[FICATHON] This Keen Encounter, for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
the_alchemist
Sep. 3rd, 2012 06:01 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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thisenglandTitle: This Keen Encounter
Author:lareinenoire
Recipient:the_alchemist
Play: Richard III, some 3 Henry VI
Characters / Pairings: Richard of Gloucester, Lady Anne; Richard/Anne
Rating: T
Warnings: Yorks behaving badly
Summary: Was ever woman in this humour wooed? Was ever woman in this humour won?
Notes: I couldn't resist this prompt, in spite of the play itself trying to argue against me. This fic takes some minor liberties with the chronology of Acts 1-2 of R3 in order to explain, among other things, how Clarence ended up with children old enough to talk when he got married in Act 4 of 3H6 and one assumes from the state of Henry VI's corpse that R3 begins within several days (maybe, if you stretch it, several weeks) of the end of 3H6 and that acts 1-2 take place over the space of several more days.
Anne Neville was not a warrior, nor had she ever been. She fancied she could see all the way from the sanctuary window to the battlefield at Tewkesbury, only she did not know what it was she sought. Neither victory nor defeat was readily apparent in these strange days.
She was at the window therefore when George of Clarence led Queen Margaret through the abbey gates in chains. One look at her mother-in-law's face told Anne all she needed to know. York rose on the wheel and Lancaster turned down.
Her husband was dead.
He was, admittedly, only her husband of five months. And now, she was a widow.
Edward's face intruded on her mind then--strange how it seemed an intrusion--from the last time she'd seen him, giddy as a child at Christmas at the prospect of battle. When next we meet, my lady, you'll be Queen of England. It would not have occurred to this Edward any more than it would have to her father, the great Warwick, that they might be defeated.
It was on that thought that her breath caught on a sob and tears sprang to her eyes. She had not loved Edward, but that had not been part of the bargain their parents had struck. Betrayed by York, or so he imagined, Warwick had turned his prodigious power to Lancaster, and Anne had been the cement to hold that alliance together.
In that, too, it seemed she had failed. Her first failure was the lack of an heir. The greater had not been hers so much as her father's, dying in battle a bare few days before his erstwhile queen arrived on English soil, leaving Anne a worthless appendage to the House of Lancaster--completely and utterly alone.
There were footsteps upon the stairs. Anne's hand dropped from the window sash and she turned, crossing her hands primly over the mourning dress she now wore for husband and father. The tears tracked across her cheeks, she did not wipe away. Surely a widowed lady deserved that badge, regardless of her husband's attainder.
It was her beloved brother-in-law. Anne's lip curled as he stepped into the room, barely out of his armour, still reeking of blood and sweat. "Hail your rescuers, sweet sister." His smile faded a little at the sight of her face.
"I thought you had renounced my family, dearest George." Irrational anger seized her then, at the sight of a black armband on his sleeve. "How dare you. He would breathe yet, but for you."
The expression of bafflement on Clarence's face would have been comical but for the circumstance. "Edward killed Warwick, not I. Who lies and calls me murderer?"
"A traitor, then. Perjured Clarence, to break his oath twice." Her eyes raked him from head to foot. "You disgust me." It had been for that word, perjury, that George of Clarence had stabbed her husband, or so she had heard.
Malice lit Clarence's smile. "So speaks the daughter and wife of traitors. How very like that wrangling French bitch you've become. Your sister will be disappointed."
That gave her pause. She had not seen Isabel since Clarence had defected from their father's side to rejoin his brothers before the walls of Coventry. Her sister had quietly packed her things and left her chambers at Angers as though she'd been no more than a ghost. Anne hadn't even had the chance to bid her farewell. Now, of course, the tables had been turned, but Anne suspected she would not be given the chance to escape as Isabel had.
With a sigh, she offered him a perfunctory curtsey, wondering if she could will some more tears into being. Men seemed to like tears. "What do you want with me, my lord?"
His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "The king sent me to see to the prisoners of rank."
It put Anne in mind of setting the wolf to guard the sheep-fold, but she kept herself from saying that aloud. "Am I a prisoner?"
"You are sister by marriage to the King of England's brother, Lady Anne. Do you think King Edward would send you to the Tower?"
And daughter by marriage to the king he usurped. What of that? Again, she bit her tongue. "I have not seen the king in some years, my lord, and I daresay our circumstances have both been altered."
Clarence was fidgeting with his left gauntlet, the right still half-hanging on his hand. "You'll be sent to London directly, to my lodgings. Isabel is there already; she'll...look after you." With that, he all but fled the room, leaving Anne to lean back against the windowframe, suddenly wearied beyond measure.
***
The rumours of King Henry's untimely--or perhaps too timely--death reached them as they entered the outskirts of London. And with them, a name: Richard of Gloucester.
She knew Clarence's younger brother by reputation if nothing else. The whole world, it seemed, knew of Gloucster's reputation. A valiant soldier. The king's right hand. A monster.
The man who stood before her in the churchyard at St. Paul's was short--she could look him in the eye--and dark-haired. The king, she recalled hazily as a bright-haired giant glittering with priceless gems wrought in the shape of the rose-en-soleil. Richard of Gloucester loomed behind him, a shadow to his substance, the child that should never have been born.
His had been the second stroke that bereft her of her husband. If Edward had died in battle, she would have mourned the wasted life as one among many in these endless wars of York and Lancaster. Instead, the man now once again crowned King Edward IV had stabbed him through the heart, followed by both of his brothers. And now, Richard of Gloucester had finished his bloody swathe through the house of Lancaster.
For that, she cursed him. For murdering a helpless old man. Her father had long ago remarked that for all his squeamishness, Henry was responsible for every man-at-arms slain in England on his watch. There are many ways to rule badly. It can be just as disastrous for a king to be too weak as for him to be a tyrant. He had been speaking, she recalled now, to the young Duke of Gloucester.
To undertake the death of all the world. Of course, he was lying. The very thought was absurd. And yet--
How was she any better? The thought, once planted, flowered with alarming speed. If her father had not changed sides, Queen Margaret and her son would have languished in France, defeated but alive. She, Anne, would not be cursing like a fishwife on the very steps of St. Paul's, watching blood erupt from the wounds of a dead man in the presence of his murderer.
She would not be listening to that murderer now, meeting those unsettling eyes and wondering if there might be even a scrap of truth behind his words.
But her father had changed sides, blaming York and Edward for the loss of his honour, though Warwick had long been a byword for many things, honour not being among them. She had never been beautiful--even her vanity resisted those blandishments--but she did not come to Richard of Gloucester empty-handed.
"I would I knew thy heart," she heard herself say.
"'Tis figured in my tongue." He was breathless, eyes fixed on hers, the shadow of a wild smile transfiguring his face.
Anne laughed, wincing inwardly at the high-pitched sound. "I fear me both are false."
"Then never was man true."
***
She should have killed him when she had the chance. He had laid bare his heart beneath the point of his own dagger. Take up the sword again, or take up me. He had fought every second for his life, or so the stories said, and she could have taken it with a simple shove of her hands. Even if he changed his mind, he would have no time to react.
He had sworn upon her love for Edward. It had not occurred to him that Anne had barely known her husband before she married him. Her sister Isabel had fancied herself in love with George of Clarence and it had brought her nothing but misery. Queen Margaret had loved her son beyond all reason--now she stared into nothingness and muttered a litany of names beneath her breath. Edward – Richard – Henry – an eye for an eye. Isabel turned all her attention to her two children, little pretty things who even appealed to Anne's shrivelling tolerance for human company.
Isabel was, of course, horrified. "How could you possibly marry him? He's so very ugly."
"That depends on one's point of view." Anne found herself defending him more and more often as the weeks went by--turning into months when she hadn't been looking. In fact, she was growing quite accustomed to Richard. In a certain light she might even think him handsome.
And he was clever. It had never occurred to Anne to want a clever husband. Her father had been too clever by half and it had earned him a dagger to the back. And Edward...God rest his soul, cleverness had not been numbered amongst his good qualities.
She found herself growing impatient. Clarence had insisted upon blocking his brother's suit and the king refused to intervene, insisting that his brothers sort matters out between themselves. The Warwick inheritance was too large--too tempting--for either brother to relinquish.
"It's all tremendously frustrating," Gloucester was saying, pacing back and forth in her chamber in Crosby Place. "I could get rid of him, too, if I wanted..." he stopped, eyes flickering to her for a split-second. "But he is my brother and I shouldn't dream of such a thing."
"He turned on the king easily enough before. You can't possibly trust him." Anne reached out to stop him and realised she had grabbed his hand. "George of Clarence has the constitution of a weathervane. It's only a matter of time, surely, before he turns again."
"I know that." He was looking back at her, speculating, wheels turning in his head. "Why do you care what I think of Clarence?"
"Because I want him gone. I want him away from my sister and her children--"
"--are they not his children too?"
"She suffered for them while he drank until he couldn't see. He barely notices them now. Richard--" At that, he looked up at her, eyes wide and startled. It was the first time she had ever spoken his name. "I will help you. Let me help you."
***
King Edward may have long cultivated the air of a buffoon but even he knew better than to trust Clarence any further than he could throw him. And so, when rumours came to him that Clarence was once more plotting against him, what other choice had he but to imprison him in the Tower?
Nobody expected the king to convict his own brother of treason, let alone carry out the sentence, but it was the only answer. It fell therefore to Richard to take matters into his own hands. Anne had waited for him to return until the early hours after midnight.
"Clarence?" she asked softly.
"Dead. Or might as well be. I have placed his life in the hands of arrant knaves who have ta'en payment for his death." He was fiddling with the dagger. "I thought it would feel different, and it does. Is this how a king feels, I wonder? You say it and--there--it is done."
"Would you be king of England, Richard?" She could see him hesitate and added with a scornful laugh. "I am Warwick's daughter, my lord of Gloucester. It takes a great deal more than ambition for a crown to shock me."
"I confess, I had never thought of it that way." He smiled. "Would you be queen of England, my lady of Gloucester?"
Anne could feel her answering smile curve upward. It was her father's smile, and one she had seen often enough in the glass. "I think I might enjoy that."
Author:
lareinenoireRecipient:
the_alchemistPlay: Richard III, some 3 Henry VI
Characters / Pairings: Richard of Gloucester, Lady Anne; Richard/Anne
Rating: T
Warnings: Yorks behaving badly
Summary: Was ever woman in this humour wooed? Was ever woman in this humour won?
Notes: I couldn't resist this prompt, in spite of the play itself trying to argue against me. This fic takes some minor liberties with the chronology of Acts 1-2 of R3 in order to explain, among other things, how Clarence ended up with children old enough to talk when he got married in Act 4 of 3H6 and one assumes from the state of Henry VI's corpse that R3 begins within several days (maybe, if you stretch it, several weeks) of the end of 3H6 and that acts 1-2 take place over the space of several more days.
Anne Neville was not a warrior, nor had she ever been. She fancied she could see all the way from the sanctuary window to the battlefield at Tewkesbury, only she did not know what it was she sought. Neither victory nor defeat was readily apparent in these strange days.
She was at the window therefore when George of Clarence led Queen Margaret through the abbey gates in chains. One look at her mother-in-law's face told Anne all she needed to know. York rose on the wheel and Lancaster turned down.
Her husband was dead.
He was, admittedly, only her husband of five months. And now, she was a widow.
Edward's face intruded on her mind then--strange how it seemed an intrusion--from the last time she'd seen him, giddy as a child at Christmas at the prospect of battle. When next we meet, my lady, you'll be Queen of England. It would not have occurred to this Edward any more than it would have to her father, the great Warwick, that they might be defeated.
It was on that thought that her breath caught on a sob and tears sprang to her eyes. She had not loved Edward, but that had not been part of the bargain their parents had struck. Betrayed by York, or so he imagined, Warwick had turned his prodigious power to Lancaster, and Anne had been the cement to hold that alliance together.
In that, too, it seemed she had failed. Her first failure was the lack of an heir. The greater had not been hers so much as her father's, dying in battle a bare few days before his erstwhile queen arrived on English soil, leaving Anne a worthless appendage to the House of Lancaster--completely and utterly alone.
There were footsteps upon the stairs. Anne's hand dropped from the window sash and she turned, crossing her hands primly over the mourning dress she now wore for husband and father. The tears tracked across her cheeks, she did not wipe away. Surely a widowed lady deserved that badge, regardless of her husband's attainder.
It was her beloved brother-in-law. Anne's lip curled as he stepped into the room, barely out of his armour, still reeking of blood and sweat. "Hail your rescuers, sweet sister." His smile faded a little at the sight of her face.
"I thought you had renounced my family, dearest George." Irrational anger seized her then, at the sight of a black armband on his sleeve. "How dare you. He would breathe yet, but for you."
The expression of bafflement on Clarence's face would have been comical but for the circumstance. "Edward killed Warwick, not I. Who lies and calls me murderer?"
"A traitor, then. Perjured Clarence, to break his oath twice." Her eyes raked him from head to foot. "You disgust me." It had been for that word, perjury, that George of Clarence had stabbed her husband, or so she had heard.
Malice lit Clarence's smile. "So speaks the daughter and wife of traitors. How very like that wrangling French bitch you've become. Your sister will be disappointed."
That gave her pause. She had not seen Isabel since Clarence had defected from their father's side to rejoin his brothers before the walls of Coventry. Her sister had quietly packed her things and left her chambers at Angers as though she'd been no more than a ghost. Anne hadn't even had the chance to bid her farewell. Now, of course, the tables had been turned, but Anne suspected she would not be given the chance to escape as Isabel had.
With a sigh, she offered him a perfunctory curtsey, wondering if she could will some more tears into being. Men seemed to like tears. "What do you want with me, my lord?"
His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "The king sent me to see to the prisoners of rank."
It put Anne in mind of setting the wolf to guard the sheep-fold, but she kept herself from saying that aloud. "Am I a prisoner?"
"You are sister by marriage to the King of England's brother, Lady Anne. Do you think King Edward would send you to the Tower?"
And daughter by marriage to the king he usurped. What of that? Again, she bit her tongue. "I have not seen the king in some years, my lord, and I daresay our circumstances have both been altered."
Clarence was fidgeting with his left gauntlet, the right still half-hanging on his hand. "You'll be sent to London directly, to my lodgings. Isabel is there already; she'll...look after you." With that, he all but fled the room, leaving Anne to lean back against the windowframe, suddenly wearied beyond measure.
The rumours of King Henry's untimely--or perhaps too timely--death reached them as they entered the outskirts of London. And with them, a name: Richard of Gloucester.
She knew Clarence's younger brother by reputation if nothing else. The whole world, it seemed, knew of Gloucster's reputation. A valiant soldier. The king's right hand. A monster.
The man who stood before her in the churchyard at St. Paul's was short--she could look him in the eye--and dark-haired. The king, she recalled hazily as a bright-haired giant glittering with priceless gems wrought in the shape of the rose-en-soleil. Richard of Gloucester loomed behind him, a shadow to his substance, the child that should never have been born.
His had been the second stroke that bereft her of her husband. If Edward had died in battle, she would have mourned the wasted life as one among many in these endless wars of York and Lancaster. Instead, the man now once again crowned King Edward IV had stabbed him through the heart, followed by both of his brothers. And now, Richard of Gloucester had finished his bloody swathe through the house of Lancaster.
For that, she cursed him. For murdering a helpless old man. Her father had long ago remarked that for all his squeamishness, Henry was responsible for every man-at-arms slain in England on his watch. There are many ways to rule badly. It can be just as disastrous for a king to be too weak as for him to be a tyrant. He had been speaking, she recalled now, to the young Duke of Gloucester.
To undertake the death of all the world. Of course, he was lying. The very thought was absurd. And yet--
How was she any better? The thought, once planted, flowered with alarming speed. If her father had not changed sides, Queen Margaret and her son would have languished in France, defeated but alive. She, Anne, would not be cursing like a fishwife on the very steps of St. Paul's, watching blood erupt from the wounds of a dead man in the presence of his murderer.
She would not be listening to that murderer now, meeting those unsettling eyes and wondering if there might be even a scrap of truth behind his words.
But her father had changed sides, blaming York and Edward for the loss of his honour, though Warwick had long been a byword for many things, honour not being among them. She had never been beautiful--even her vanity resisted those blandishments--but she did not come to Richard of Gloucester empty-handed.
"I would I knew thy heart," she heard herself say.
"'Tis figured in my tongue." He was breathless, eyes fixed on hers, the shadow of a wild smile transfiguring his face.
Anne laughed, wincing inwardly at the high-pitched sound. "I fear me both are false."
"Then never was man true."
She should have killed him when she had the chance. He had laid bare his heart beneath the point of his own dagger. Take up the sword again, or take up me. He had fought every second for his life, or so the stories said, and she could have taken it with a simple shove of her hands. Even if he changed his mind, he would have no time to react.
He had sworn upon her love for Edward. It had not occurred to him that Anne had barely known her husband before she married him. Her sister Isabel had fancied herself in love with George of Clarence and it had brought her nothing but misery. Queen Margaret had loved her son beyond all reason--now she stared into nothingness and muttered a litany of names beneath her breath. Edward – Richard – Henry – an eye for an eye. Isabel turned all her attention to her two children, little pretty things who even appealed to Anne's shrivelling tolerance for human company.
Isabel was, of course, horrified. "How could you possibly marry him? He's so very ugly."
"That depends on one's point of view." Anne found herself defending him more and more often as the weeks went by--turning into months when she hadn't been looking. In fact, she was growing quite accustomed to Richard. In a certain light she might even think him handsome.
And he was clever. It had never occurred to Anne to want a clever husband. Her father had been too clever by half and it had earned him a dagger to the back. And Edward...God rest his soul, cleverness had not been numbered amongst his good qualities.
She found herself growing impatient. Clarence had insisted upon blocking his brother's suit and the king refused to intervene, insisting that his brothers sort matters out between themselves. The Warwick inheritance was too large--too tempting--for either brother to relinquish.
"It's all tremendously frustrating," Gloucester was saying, pacing back and forth in her chamber in Crosby Place. "I could get rid of him, too, if I wanted..." he stopped, eyes flickering to her for a split-second. "But he is my brother and I shouldn't dream of such a thing."
"He turned on the king easily enough before. You can't possibly trust him." Anne reached out to stop him and realised she had grabbed his hand. "George of Clarence has the constitution of a weathervane. It's only a matter of time, surely, before he turns again."
"I know that." He was looking back at her, speculating, wheels turning in his head. "Why do you care what I think of Clarence?"
"Because I want him gone. I want him away from my sister and her children--"
"--are they not his children too?"
"She suffered for them while he drank until he couldn't see. He barely notices them now. Richard--" At that, he looked up at her, eyes wide and startled. It was the first time she had ever spoken his name. "I will help you. Let me help you."
King Edward may have long cultivated the air of a buffoon but even he knew better than to trust Clarence any further than he could throw him. And so, when rumours came to him that Clarence was once more plotting against him, what other choice had he but to imprison him in the Tower?
Nobody expected the king to convict his own brother of treason, let alone carry out the sentence, but it was the only answer. It fell therefore to Richard to take matters into his own hands. Anne had waited for him to return until the early hours after midnight.
"Clarence?" she asked softly.
"Dead. Or might as well be. I have placed his life in the hands of arrant knaves who have ta'en payment for his death." He was fiddling with the dagger. "I thought it would feel different, and it does. Is this how a king feels, I wonder? You say it and--there--it is done."
"Would you be king of England, Richard?" She could see him hesitate and added with a scornful laugh. "I am Warwick's daughter, my lord of Gloucester. It takes a great deal more than ambition for a crown to shock me."
"I confess, I had never thought of it that way." He smiled. "Would you be queen of England, my lady of Gloucester?"
Anne could feel her answering smile curve upward. It was her father's smile, and one she had seen often enough in the glass. "I think I might enjoy that."
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Date: 2012-09-03 10:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-09-08 01:52 pm (UTC)And thank you so muh! I'm very glad you enjoyed it.
no subject
Date: 2012-09-09 02:11 pm (UTC)Don't worry about reading silly things -- I've read Philippa Gregory as a result of being obsessed with this period, which probably beats all. *g* (The White Queen, as I can't quite bring myself to read The Kingmaker's Daughter. I'm sure I will eventually, but it looks pretty dreadful!)
And right now I'm reading Virgin Widow by Anne O'Brien, which is definitely silly - it's very much on the fluffy side of things - but I appreciate that she's really thought about what Anne's family would be like and how they would affect her, instead of resorting to the usual lazy characterisations.
What I really want, though, is a novel about the Earl of Warwick, who from nowhere has suddenly become my favourite in all of this. :D Sadly no-one seems to want to write it!
no subject
Date: 2012-09-09 02:38 pm (UTC)I saw Virgin Widow on Amazon the other day. I'm trying to figure out how on earth a person writes Richard/Anne fluff...
Oh, Warwick is absolutely fascinating. I read a very good biography of him a few years ago by I want to say A.J. Pollard. It's truly amazing how much he managed to get away with! And, if you don't mind a bit of self-promotion, I've written a few stories that are either Warwick-centric or where he plays a fairly major role.
Ne vile velis (http://archiveofourown.org/collections/yuletide2009/works/38522) (15th Century RPF) - This, he knew, was a boy who could be King. And he, Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, was the idol of a King.
The Bear and the Shooting Star (http://archiveofourown.org/works/113285) (2 and 3 Henry VI, PG) - John de Vere learns lessons in kingmaking and treason from the best.
I'm also writing a massive Shakespeare histories AU with
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Date: 2012-09-10 10:21 pm (UTC)Wow, a book? :D
I'm trying to figure out how on earth a person writes Richard/Anne fluff...
I think it plays up the childhood sweethearts angle quite a lot. :) And then it ends at the birth of their son, rather than taking things all the way to the end of their lives. I'm about halfway through at the moment, and it's less fluffy than I thought - poor Anne has to endure quite a lot at the hands of Margaret of Anjou and Edward of Lancaster. (who are a biiiit overdone, though convincingly portrayed as people who've been warped and made co-dependent by brooding over deposition and exile.)
I'm glad to hear that Pollard's Warwick biography is good, because I didn't really want to read anything by Michael Hicks, after his treatment of Richard III! And he is fascinating -- I think I'm mostly intrigued by how you get from putting Edward on the throne, to trying to depose him. And then to support the Leicestershire rebellion after he was forgiven for the Robin of Redesdale thing. (also, I quite like straightforward, heart-on-their-sleeve types, which he seems to have been.) Thanks for the fic links - I liked them both very much! Especially the first one, because you're willing him to turn back, to give in, and you know that he's too proud to do anything other than see that course through all the way to the end. (also, "I've already gone to the trouble of choosing sides" really cracked me up. And yay for the inclusion of John Neville -- it's such a big family, and I always think it's a bit of a shame we don't see much of Warwick's siblings in fic.)
Bearing in mind that I don't know very much about the Histories (I've seen Richard II and III, and that's it! I tried to watch the Hollow Crown Henry IV and found myself struggling to follow it a bit), it could be! :) What's the alternate universe?
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Date: 2012-09-10 10:44 pm (UTC)I love the Mélusine story and if I ever actually write the novel I keep meaning to write, it will be in there, but I hated what Gregory did wtih it. I hated that she insisted on making Elizabeth responsible for events happenings miles away from her, that Actual Magic was the source of her power rather than her intellect or her instincts or anything that was innately her. Because she was a seriously amazing woman IRL and it sold her completely short.
And I do actually know why, now that I think about it. The Richard III Society (bless their crazy little hearts) are absolutely wonderful about getting fifteenth-century source material out there for non-academics, but as a result, a lot of it comes out slanted pro-Richard. In the meantime, academia tends to lean anti-Richard almost as a kneejerk reaction to what they perceive as the sentimentalism of the Ricardians, so you get people like Michael Hicks who are legitimately good scholars but who somehow feel the need to broadcast that they are Real Historians Thank You Very Much. It doesn't matter who he's supposed to be writing about--it always ends up about how Richard III is awful and he's the only person willing to say so. His "biography" (and the scare quotes are totally warranted) of Anne Neville was a complete joke.
The AU basically transplants the characters and action (in a way) to the turn of the twentieth century. It is Shakespeare-based, but, honestly, the parts that I've written include so much non-Shakespearean material that it's almost its own thing at times. Also, I shamelessly ship the Duke and Duchess of York. So there is that. ;) Oh, and I don't know if you watch Doctor Who at all, but I co-authored a ridiculous fic about Margaret of Anjou getting her hands on some clockwork robots from the future...
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Date: 2012-09-11 07:46 pm (UTC)If you ever write a novel about the Wars of the Roses, I would definitely read it. :) That's an excellent point about witchcraft and Elizabeth -- having her use magic to achieve her ends takes away from her intelligence, charm etc. (especially when it doesn't seem to have been thought through - why can she make Richard sick but not Edward better?) I think this is actually Philippa Gregory's biggest flaw; she does domestic stuff really well, but she can't do political context. And the strong women she wants to write about would have been (in a subtle way) political operators. (not just pawns, Philippa!) The White Queen gives you a good sense of Elizabeth as wife and mother, but not as a queen, or as anything else.
The agenda thing is the problem I have with non-fiction about the Wars of the Roses -- I'd love to have a clear summary of what happened when, so I can sort what we do know from dramatic license, and yet all the books on Amazon have average ratings and comments saying "stop demonising the Woodvilles!" or "Richard never did any of this!" *headdesk* I have She-Wolves by Helen Castor, which looks like it explains Margaret of Anjou's life thoughtfully and sympathetically, and Fatal Colours (which covers the run-up to Towton) looks pretty good too. (especially as most fiction covers the period between Towton and Bosworth, and so I don't know much about the beginnings of it all.) But I'd really like something which covers the entire thing and which doesn't have a blatant pro- or anti-Richard agenda.
So where do you stand on Richard? :D I'm a bit of a Ricardian, but not to crazy levels.
Oooh, I am fond of the turn of the century -- the 20s are a bit too brittle and sharp-edged for me to really love it, but the aesthetic always draws me back in. And anything which fleshes out Cecily beyond 'terrifying' is definitely good with me -- I'll have to check it out. :D I do watch Doctor Who, but the weird thing is, while I like Eleven so much better than Ten, I found RTD's Who so much more involving than Moffat's. Btw, I really enjoyed Kynges Games; despite all the mess his History of Richard III seems to have caused, I rather like Thomas More. :D And it had George Cavendish!
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Date: 2012-09-12 12:57 pm (UTC)But you're completely right--I think the closest I've managed to come to a linear, relatively impartial account of the Wars of the Roses was E.F. Jacob's The Fifteenth Century, which is massive and so incredibly dry and because it was written in the 1940s completely ignores all the women, but it and the Oxford DNB are what I tend to check when I need specific dates and/or locations. There are some good biographies--Charles Ross generally does a good job of being even-handed about both Edward IV and Richard III, although he does throw a lot of generalizations in Elizabeth Woodville's direction. Better for her is David Baldwin from 2002, while the best bio of Margaret of Anjou that I know of is hands down Helen Maurer's from 2003. There's apparently a new one of Margaret Beaufort that I have not read, but that has been getting some good buzz.
My book isn't a history book, per se--it's about representations of queens and queenship and what that tells us about the writing of history (and fiction, for that matter). On the subject of Richard, I actually fall right in the middle. I used to be a die-hard Ricardian (read Sharon Penman at an impressionable age and in spite of her faults and the things I would do differently, I still love The Sunne in Splendour and it still makes me cry buckets), but writing a doctoral thesis on the Wars of the Roses will, I think, erode pretty much anybody's agenda simply because you realise very early on that there ARE no answers. Each and every one of the sources is partial and therefore not entirely trustworthy. So, what do you do? You follow the patterns, and unfortunately, the patterns do not generally run in Richard's favour. Granted, history was written by the winners, etc, so pretty much anything coming out of the court of Henry VII must be taken with many grains of salt--for instance, I don't buy Richard trying to marry his niece and my view on the Princes is that they were either an awful impulse decision (and we do know Richard made those, c.f. his death); that it was someone close to Richard who was actually responsible but that Richard gave the order, much like his brother did with Henry VI in 1471; or that it was Buckingham. That's Penman's theory and I think it holds water to an extent, but only if you assume Buckingham was actually aiming for the throne for himself.
(In fact, one of the things that drives me completely up the wall in Tudor fiction, Gregory's included, is the fact that nobody talks about history. If you look at what was actually being written at the time, they were obsessed with the Wars of the Roses, but none of the modern fiction reflects that at all.)
Very glad you enjoyed Kynges Games! It was a lot of fun to write, and I did have a great time playing around with More and Wolsey. ;) I admit, I love both Ten and Eleven for very different reasons but I do think that in spite of my favourite RTD-era episodes having been written by Moffat, and my love for so many of his concepts, Moffat seems to be doing too many things at once.
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Date: 2012-09-13 10:04 pm (UTC)Thanks for the biography recs -- I'm finding that I'm increasingly interested in Edward IV, and just what sort of a king he was. Of course people like Warwick would capitalise on the people's grievances for their own gain, but did Edward really rule badly, or were things in such a mess to start with that anyone would have faced rebellions.....? I've seen David Baldwin's book about Richard of York and how he survived the Tower, which is a bit.....weird, but he writes engagingly and I'm sure is much better when not coming up with crazy theories! I might well check out his book on Elizabeth Woodville, because I'm quite interested in what she was really like and what made her so amazing, away from witchcraft etc. *eyeroll*
If you look at what was actually being written at the time, they were obsessed with the Wars of the Roses, but none of the modern fiction reflects that at all.
Oooh, no, there is one: Wolf Hall. It's only a brief mention, but it does talk about the insecurity of Henry's claim to the throne, and the book itself is (naturally) concerned a lot with heritage and lineage. But you're right, you'd think authors would remember that there had been a civil war not that long ago, and that people would worry about something like that happening again. (while The Tudors bothered to include the Poles, it never really made clear who they were!) I think people can often see history as separate blocks of time, rather than interconnected things that happened one after the other.
I agree with you about Moffat doing too many things at once; I really liked how small series 5 felt, compared to how OTT RTD could get, but now there are so many plot developments stuffed in there, and none of them really get the time they deserve! Especially everything with River last season, and how she was Amy's daughter and had grown up with Amy as her best friend and wanted to kill the Doctor and then she fell in love with him and married him and went to prison for him and and and and. Plus his writing of women isn't great; I don't get the feeling he likes them, particularly. (cf. all his comments about how women are needy and just want to get married.)
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Date: 2012-09-20 08:27 pm (UTC)Oh, Wolf Hall is in a class of its own. I dream of writing like that. Or like Dorothy Dunnett. I'm waiting on tenterhooks for the sequel to come out in paperback.
I have so much love for Edward IV, and I blame Sharon Penman (as I do for many things where this time period is concerned). Her particular take on him is so gloriously failtastic that I can't help but adore him. Also, dead sexy. It's what I shoot for when I write him, and thankfully it isn't difficult. He's one of those larger-than-life characters whose biography really is stranger than fiction. It saddens me that Shakespeare doesn't do anything with him--but instead we get that glorious Richard of Gloucester, so I guess it's a tradeoff. ;)
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Date: 2012-09-03 10:37 pm (UTC)I love the historical details you've put in: Clarence protesting against Richard and Anne's marriage and so on.
I usually want to see how stories set at the beginning of the play would continue, but I'm not sure I do here because I love this Richard and this Anne and I don't think it would end happily for them. I love the way the story ends, and it feels just right.
(And it's most awfully sexy as well, of course.)
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Date: 2012-09-08 02:14 pm (UTC)I have such a weakness for Richard/Anne and it keeps almost happening in the gigantic WW2 AU but I have to get through a gigantic pile of plot stuff before I can even see the shippy bits. ;) And as for the sexy, I really enjoyed the way that scene played out in the recent Stratford production (LOVED Pippa Nixon's Anne, also her costume) and I may have borrowed a few things...
I had forgotten that Shakespeare, for no reason I can actually figure out, switched the order of Richard and Anne's marriage and Clarence's imprisonment, which makes it tremendously difficult to write a more mercenary Anne since Clarence is the perfect target. I really wanted to make some reference to the cookshop debacle, but sadly it didn't fit. If I ever get that far in my Wars of the Roses novel, it'll be there.
You're right--it wouldn't end happily for them. I had a vaguely formed idea where Anne's death was a hoax but Richard's wasn't, and it depressed me too much so I didn't write it.
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Date: 2012-09-04 02:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-09-08 02:21 pm (UTC)Thanks so much--I was worried when I initially posted that there wasn't enough of a foundation to make her complicity believable, so I'm glad to hear it worked for you!
* Okay, now I need to get back to that CSI fic (http://the-phrensies.livejournal.com/8827.html) and put in more backstory about how Anne was one of those kids who never saw her parents and had more money than sense.
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Date: 2012-09-04 03:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-09-04 04:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-09-08 02:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-09-08 02:48 am (UTC)