Follow the link for sign-up and more information:
http://everythingtudor.com/bookblog/?p=2495
Follow the link for sign-up and more information:
http://everythingtudor.com/bookblog/?p=2495
“The Secret Lion” is in many ways an old-fashioned spy novel, complete with an intelligent but scrappy protagonist, shady pay-masters, and an overarching mystery. What distinguishes this book from the rest is that it is set in Tudor England, during the uncertain last months of the troubled reign of Edward VI. It is also written by C.W. Gortner, who has gone on to write two well-regarded historical novels on Catherine De’Medici and “Juana the Mad” of Spain.
I bought this book after being captivated by an excerpt I read on Google Books; the perspective of a lowly servant, Brendan Prescott, is a fascinating lens through which to view the powerful Tudor figures. I was also intrigued by the characterization of Elizabeth, which is definitely a strength of the story. However, the early promise I saw never materialized as the book sank deeper into improbable action story lines and disappointingly two-dimensional characterizations. By the time the final (in my opinion, ludicrous) plot twist was revealed, I found myself not caring much anymore.
This is not to say that “The Secret Lion” is a terrible book. It’s not. As I mentioned before, Gortner’s Princess Elizabeth rings true. Sir William Cecil and Francis Walsingham are portrayed as amoral guardians of Elizabeth; an interesting but compelling choice, especially for the former. Robert Dudley’s portrayal is over-the-top; he’s a borderline sociopath obsessed with Elizabeth. That being said, his narcissism and ambition are probably not that far-off from that of the historical Dudley. Frances Grey, mother of Lady Jane Grey, fares even less well. She is described as “monstrous” and given a completely unwarranted role as chief villain. Lady Dudley is for some reason portrayed as an evil matriarch type who in one scene murders an old woman. Frankly, this is ridiculous. The noble families of the Tudor age were ambitious, even cutthroat, but I don’t think these high-born ladies literally slit people’s throats.
All in all: a good read if you like suspense novels, but don’t read it if you expect historical accuracy.
Don’t be put off by the title: “Virgin and the Crab” refers in no way to some type of venereal disease. It in fact tells the story of two remarkable Renaissance figures; the young Elizabeth Tudor and John Dee, a brilliant mathematician and astrologer (among other things) who serves her. The title refers to the astrological signs of Dee and Elizabeth, and the sly wit of the title infuses the rest of the book.
The book traces the treacherous years leading up to the accession of Elizabeth, particularly the reign of Mary I. A well-known story to Tudor enthusiasts, but Parry makes it fresh with engaging, witty prose and wonderful characterization. The joy of the book is in the detail in which less well-known Tudor characters are portrayed. The stars of the tale are a group of academics and reformers who share an idealistic dream of England’s future under Elizabeth. They include several non-household names such as Elizabeth’s tutor, Roger Achasm, humanist John Cheke, the more well-known William Cecil (who usually is portrayed as some sort of dour bureaucrat, but here is brought to vivid life), and even Robert Dudley. Elizabeth also makes several appearances, but the book really belongs to Dee. He is shown here as a figure of marvelous complexity; a spy, a teacher, a mystic. It is a wonderful characterization on which the whole book rests.
The book is written in present tense, giving the setting an appropriately mystical feel. The language is hypnotic at times, and sharply witty at others. Instances of humor abound, such as the Spanish ambassador’s botched attempt at an English saying, or Cecil’s indignant response to Dee’s insinuation that he can’t fight; his grandfather fought at Bosworth Field! Dee’s response is priceless: “Wonderful. Do you think he could be persuaded to come with us?”
Unfortunately, the delightful detail of the book is a double-edged sword; an average Joe is probably not acquainted with the minor characters and nuances of the age which “Virgin and the Crab” is concerned with. A character chart at the beginning of the book is handy, but I got the feeling that had I not been as deeply fascinated with Tudor history as I am, I might have had trouble following along. That being said, not every book can or should have mass commercial appeal; “Virgin and the Crab” is an absolute feast for Tudorphiles, and in that respect it is a major success.
The Secret Diary of Anne Boleyn is based on a creative, if far-fetched idea: Anne keeps a diary chronicling her journey from lady-in-waiting to Queen Consort to her tragic end. She tells a servant to keep the diary and give it to her daughter Elizabeth when she’s old enough to read it. More than a quarter of a century later, twenty-five year old Elizabeth has ascended the throne as Elizabeth I and is in love with her Master of Horse Robert Dudley. The servant gives her the diary, and thus we are propelled between Elizabeth’s life and Anne’s experiences, recorded in the diary.
The idea is surprisingly well-executed. Anne is portrayed sympathetically and Elizabeth’s relationship with Dudley is very sweet–but like everything else in the book, far too sentimental. The Elizabeth/Dudley relationship for the most part was not sweet; it was passionate and bitter and based on a shared love of power as much as love for each other. Similarly, I appreciate that Anne Boleyn was not characterized as a scheming whore, but I didn’t recognize the mild, almost naive girl in the book. And while the idea that Elizabeth used her mother’s mistakes as the inspiration for her much vaunted vow of celibacy is touching, it does Elizabeth a disservice to ignore the very complicated psychological and political reasons that turned her into “the Virgin Queen.”
I liked that the author tried to humanize Anne and Elizabeth, but in doing so they lost their bite. While I believe both were capable of love, they were primarily political animals. The watered-down version of both women portrayed in this book does not do either of them justice.
I admit to being a bit of a David Starkey fangirl, and thus biased in my opinion. That being said, this is possibly my favorite work of non-fiction about Elizabeth. This fresh biography examines Elizabeth’s turbulent childhood and young adulthood. It was not an easy one. Her mother Anne Boleyn was executed when she was only three; after that she subjected to a revolving door of stepmothers, sexually abused and threatened with execution at age fifteen, and imprisoned and in danger of her life for most of her early twenties. And yet, it is these terrifying circumstances that formed Elizabeth’s enigmatic and remarkable character.
Starkey is as terrific a writer as he is a lecturer; his style is amusing and accessible. He pays tribute to Elizabeth’s achievements without being unduly worshipful, and dispels many of the more romantic myths about Elizabeth; far from the innocent red-haired girl sitting under the oak tree awaiting her destiny, she was in fact an experienced and ruthless opposition politician who had already formed a shadow cabinet prior to her sister’s death.
The scholarship here is of course impeccable. But the book is never stuffy. There are many fine full biographies of Elizabeth out there, but I would love one by David Starkey. His documentary of Elizabeth’s life is very good; however I prefer his writing. Powers that be, take note!
There is a lot I could pick on in this novel. The protagonist, Hannah Verde, is a suspiciously progressive-thinking young Jewish girl living in England to escape the Spanish Inquisition. Although her personality is wildly anachronistic for the time period, she’s an engaging enough heroine. The plot depends on the contrivance that Hannah somehow becomes a close attendant to both Mary I and her half-sister the Lady Elizabeth. Despite knowing that Mary would have her burned at the stake if she knew of her religion, she is improbably devoted to her. And if this were not enough to stretch credibility, Hannah is also gifted with the supernatural gift of “the Sight.” Yet despite all of this, The Queen’s Fool is an entertaining page-turner of a historical romance/thriller.
Hannah is the eyes through which we see the rivalry between Mary I, gifted with the unfortunate name of “Bloody Mary” by posterity, and her sister the celebrated future Elizabeth I. The author is obviously biased in favor of Mary, which is not entirely unfair as Mary arguably possessed more personal virtues than Elizabeth. But the extent to which Elizabeth is vilified is ridiculous. The smear campaign begins when Hannah sees the fourteen-year old Elizabeth engaged in sexually-charged “games” with Sir Thomas Seymour, husband of her guardian Catherine Parr. It is stated several times throughout the book that Elizabeth somehow encouraged this behavior, and is later used as evidence that Elizabeth is a chronic home-wrecker who enjoys stealing other women’s husbands. While it is true that Elizabeth enjoyed relationships with married men in her reign, most infamously Robert Dudley, I found the notion that at age fourteen she seduced the man who abused his position as her guardian and probably molested her rather offensive.
Apart from the less-than-ideal characterization of Elizabeth, the book is entertaining and compulsively readable. The better portrayals are actually of lesser-known historical figures, like the late King Henry VIII’s jester Will Sommers and John Dee, mathematician and astrologer extraordinaire. Serious history this is not, but as a light bit of fluff with a backdrop of familiar Tudor characters it works well.
There are plenty of reasons to like this book. But chief among them is the fact that this work of fiction is written by a reputable historian, Alison Weir, who knows her stuff and for the most part doesn’t mess with the history (except for one controversial plot point) which I appreciated. Her understanding of Elizabeth’s character helps her here; and while her Elizabeth is not as compelling as in Susan Kay’s “Legacy” or even “I, Elizabeth” she is convincingly authentic. The young Elizabeth is endearingly precocious, much as she would have been in real life (at age three after the death of her mother and her bastardization, the perceptive child was recorded as having asked her steward, “How haps it, my lord, that yesterday my lady Princess and today my lady Elizabeth?”). I found the qualities of vanity and imperiousness in the young Elizabeth rather adorable. It is when she enters adolescence that the book loses its way.
The well-known story of Elizabeth’s seduction at the hands of Thomas Seymour is told with a twist here. Without spoiling the story I’ll say that it causes Elizabeth quite a lot of trouble which ultimately harms the book. Elizabeth’s story is exciting enough without any artificial drama. Weir based this particular plot point on a rumor, making it not completely out-of-left-field. But I found it disappointing in a book that was otherwise historically accurate.
Overall however, I think this book should be part of the collection of any Queen Elizabeth I fan. For a beginner, I would recommend the novels “Legacy” and I, Elizabeth” which tell the same story slightly less in depth but without the irritating plot contrivance.
I was very excited to read this book, as I have long considered the relationship between Philip II of Spain and Elizabeth I to be one of the most compelling aspects of the late-sixteenth century political scene. Unfortunately, this book neglects that relationship, when it should be the most important part of the narrative. The book itself is certainly not bad; in fact as an overview of the conflicts that led to the Anglo-Spanish War it works well. It just wasn’t what I thought it would be.
The author has an engaging writing style and has obviously done his research. The book starts out on track; several chapters are devoted to the upbringing of Philip and Elizabeth, six years apart in age; one born the Prince of Spain, the other Princess of England and later bastardized and disinherited. Elizabeth’s chaotic and frightening childhood is contrasted with Philip’s stately and somewhat stifling upbringing. These chapters are illuminating, especially with regard to the personality of the future King of Spain. The book follows the action until Philip sacrificially marries Elizabeth’s elder half-sister, Mary I.
And then things start to fall off the rails. When the author abandons his “side by side” approach to telling the story of Elizabeth and Philip (i.e. a chapter for Elizabeth, one for Philip, etc.) the narrative loses it’s framework. Elizabeth and Philip or both might disappear for several chapters, robbing the story of its designated protagonists. The timeline is confusing; in one particularly jarring example, a chapter suddenly shifts the action to the early 1500s. The book goes off on tangents, detailing everything from the Turkish wars to Philip’s rebellious subjects in the Netherlands. Not that these sections aren’t interesting; they are. But the tangents feel arbitrary.
Really, the biggest problem with this book is the lack of Elizabeth and Philip themselves. Politics were personal in the sixteenth century, but this book overloaded on the politics and neglected the personal. The arc of their relationship, from rumored sexual chemistry during Mary’s reign to matrimonial proposals to bitter religious, economic, and political conflict, is the human narrative that this book claims to focus on. I certainly didn’t expect a lot of pop psychology or soap-opera theatrics, but I did want new insights into who Elizabeth and Philip were as people and how they related to each other. This the book didn’t deliver. Without the framework of their relationship, the book seems disjointed, and for any serious student of sixteenth century politics there isn’t a whole lot new here.
I did enjoy the book. However, I am a bit frustrated, as if there was a really good story in here that didn’t get told.
Despite what some may say, Philippa Gregory has talent. She knows how to keep those pages turning, and for better or worse is probably the preeminent historical novelist on the Tudor period. I enjoyed another novel of hers, The Queen’s Fool. But this? Is entirely beneath her.
I am baffled as to why Ms. Gregory chose to focus a novel around Queen Elizabeth I, whom she obviously dislikes. Her characterization of Elizabeth was problematic in The Queen’s Fool, but it has deteriorated even more in this novel. Some historians and novelists who dislike Elizabeth take it upon themselves to tear down the “Good Queen Bess” legend, and The Virgin’s Lover is a prime example: Elizabeth is portrayed as selfish, petulant, narcissistic, and obviously unfit to the high office she occupies. This last thing is damning, because even I, a rabid fan of QE1, cannot deny that she was in fact petulant, narcissistic, and selfish, along with a whole host of other unattractive traits. But she was also brilliant, patriotic, and above all an experienced politician. The notion that she would delegate important tasks to Robert Dudley or shirk her duties like a lovestruck girl is ridiculous.
Even worse, Elizabeth is torn down in order to prop Robert up. A particularly egregious example occurs early in the book after Elizabeth’s accession, when Elizabeth comes to take up residence at Whitehall. She then expresses anxiety that she doesn’t know her way around the palace (!) and her advisor William Cecil (who by the way, has served Edward VI and two Lord Protectors and should know Whitehall like the back of his hand) also has no idea how to navigate it. Whatever shall they do? Oh yes, Robert Dudley, out of the hundreds of courtiers and politicians Elizabeth should have attending her, gallantly steps in. Really. Which brings me to the second-worse characterization in the book: the aforementioned Virgin’s Lover, Robert Dudley. Although no doubt avaricious and morally ambiguous to put it charitably, by all accounts the historical Dudley seems to have genuinely loved the Queen. He certainly would never have been able to manipulate her the way he does in this book.
There are other things wrong with this book; Dudley’s unfortunate wife, Amy, is portrayed as a hapless, desperately irritating, clingy young woman, and the story is extremely repetitive. But the real crime for me is the character assassination of Elizabeth and Dudley. It does not bother me that they are unlikeable, for the historical Elizabeth and Dudley were not particularly likable people. But they are made into caricatures of themselves, robbing the reader of the much more interesting truth about one of history’s most fascinating couples.
There are many good things about this book. For one, it is beautifully written–often I stopped and re-read several passages just to savor the language. For another, it is well-researched and accurate in its depiction of the events and people of Elizabeth’s reign, no small accomplishment given the length of time the book covers.
Where the book falters is in the characterization of Elizabeth. Ms. Miles takes facts about the historical Elizabeth–her vanity, her passionate nature–and blows them out of proportion. Elizabeth’s love life is placed center stage in this book, have no doubt about that. While Elizabeth’s relationships with the men in her life were indeed very important to her, it does her a disservice to portray her as constantly mooning over them, as she does in this book. For every hour spent with Robert Dudley, the real Elizabeth probably spent several hours attending to the affairs of state. The over-emphasis on her love life makes Elizabeth seem trite, and that was the last thing she was.
The book is also too long, and would have benefited from some tighter editing–about 50 pages could have been cut without making a dent in the tome. That being said, this is enjoyable historical fiction a cut above the Philippa Gregory’s of the world. It’s certainly not the definitive version of Elizabeth’s life (that honor goes to Susan Kay’s Legacy) but it’s a solid effort.