The White Queen: A Novel (The Plantagenet and Tudor Novels)

Book Description THE COUSINS' WARBook One Philippa Gregory, "the queen of royal fiction,"*presents the first of a new series set amid thedeadly feuds of England known as theWars of the Roses. Brother turns on brother to win the ultimate prize, the throne of England, in this dazzling account of the wars of the Plantagenets. They are the claimants and kings who ruled England before the Tudors, and now Philippa Gregory brings them to life through the dramatic and intimate stories of the secret players: the indomitable women, starting with Elizabeth Woodville, the White Queen. The White Queen tells the story of a woman of extraordinary beauty and ambition who, catching the eye of the newly crowned boy king, marries him in secret and ascends to royalty. While Elizabeth rises to the demands of her exalted position and fights for the success of her family, her two sons become central figures in a mystery that has confounded historians for centuries: the missing princes in the Tower of London whose fate is still unknown. From her uniquely qualified perspective, Philippa Gregory explores this most famous unsolved mystery of English history, informed by impeccable research and framed by her inimitable storytelling skills. A Conversation with Philippa Gregory Q: For readers who love your books set in Tudor England, what would you like them to know about the Plantagenets and the House of York? A: I suppose I'd like them to know that here is a family just as fascinating as the Tudors, perhaps more so. Certainly, they are more complicated, more wicked, and more passionate--takers of great risk. I think people have been put off this period because it has been so well studied by military historians that it has been regarded as being just about battles. But there is so much more to it than this! The history of the women of the period has been very neglected because of this emphasis on battles and thus the male leaders. Q: What appealed to you about using Elizabeth Woodville as the main character in a novel? In what ways do you think modern women can identify with Elizabeth? A: The things I discovered about Elizabeth in the first days of my reading about this period told me at once that she would fascinate me, and she has done so. Her background as a descendant of a family who claim to be related to a goddess was enough to have me absolutely enchanted straightaway. It is in the historical record that her mother was widely believed to be a witch, and that charge was leveled at Elizabeth also. This is exciting enough, but it also indicates that people were afraid of Elizabeth's power, and I am interested in powerful women. I think she will fascinate modern women in the same way that many historical women strike a chord: despite so many changes in the world, women are still trying to find happiness, manage their children, seek advantage, and avoid the persecution of misogynists. As women of any time, we have a lot in common. Despite the amazing advances in the rights of women (and I am so grateful for these myself), the struggle for women's freedom, independence, and the right to exercise power goes on. Q: Throughout the novel there are scenes relating the story of the goddess Melusina. Is this based on an actual historical fable, or is it something you created for the novel? A: The fable of Melusina is well known, perhaps to everyone, in its retelling as the story of the Little Mermaid by Hans Christian Andersen and then in the Disney movie. As I say at the beginning of the novel, the legend of Melusina goes far back in time, perhaps to the classical legends, perhaps even earlier. The fable was studied by Carl Jung; Melusina has been identified as a form of the material of the world--the dark, watery element that combines with the sun in the alchemist's “chemical wedding.” This is a potent myth, indeed, and I retell the story here in a way that speaks to my characters and to me. Q: “These are not chivalrous times; these are not the times of knights in the dark forest and beautiful ladies in moonlit fountains and promises of love that will be ballads, sung forever” (page 22), you write in The White Queen . Is there a tendency to romanticize history, both for writers and readers? How do you make sure to realistically portray all aspects of the time period you're depicting, even the more difficult ones? A: Yes, indeed. These are not chivalrous times. I suspect that no times have ever been chivalrous times. We glamorize the past, and we romanticize it; we even look back at our own personal histories and cast a rosy glow or an enhanced dark shadow over our own childhoods. I keep my writing grounded in realism by reading a great deal before I start writing, by looking at the record with a critical eye, and by being skeptical of grandiose claims. Having said that, I too find it hard to resist the charm of Edward or Elizabeth or the marvelous character Jacquetta or any of the other powerful and interesting people who strove for themselves and for their families in these dangerous times. These are not chivalrous or romantic times, but they are times of danger--and in such circumstances one sees both the worst and best in people. Q: What challenges, if any, did you face when writing about the battle scenes and the military strategy, which was often a crucial factor in determining who took the throne? Did you visit any of the places where the battles took place? A: I became a researcher in military history, which is not my natural home! I visited battle sites and I read long and complicated descriptions of battles and the modern speculations. In the end I found myself absolutely intrigued and fascinated by how the battles were lost and won by small events, even sometimes by luck. The mist at Barnet is a recorded fact, and it was possible for me to weave it into the story of Elizabeth and her mother as well as to see it as a determining factor on the battlefield. The three suns of Towton were both a real phenomenon and a powerful metaphor for the troops. The history of battles is a central part to the story of the Cousins' War, and part of my task in this novel and the others in the series was to take this history, as I take any other, and make it come alive in the novel. Q: The fate of Edward and Richard, the princes in the Tower, is a subject that has confounded historians for centuries. Why did you decide to approach this aspect of the story the way you did? Is there evidence to suggest that Elizabeth sent her son Richard into hiding and a page boy in his place to the Tower? A: Part of my response to this story was simply emotional: I have a son of my own, and the thought of Elizabeth losing both her sons was tremendously painful. So I confess a bias to wanting at least one to survive. Then there is the historical evidence. A very interesting book by Ann Wroe, Perkin, suggested to me that the so-called pretender Perkin Warbeck might well have been the surviving prince, Richard. Her case for it is very compelling, as others have suggested too. There is other persuasive evidence that both boys were not killed as the traditional history (and Shakespeare) suggests. Even the traditional history--of them being suffocated in their beds in the Tower and buried beneath a stair--is filled with contradictions. If Perkin was Richard--and this is speculative history, as indeed all history around this genuine mystery must be--then Richard must have somehow survived. How could this have happened? It seemed to me most likely, not that he escaped from the Tower, but that he was never sent to it. His mother knew the danger her older son was in, had herself seen Henry VI murdered in the Tower, and was highly aware of the danger to her sons. It seemed to me most unlikely that she would hand over a second son when she had lost the first. The changeling page boy is my invention, but the history of Perkin in Flanders is based on his own confession. His story will continue in the series. Q: Elizabeth's father says to her, “We are forming a new royal family. We have to be more royal than royalty itself or nobody will believe us. I can't say I quite believe it myself” (page 63). How unlikely was it that Elizabeth Woodville would become queen? How has she been remembered by historians? A: Elizabeth's ascent to the throne is one of the great triumphs of a commoner and was considered so exceptional in her own time that one of the explanations offered was witchcraft. It is really a triumph of unlikely events. How unlikely that Edward, raising troops for a battle, would be diverted by a woman he must have met by chance? How unlikely that he would offer marriage when he knew as well as Warwick that to secure his reign he must marry well, preferably a European princess? How unlikely that even after a secret marriage he would honor his vows? It is a catalogue of unlikely events, and the only coherent explanation is that Edward and Elizabeth fell in love at first sight and married for love. Elizabeth, like many powerful and effective women, has been unkindly treated by historians. Some follow the gossip against her at the time that begrudged her good fortune; some point to the alliances she made for her family as symptoms of greed and self-aggrandizement. She gets little credit for surviving two periods in sanctuary, nor for her courage during the siege of the Tower. She is like many women “hidden from history” in the phrase of historian Sheila Rowbotham, and when her role is acknowledged she is often treated with very harsh criticism. Q: Anthony Woodville, the queen's brother, seemed to be ahead of his time in regard to education and culture. What more can you tell us about him? Was Elizabeth honoring his memory by becoming a patroness of Queens' College Cambridge? A: Elizabeth took over the role of patron of Queens' College from her predecessor Margaret of Anjou, but her interest in education and culture may have been inspired and would certainly have been encouraged by her brother, who was a true Renaissance man: spiritual, martial, thoughtful, and innovative. He brought the printer William Caxton to England and sponsored the first printed book; he was famous for his ability in the joust; and he was a loyal brother to Elizabeth and a devoted uncle to her son. The poem I quote in the book was indeed the poem he wrote the night before he died. We can only speculate as to the sort of man he can have been that he should spend his last hours on earth, not in rage or grief, but in crafting a poem of such detachment and clarity. Q: If you could go back in time and live in any of the royal courts you've written about, which one would it be and why? A: I would be absolutely mad to want to be a woman of any of these times. A Tudor or Plantagenet woman was wholly ruled by men: either father or husband. She would find it difficult to seek any education, make her own fortune, or improve her circumstances. Her husband would have a legal right over her that was equal to his ownership of domestic animals; and the chances of dying in childbirth were very high. If one could go back in time and be a wealthy man, these would be times of adventure and opportunity but still tremendously dangerous. I think I would prefer the Tudor period to diminish the danger of being killed in battle, but there were still regular plagues and foreign wars to face. I cannot sufficiently express my enthusiasm for modern medicine, votes for women, and safe contraception. Q: The younger Elizabeth emerges as quite a vivid and spirited character. Will we be seeing more of her in a future book? A: Elizabeth, the Princess of York, goes on to marry Henry VII and so is mother to a royal dynasty, just as her father and mother hoped they were creating a royal dynasty. She is, of course, mother of Henry VIII, and her granddaughter is England's greatest queen--Elizabeth I. Elizabeth of York will be the subject of the third book of this series, to be called The White Princess. But coming next is the story of the mother of Henry VII, the indomitable Margaret Beaufort, whom you may have glimpsed in this novel but who deserves a book all to herself. It is called The Red Queen. From Publishers Weekly The queen of British historical fiction ( The Other Boleyn Girl ) kicks off a new series with the story of Elizabeth Woodville Grey, whose shifting alliances helped the War of the Roses take root. The marriage of 22-year-old Yorkist King Edward IV to 27-year-old widow Elizabeth brings a sea change in loyalties: Elizabeth's Lancastrian family becomes Edward's strongest supporters, while Edward's closest adviser, the ambitious earl of Warwick, joins with Edward's brother George to steal the English crown. History buffs from Shakespeare on have speculated about this fateful period, especially the end of Edward and Elizabeth's two sons, and Gregory invents plausible but provocative scenarios to explore those mysteries; she is especially poignant depicting Elizabeth in her later years, when her allegiance shifts toward Richard III (who may have killed her sons). Gregory earned her international reputation evoking sex, violence, love and betrayal among the Tudors; here she adds intimate relationships, political maneuvering and battlefield conflicts as well as some well-drawn supernatural elements. Gregory's newest may not be as fresh as earlier efforts, but she captures vividly the terrible inertia of war. (Aug.) Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved. With The White Queen, Philippa Gregory brings the artistry and intellect of a master writer and storyteller to a new era in history and begins what is sure to be another bestselling classic series from this beloved author.-- USA Today Philippa Gregory is the author of many New York Times bestselling novels, including The Other Boleyn Girl , and is a recognized authority on women’s history. Many of her works have been adapted for the screen including The Other Boleyn Girl . Her most recent novel, The Last Tudor , is now in production for a television series. She graduated from the University of Sussex and received a PhD from the University of Edinburgh, where she is a Regent. She holds honorary degrees from Teesside University and the University of Sussex. She is a fellow of the Universities of Sussex and Cardiff and was awarded the 2016 Harrogate Festival Award for Contribution to Historical Fiction. She is an honorary research fellow at Birkbeck, University of London. She founded Gardens for the Gambia, a charity to dig wells in poor rural schools in The Gambia, and has provided nearly 200 wells. She welcomes visitors to her website PhilippaGregory.com. From The Washington Post From The Washington Post's Book World/washingtonpost.com Reviewed by Diana Gabaldon Elizabeth Woodville is not a nice person. She's ambitious, obstinate, stupid and fertile. That last qualification is the only one required to make her a successful Queen of England, but the others help. Set in the last years of England's infamous Wars of the Roses (so called for the emblems of the competing claimants to the throne: a red rose for the adherents of the House of Lancaster, a white one for the House of York), "The White Queen" deals with the life of Elizabeth, a widowed commoner who married Edward of York (Edward IV) and became not only a queen but one more pawn in the spasmodic, bloody civil war for the English throne. It's sex appeal at first sight for Elizabeth and the young King Edward, when, in 1464, she stands by the road with her two young sons to stop him and beg for the restoration of her dead husband's property. She is bright enough not to sleep with him instantly, though, and with her mother's connivance, marries him secretly. He leaps from their bed to go fight another battle, thus setting the pattern for their marriage. Some historical novels come with a map or a family tree to orient the reader; this one could use a scorecard. The men (on both sides of the conflict) all seem to be named Edward, Richard or George, and the women Elizabeth, Anne or Margaret. It's a great relief to find out, midway through the book, that Elizabeth Woodville's mother is named Jacquetta, and one can't help thinking that the eventual winner of the Cousins' Wars, Henry Tudor, was successful in part because everyone could tell for sure who he was. The first half of Philippa Gregory's engrossing new novel deals with Edward's quest to gain the throne; the last half, his queen's attempt to hang on to it. Consequently, the opening is a dizzying sequence of battles, flight and treachery, during which Edward and his two brothers, Richard and George, raise armies, fight battles and seek foreign support while Elizabeth keeps her head down and gets pregnant every other year. As Jacquetta says to her daughter, "When a country is at war, cousin against cousin, brother against brother, no boy is safe." On the other hand, a family with dynastic aspirations won't get anywhere without boys, and most of Elizabeth's numerous daughters are little more than names. Only her sons count in this story: The two by her first husband are useful as soldiers, but it's the youngest pair, Edward and Richard (George, alas, dies in infancy), who are the focus of the book's second half. When Edward IV dies suddenly, the little princes are the family's claim to the throne and thus in danger not only from the Lancastrians, but from their two York uncles (Richard and George. Check that scorecard). Most of the story is blunt, brutal and bloody, but Gregory has a deft hand with historical imagination, making the most of ancient mysteries, such as the fate of the little princes in the tower, the death of the Duke of Clarence and the enduring rumor that Elizabeth Woodville and her mother were witches. The conceit that the Woodville women are descended from the water goddess Melusina (and can thus whistle up a handy storm when needed to keep the Lancaster fleet at bay) provides a bright, lyrical thread of mystery in this coarse canvas, and it gives Elizabeth a little more dimensionality than her role as the Yorks' brood mare allows. The irony of the title's chess metaphor is plain, but Elizabeth is more a rook than a queen, capable of thinking and moving only in a straight line. Elizabeth is narrow and stubborn, but not altogether oblivious. She realizes what her husband and his brothers have done in their rise to power: They broke the law. By which I don't mean that they contravened some statute, though they certainly do that. I mean they broke the whole concept of law, to such an extent that it didn't work anymore. Edward IV ignored the law of sanctuary and murdered the innocent. Now his wife and daughters may be humiliated, his small sons kidnapped and murdered because they stand between the throne and someone who wants it. Good historical fiction always provides at least incidental commentary on the present (if not outright warnings). In this case, the warning is clear: Turning your back on morality for the sake of political gain will come back and bite you in the bum. Only at the last, when Elizabeth's daughter (also Elizabeth) falls in love with her uncle Richard (now king -- that would be Richard III, for those keeping score) and naively demands to know why no one in the family can be content just to live an ordinary happy life, does the true tragedy of Elizabeth Woodville's story become apparent -- to the reader, if not to Elizabeth. Copyright 2009, The Washington Post. All Rights Reserved. Read more