2.5. This book has one tendency so ear-flickingly, hair-pullingly annoying that I often wanted to set it down (or, now and then, send it pinwheeling across the room) for that alone. More about that below. So my rating is a weird, unrepresentative average of all-too-sporadic but very high highs and all-too-persistent lows.
Warner’s stated aim here is not “to whitewash a deeply flawed man or skate over his numerous errors and failings” but to “provide a more vivid and personal portrait of Edward than has been seen before, and to demolish some of the myths invented about him which have come to be widely and wrongly seen as historical fact.” Sometimes this feels right: the one thing everyone is sure they ‘know’ about Edward II is that he died by having a red-hot iron poker inserted via the, er, south portal, so the several pages devoted to exploding this myth are probably about right, but at other times—such as when Warner is convincing us that Edward II was in fact the real father of Isabella’s children and not Roger Mortimer—it seems disproportionate, and the work of correcting misconceptions begins to overshadow the project of painting that “more vivid and personal portrait” of Edward himself.
The book offers an admirably thorough and nuanced account of Edward’s famous “favourites,” most especially Piers Gaveston and Hugh Despenser, and resists another tendency toward oversimplification in not simply acceding to the historiographic demands of the commonplace interpretation, which depends on underreading a lot of the evidence re: Edward and Isabella’s marriage, of these as simple romantic / sexual infatuations. One thing that emerges here is a sense that Edward II’s story changes a lot as prevailing views about non-heteronormative sexuality change. It is a homophobic society that will readily condemn Edward II as a weak, foppish fool by simplifying and vilifying his obvious love for Piers Gaveston. It is a society opening up to homosexuality and in need of what Warner calls a “gay icon” that works from a similarly simplified account of Edward’s relationship to Gaveston by celebrating it as obviously, purely and singularly a homosexual relationship and thus, among other things, being open to the clearly false notion that for this reason there’s somehow certainly no chance that Edward III or any of Isabella’s other children were legitimate. It is a society opening up to a broader spectrum of romantic and sexual ways of being that not only seems capable of acknowledging and accepting rather than simplifying away the complexities of Edward II’s case but also, it seems, coming closer to fourteenth-century notions of intimacy and the considerable overlap between homosexual and so-called homosocial relationships. Warner is open to the possibility that much more complex and idiosyncratic relationships existed in the “brotherhoods” of Edward and these haughty, arrogant, double-dealing and, in Despenser’s case, ultimately faithless friends, and this, along with excellent pen portraits of Gaveston, Despenser, Isabella and Roger Mortimer along the way, is among the book’s greatest strengths.
There are two big weaknesses. One is the fact that, having gone to so much trouble to introduce nuance and steer the lay reader of medieval history away from uncritical acceptance of the enormous, persistent and perception-warping myths about Edward II (that he was a wholly worthless incompetent sandwiched by two perfectly glorious kings; that he was nothing but a silly fop; that he was both simply and completely uninterested in his she-wolf wife and also simply and completely miserable to have been unloved and cuckolded by her; that he was murdered in a way that ensured his howls of agony would be heard across Gloucestershire but that his murderers chose their torturous method of symbolic execution—literally buggering the man to death by iron—to avoid leaving marks on his body and keep the foul play undetected), Warner then goes on to double down on a myth, or at least a view very much in the minority among historians, of her own in the last chapter: that Edward didn’t die in 1327 but, his death faked by several conspirators, instead he lived on in secret for many years. Not only does she lean hard on evidence that is no more than circumstantial to defend this view; she also frames it as simply true and handles the dominant view strangely dismissively. I’m very much a lay reader myself, but I know just enough to know that a great many historians don’t accept this conspiracy theory. This final rhetorical move seemed to me to call other aspects of the book into question.
The other problem here is a kind of bizarre and incredibly annoying tic. It seems as if every paragraph has an assiduous account, down to the halfpenny, of expenditures and of gifts that Edward gave to earls, family members, musicians and dancers he enjoyed, messengers who happened to be bringing him good news, anyone who happened to be passing by, etc. This tallying of monetary outlay can get farcically, absurdly detailed: “Edward gave jewels worth thirty pounds to the bride and groom, a roan-coloured palfrey horse worth twenty pounds to Margaret de Clare and expensive cloth worked with gold and pearls to her ladies, and provided the generous amount of seven pounds, ten shillings and six pence in pennies to be thrown over the heads of the bride and groom”; “Edward had already demonstrated his concern for Gaveston’s remains, spending, for example, £144 and fifteen shillings between 8 July 1312 and 7 July 1313, the sixth year of his reign. This included payment for 5,000 lbs of wax for candles to burn around the embalmed body”; “Edward gave Beche ‘a silver-gilt chased basin, with ewer to match,’ worth seven pounds, thirteen shillings and ten pence, on the Feast of the Circumcision, 1 January 1317. He also gave six shillings and eight pence to John, son of Alan of Scrooby, who officiated as boy-bishop in his chapel on St Nicholas’s Day, 6 December, and ten shillings to…”; “In November 1322, Edward purchased twelve ells of black and vermilion medley, at sixteen pence per ell, to make doublets (courtepies) for the squires of his chamber. He paid twenty-one pounds to…”; “Edward did his best to relax: he spent two pence playing dice, gave twenty shillings to twenty-two local men who played a ball game for his entertainment, and paid twelve pence to…” etc. etc. And it’s done so often here and seems so far outside of all proportion with the effect it might have had of characterizing Edward in some useful way that it just seems meant to show that the author has done her homework and knows where the account book is. If it sounds like I’m picking nits here, read a chapter and count the non-sequitur references to currency. Edward will gladly give you twopence halfpenny for each one.