Long lived the queen -- despite the best efforts of more than a few lunatics, anarchists, republicans and any number of... disorderly persons. You've no idea. I hadn't, anyway. Great find finding out.
A book this big, a modern book anyway, must have a premise; some large, over-arching idea, either diagnostic, prognostic or at the very least weighty and signifying. Can't just be a straight narrative, though it is here, really, and all the better for that. Still, there must be, don't you know, the idea. Usually, the quickest summary of same may be found in the subtitle, as here: "Madness, Mayhem, and the Rebirth of the British Monarchy."
Put it another way, the assassin is often a prop and a stay to the reputation, if not always the person, of even the not very popular prince, or in this case, Queen. And here you see, at least toward the middle and the end, well the would-be assassins had muddled, but rather modern motives, some of 'em, anyway. Who remembers? Doesn't matter. It's not a silly idea, but neither is it new, very interesting of itself, or really much to the point for the average reader, if I may make so bold as to speak for the same here. Yes, yes, quite different in kind from, say Brutus, but really so much different from the assassin of Henri IV of France? Or the mad lady, was it, with a butter knife that had a stab at Victoria's grandpa, George III? As I say, after the first few pages it doesn't matter much, that big idea. Why? Because, it's a wonderful ride.
that's what this book is really, a ride; a big old landau of a book, into which, beside dear little Queen, her consort, her ministers, servants, secretaries, daughters, bodyguards and all, the author, wonderfully has pulled up from the obscurity of old newspapers, trial-transcripts, diaries and letters, not just the rather sad, if deep collection of men who would have killed their wee Queen, but also, the heroic copper and, for instance, the eton schoolboys who used their quite proper, rolled brollies to help in the beat-down of one mad shooter. It is a remarkable and unusual perspective from which to watch the reign as it all goes by, but more than that, the writer stage-manages the whole thing rather brilliantly: moving all the players, major and minor, on and off with great dexterity and economy of motion, never stinting character when character there might be worth mentioning, but always moving, and the pace of the thing picking up as the times did, even as the little woman herself settles, near the end, into an almost unimaginable permanence her subjects could be forgiven for mistaking for England and the Empire, no?
If the reader is already all too familiar with Her late, late Majesty, and or all but sated already on history of such well-recorded times, I would suggest never the less that there is in fact life in the old girl yet, as evidenced here, by just taking in the parade from a vantage point if not altogether new then at least with a very good view. Jump, I say. Very good fun.
A book this big, a modern book anyway, must have a premise; some large, over-arching idea, either diagnostic, prognostic or at the very least weighty and signifying. Can't just be a straight narrative, though it is here, really, and all the better for that. Still, there must be, don't you know, the idea. Usually, the quickest summary of same may be found in the subtitle, as here: "Madness, Mayhem, and the Rebirth of the British Monarchy."
Put it another way, the assassin is often a prop and a stay to the reputation, if not always the person, of even the not very popular prince, or in this case, Queen. And here you see, at least toward the middle and the end, well the would-be assassins had muddled, but rather modern motives, some of 'em, anyway. Who remembers? Doesn't matter. It's not a silly idea, but neither is it new, very interesting of itself, or really much to the point for the average reader, if I may make so bold as to speak for the same here. Yes, yes, quite different in kind from, say Brutus, but really so much different from the assassin of Henri IV of France? Or the mad lady, was it, with a butter knife that had a stab at Victoria's grandpa, George III? As I say, after the first few pages it doesn't matter much, that big idea. Why? Because, it's a wonderful ride.
that's what this book is really, a ride; a big old landau of a book, into which, beside dear little Queen, her consort, her ministers, servants, secretaries, daughters, bodyguards and all, the author, wonderfully has pulled up from the obscurity of old newspapers, trial-transcripts, diaries and letters, not just the rather sad, if deep collection of men who would have killed their wee Queen, but also, the heroic copper and, for instance, the eton schoolboys who used their quite proper, rolled brollies to help in the beat-down of one mad shooter. It is a remarkable and unusual perspective from which to watch the reign as it all goes by, but more than that, the writer stage-manages the whole thing rather brilliantly: moving all the players, major and minor, on and off with great dexterity and economy of motion, never stinting character when character there might be worth mentioning, but always moving, and the pace of the thing picking up as the times did, even as the little woman herself settles, near the end, into an almost unimaginable permanence her subjects could be forgiven for mistaking for England and the Empire, no?
If the reader is already all too familiar with Her late, late Majesty, and or all but sated already on history of such well-recorded times, I would suggest never the less that there is in fact life in the old girl yet, as evidenced here, by just taking in the parade from a vantage point if not altogether new then at least with a very good view. Jump, I say. Very good fun.
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