guise in tow, his flirtatious behavior sets Philippe into a rage. The more Philippe’s jealousy grows, the more Marie succumbs to Henri’s amorous attentions. Henri’s a soldier, most comfortable when he is battling for something – in this case her affections in a rivalry between Philippe, himself and the Duc de Anjou. Marie, condemned by her husband as a flirt, fancies herself in love with Henri and imagines a future with him.

In a film where everyone desires her, no one really loves her except Chabannes – who loves her enough to want to see her happy with someone else. He  helps her spend a night with Henri before she’s sent back to the country in disgrace – and earns himself dismissal from the Montpensier household.  He rides away, and is later killed in a massacre of Huguenots, but has left a letter for Marie, warning her of Henri’s vacuuousness.  She does not listen and leaves her husband, hoping Henri will ditch his fiancé for her.  But he does not, Henri is exactly who Chabannes said he was.

Marie ends up without a lover, a husband or an admirer, having given up on love.  It is not clear if she’s given it all up and will turn to learning, or religion, but in the last scene she realizes that Chabannes love was the truest of them all.  I struggled with the ending, wanting more for Marie than exile and solitude.

What I love about French period films (Seraphine, Tous les Matins du Monde and La Reine Margot are some of my favorites) is their pace – it is slower and more thoughtful than many US—or even UK—dramas, allowing a respite from action to consider the character’s inner conflict.

This film has incredibly beautiful costumes and set design – authentic to the period, and the location shoots are in exquisite country (no CGI here!).  The acting is overall very good–except for the role of Philippe.  Coupled with a nice glass or two of Merlot, it’s a good evening’s entertainment.

“Le Princess de Montpensier”

• Director: Bertrand Tavernier
• Stars: Mélanie Thierry (Marie), Lambert Wilson (Chabannes) and Grégoire Leprince-Ringuet (Philippe), Gaspard Ulliel (Henri) and Raphaël Personnaz (Duc de Anjou)

Related articles

• The Princess of Montpensier ~ (France, 2010) ~ Netflix Stream (chazzw.wordpress.com)
• Mark Kermode’s DVD round-up (guardian.co.uk)
• Heat stalks another Cannes hottie! (heatworld.com)
• A History of historical fiction (ihrconference.wordpress.com)
• IFFI to Honor French Director Bertrand Tavernier With Lifetime Achievement Award (ibtimes.com)

The Lady of the Rivers by Philippa Gregory

“The Lady of the Rivers” is Philippa Gregory’s third novel in her “Cousins War” series about the English Wars of the Roses. Through the eyes of Jacquetta of Luxembourg we experience the events leading up to the fall of the Red Rose (House of Lancaster, Henry VI and Margaret of Anjou)—and the rise of the White Rose (House of York, Edward IV).

Happily, I don’t know much about this period of history, so I read unencumbered by how much license Gregory might have taken, or not, with historical facts.   Moreover, I understand few historians have researched Jacquetta, so this was an opportunity to create exciting fiction around real historical events.  Sadly for me, because I am a Philippa Gregory fan, this book lacked the excitement I expected.

The novel begins in France with the capture and immolation of Joan of Arc, whom Jacquetta has befriended while Joan awaits sentencing.  Joan is used to introduce the gift of Sight and scrying talents Jacquetta inherited from her water-goddess ancestor Melusina, and serves as a warning that no good comes to those who hear voices or see into the future.

In Gregory’s first novel in the trilogy, “The White Queen” she introduced Melusina, the water goddess, much to my annoyance because I just did not see the need for it and I felt it took away from the plot,  even though both the Jacquetta and her daughter Elizabeth (the White Queen) are supposedly descended from said mythical woman.   In “The Lady of the Rivers” I made peace with Melusina and her mystical water goddess powers—only because I decided Jacquetta’s superstitions and beliefs were reasonable in context of the 15th Century.  But just as I got comfortable and acclimated to it, Jacquetta became uncomfortable with her gift and this discomfort somehow made the gift, the witchcraft, the alchemy–all things I’d love to read more about–less compelling.

Jacquetta’s marriage to the Duke of Bedford, uncle to King Henry VI, brings her to the England.  Upon the Duke’s death, she marries for love, to his squire Richard Woodville.  They spend much of the book apart with Richard engaged in defense of Lancaster in Calais.  He comes home from war, she gets pregnant, he leaves…comes home when baby is born, gets her pregnant again…in sum, once they marry, the entire relationship loses its dramatic tension and this great love that she married “beneath her station” for feels matter-of-fact.

This period of history is full of rebellion, lies, betrayals and good old-fashioned skullduggery, to which Jacquetta bears witness as the BFF of Henry VI’s increasingly war-hungry wife, Margaret of Anjou.  Jacquetta trails Margaret up and down England as the two factions – York and Lancaster – square off, primarily at Margaret’s instigation.  Margaret is driven by love of the Beauforts and especially Edmund Beaufort—and schemes right down to foisting her lover’s child on Henry VI as his heir, or so the book implies.  I’m not sure why it merely implies, but there you have it. Anyway, Jacquetta was not horrified enough for me.

I did not fully buy into the friendship between the two women.  Jacquetta was loyal, but I did not feel she held real affection for Margaret until Jacquetta said so at the end of the novel.   Margaret, on the other hand, definitely thought she had a friend.

In fact, I understood Margaret of Anjou better than I did Jacquetta.  Margaret’s character arc is much more pronounced – you see her transition from a simple bride to a hard-headed, unyielding ruler who in refusing to include the Yorkist faction in governing the realm, loses it altogether and plunges England into wars lasting two generations.  Margaret was fierce, decisive, and honest in her loves and hates. Jacquetta was a woman in love and standing by her family in the beginning of the novel and in the end – she did not evolve much.

I’ve read nearly everything Philippa Gregory has written—and have ten of her novels on my bookshelf as I write.  I did not care for the Wideacre Trilogy recurring incest theme.   I loved the “The Other Boleyn Girl,” “The Queen’s Fool”, “The Boleyn Inheritance” and “The Constant Princess” yet have been so-so about everything since “The Other Queen.”  As I think about why, it is likely because the Tudor novels were a fresh take on well-known historical figures—interesting perspectives, plausible plot lines, even if historically inaccurate.  The “Cousins War” series goes into less charted territory, but is more straightforward with it.   I like my Gregory novels with a bit more of the unexpected, which I hope I’ll see when I buy the 11th one. Philippa I have not given up on you!

Related articles

• The one about Joan of Arc, the Virgin and the Unicorn… (misfitandmom.wordpress.com)
• Best Selling Author of The Other Boleyn Girl, Philippa Gregory – Live – discusses ‘Goddesses, Witches & Queens: Looking for the Real Women in History’ (prweb.com)
• The Lady of the Rivers by Philippa Gregory + The Women Of The Cousins’ War (booktopia.com.au)
• Lady of the Rivers – Review (knittingskeet.wordpress.com)
• Truth, lies and historical fiction; How far can an author go? (theglobeandmail.com)

Usually I commemorate Veteran’s Day by posting on Facebook the poem “In Flanders Field” by John McCrae, (from “Some Corner of  a Foreign Field-Poetry of the Great War“) but instead I’ve linked to it.  Today, I think in particular of Louie Zamperini, who is 93-years-old, a veteran of WWII and the subject of the most beautiful, difficult, wonderful biography I’ve read in a long time.  Louie, Happy Veteran’s Day—for all the horror you saw and endured—I hope there’s a beautiful day ahead for you.  I hope veterans of our current wars can find peace as you did. 

The title says it all: Unbroken: A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience, and Redemption. Many, many others have reviewed this book, notably the NY Times—where the book reached no. 3 on the best seller list–and countless bloggers.  I suppose their reviews compelled me to buy and read it—and I’d encourage you to do the same.  It is quite simply the most moving story I’ve ever read about the human spirit and triumph over adversity. I defy you to read this amazing true story and not weep buckets.

In Unbroken, author Laura Hillenbrand picks up the themes of perseverance and triumph against adversity that were prominent in her first book, “Seabiscuit.” This time, she  recounts the extraordinary true life of Louie Zamperini, American track star, Olympian, WWII bombardier, and prisoner of war.  Hillenbrand writes with precision and clarity—there is no overblown prose, no emotionally charged adjectives.  They are not needed—this is sharp story-telling that grabs you and keeps you turning the pages in horror, in hope and finally in joy.

Louie Zamperini was a bit of a hooligan in his youth until he found his talent as a track star—eventually heading to the 1936 Munich Olympics.   Pre-WWII, Zamperini was considered to be the runner most likely to break the 4-minute mile.  But when the US entered the war following the Japanese bombing of Pearl Harbor in December 1941, Louis enlisted in the Army Air Corps and became a bombardier, flying in the Pacific theatre.

In May 1943, the B-24 Liberator carrying Louie crashed into the Pacific. Louie survived, and spent 47 days on a raft before landing on Wake Atoll—and being captured by the Japanese.  His time as a Japanese POW-singled out because of his former notoriety in the Olympics—is difficult and emotional reading.  Louie and his fellow POWs endured truly unspeakable torture.   And even though I knew from the start that Louie Zamperini would survive, I could not imagine in what kind of mental or physical state.  This is non-fiction that you wish was fiction, because the truth pushes the bounds of believability—both of what one human being will inflict upon another, and what a human being can endure.  Indeed, Louie copes post-war with flashbacks, trauma by turning to alcohol.

Olympian Louis Zamperini carrying the Olympic Torch

When Louie finds peace post-war, by forgiving his captors and torturers, that is when the tissues come out.   I cried the last third of the book.  But it is beautiful, and moving, and I cheered for Louie’s humanity and spirit.

As Louie’s story unfolds Hillenbrand includes fascinating research on the war in the Pacific, bombers statistics, POW facts—and this background gives the reader context understand both the enormous risks taken by bomber planes in WWII, and the widespread torture tactics, yet also how much more extreme Zamperini’s treatment was as a POW.  You realize how miraculous Louie’s survival from the bomber plane crash was, let alone his survival of the events that unfold.

Louie’s WWII story is not unique—hundreds, maybe thousands, of planes crashed into the Pacific.  Thousands of allied troops were captured by the Japanese and faced torture and hardship.  Louie’s return from the war, his alcoholism and PTSD were also not unique–they are widespread today.  What is unique is Louie’s high profile pre- and post-war and his ability to overcome tremendous adversity.  The miracle is that Louie survived to tell his story and speak for many who did not.

I love a good WWII story-though admittedly I’ve read less non-fiction than fiction (Charlotte Gray, Atonement, Sarah’s Key, among great historical fiction reads).  I also love WWII movies—”Bridge over the River Kwai,” “The Great Escape”, “The Eagle Has Landed,” “Guns Of Navaronne”…and I can watch endless episodes of  “Band of Brothers.” When Universal makes “Unbroken,” I’ll be first in line, Kleenex at the ready, for this epic story about the endurance of the human spirit and its capacity for forgiveness.

Related articles and reviews: 

• www.LouisZamperini.com
• Unbroken: Never Give Up on What God Can Do (richardburkey.wordpress.com)
• Unbroken (deborahbahr.wordpress.com)
• REVIEW: Unbroken (brilliantdisguisebooks.wordpress.com)
• Check Out: The Great Zamperini (heididecoste.wordpress.com)
• A Fool’s Takeaways on Life and Leadership With Louis Zamperini (fool.com)
• Another inspirational story: Jim Leonard of Wisconsin

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.

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

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!) 

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?

But Catherine was at best “plain” and descended from Medici merchants and not nobility, thus she spent much of her life denigrated as the “Italian.” She was the barely tolerated—albeit respected and ignored—wife of Henri II. More is made of her purported necromancy than of her diplomatic skills, which were formidable. Prior to reading this biography, I read Catherine de Medici’s story through the stories of others, chiefly Mary, Queen of Scots but also Nostradamus, and Diane de Poitiers—all more romanticized subjects. As a secondary character in historical fiction she is most often portrayed as an ugly, bitter, power-hungry woman who dabbled in the occult.

Frieda’s book gives a more measured account of Catherine, who swam in political waters all her life, first as a political collateral but later as a master of diplomatic and political intrigue. She portrays a deeply religious woman who heeded fortune-tellers, but dispels the witchcraft and necromancy associations.

Born 13 April 1519, Caterina Maria Romula de Medici was the daughter of Lorenzo II de Medici, Duke of Urbino and Madeleine de la Tour D’Auvergne, a French countess and heiress. Both parents died within days of her birth and her Medici relations brought up the orphaned Catherine. The Medici—famous for being Papal bankers, a formidable political dynasty and patrons of the arts—were not nobles by birth and this led to sneers and smears Catherine experienced later in life at the hands of caste-conscious French courtiers.

Catherine’s early upbringing was fraught with uncertainty and danger. She was often caught in the crossfire of French and Spanish expansionist strategies into the Italian states, and the political machinations of her Uncles, Medici Popes Leo X and Clement VII. During the siege of Rome in 1527 that sent Pope Clement VII into hiding at the Castel San Angelo, Catherine (age eight) was essentially incarcerated in a convent. Her life was in danger on several occasions.

Her fortunes rose once Pope Clement was free. He negotiated for her marriage to Henri, the son of the French King Francis I. But they were no sooner wed than Clement died, leaving her dowry only partly paid. Moreover, she was proving unable to secure the succession and give Henri with a child, her primary purpose. She did survive a move to have her marriage annulled (and eventually had 10 children), but always took second place to her husband’s mistress, the reputedly beautiful Diane de Poitiers. On Henri II’s death, one of her first moves was to take back the jewels Henri had given Diane and exile her from Court.

From Henri’s death on Catherine flexes her political muscle, managing the contentious Montmorency and Guise factions at the French Court. Frieda is a perhaps kinder to Catherine than many historians, suggesting that her role in France’s wars of religion and in particular the St. Bartholomew’s Day Massacre, was one of attempted compromise. However, Catherine was a student of Machiavelli, and her actions are more consistent with his theories of power politics—including the use brute force as required.

Catherine presided over the French Court as Queen and Dowager Queen for five reigns spanning forty-odd years, dying in 1589 with the awareness that the dynasty she worked so hard to build was crumbling under the continued religious battles and poor decisions of her last son, Henri III.

Her story is a fascinating one of a woman who is first a pawn in political games, and went on to become the mastermind behind many. Patience was her virtue. She watched, learned—one could say at the foot of several masters of political intrigue—and when her day arrived, she was ready to rule. Whether you fully agree with Frieda’s portrait or not, this is an excellent biography that separates the fact from the fictions and myths that have perpetuated about this Queen, a Great Catherine.