In her ambitious new book, Game of Queens, Sarah Gristwood explores the lives of twelve remarkable women, all pivotal figures in sixteenth century European politics. Through their stories Gristwood describes the complex and significant networks of female power running through Renaissance Europe that have often been overlooked by history. We are able to understand the ways in which these women were held to much higher standards than their male counterparts and draw fascinating parallels with our twenty first century female rulers, many of whom continue to face similar challenges.
Gristwood casts the familiar Tudor queens such as Anne Boleyn and her daughter Elizabeth Tudor in the wider European context alongside figures like Margaret of Austria and Marguerite of Navarre, making for a rich, intriguing and impressive narrative.

​Here she speaks to Elizabeth Fremantle:

Your previous historical biographies have focused on English women and Game of Queens, through the prism of numerous European royal women, allows us to understand the wider context of those women’s lives. What was it that first inspired you to undertake such a vast project?
At an impressionable age, as a teenager, I read Garrett Mattingly’s classic book, The Defeat of the Spanish Armada, and noted his passing comment that it was sixty years since the parties of religion first squared up, the old versus the new, ‘and always by some trick of Fate one party or the other, and usually both, had been rallied and led by a woman’. When I started looking into that, I was struck by how many of these women were connected – how power and the lessons in how to wield it passed from mother to daughter, mentor to protégé. That lead me inevitably to the women of Europe, rather than just the British Isles – and then I realised that this was in a sense the real story. That there was a real international sisterhood of powerful women, which our very Anglo-centric history has rather forgotten today.

I found Margaret of Austria staggeringly impressive in the way she managed to hold onto power, often against the odds. Of all the women you have written about in Game of Queensdo you have a favourite?
Yes – and it’s Margaret! I totally agree. Margaret of Austria isn’t necessarily the character who occupies the largest place in our imaginations. It’s Elizabeth I and her mother Anne Boleyn at whom every Tudor historian wants a crack, but if you had to be stranded on a desert island with one of these women you’d choose Margaret, definitely. And the fact that she became in her own words, ‘the most important person in Christendom, since she acts as mediator in almost all the negotiations between the princes’ makes her the closest to a career woman of today.

Some might argue that these women were only able to rule with the backing of their male relatives. I believe Game of Queens debunks this notion but can you give us a few of your thoughts about the limitations placed on renaissance women in power.
It’s an interesting question – because of course it’s true; even Margaret of Austria was ruling the Netherlands on behalf of her nephew Charles V. But – big but – she took that surrogate authority and really made something of it. One question the book raised for me was about the different aspects of power  –  how much difference there was (or was not) between a queen regnant, ruling in her own name,  and a woman who took a more traditionally feminine path to authority.

We are seeing now an interesting parallel with Europe in a state of flux – then it was the Reformation and now it is Brexit.  Though your book must have been finished by the time of the final vote there was a good deal of speculation about the future of Europe, was this something you had in mind when writing?
Not in the immediate political sense, perhaps – but I was very aware that the sixteenth century (and before) saw a kind of pan-European sensibility.  That our sense of national identity has actually taken a wrong turn, when we simply envisage John Bull standing out against his enemies. Things may have felt that way after the Reformation had divided Europe – but not before it, necessarily.

Another parallel is the increase of women holding high political office but it is clear that women, even now, are held to higher standards than men when holding public office. How did the early modern torchbearers of Game of Queens negotiate this?
The modern parallels are something of which I was aware – acutely! And you’re right – women are and were considered more accountable, blamed more easily, than men. They have to do everything right, to get even to the starting block, basically. At the very beginning of the period of which I’m writing Anne de Beaujeu, who’d ruled France on behalf of her teenage brother, wrote a manual of instruction for powerful women – Lessons for My Daughter.  And one of her instructions was ‘guard against being deceived  . . . because you can be blamed even for something very slight’. Not all the women managed to avoid this trap – just think of Anne Boleyn! But they were all aware that (as Catherine de Medici once told Elizabeth I) it was through her sexuality that a powerful woman could be attacked most easily. Though maybe that is something that has changed today . . .

When working on a project of such vast scope there must be a good deal of material that has to be left out. Are there any favourite stories or anecdotes that came up in your research that ended up on the cutting room floor?
It’s not so much stories, as whole personalities! Luckily, there are websites which focus on powerful women from a wider global perspective than I was able to do.  I was sorry not to be able to include the Indian ranee who rode into battle on her own war elephant. But I was even more sorry not to be able to include some of the Italian women of our era, who were likewise outside the scope of this story. Women like Caterina Sforza, whom Machiavelli encountered when sent on an embassy. He described how, besieged and with her children taken hostage, Caterina pulled up her skirts and showed the besiegers ‘her genital parts’, telling them she had the means to make more children if necessary.

Can you tell us a little bit about your research and writing process – for example do you have particular routines? I’m wondering too whether this book was more of a challenge to research as many of the archives must have been in other languages.
Well, this book was a one-off  . . .  a subject so broad I suspect no academic historian would ever have tackled it. With sixteen protagonists, five countries and a century of history to cover, this was less about original archival research than other books I’ve done, and more about spotting connections between the women.

What’s next for you?
I haven’t had time yet even to talk to a publisher  – but there is a project I’m enormously keen to do. And I can say that it’s once again about women and power  – just a bit more recent than the sixteenth century!

This interview was first published in Historia Magazine
Game of Queens: The Women who Made Sixteenth Century Europe is out now.
Find out more about Sarah Gristwood.
Elizabeth Fremantle’s latest novel The Girl in the Glass Tower is published by Penguin.

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​It's that time of year again, so I'm going to take the stress out of your Christmas shopping chaos and suggest you find everything at your local bookshop. After all the pleasure of a book lasts a lifetime, unlike that of a comedy apron or a scented candle. Here are some recommendations for the stockings of all kinds of book lovers:

​FOR LITERARY ECO-WARRIERS
 
​For those undaunted by doorstep sized literary novels, then Annie Proulx's BARKSKINS is one of my books of the year. Spanning more than three hundred years and depicting numerous generations of characters it tells the story of the sacrifice of the world's forests in the name of progress.

​FOR POLITICOS
 
For clever friends who prefer political non-fiction then you can't go wrong with BLOOD AND SAND, the latest book from historian, Alex Von Tunzelman, on the sixteen days in 1956 that pushed the world to the brink of a nuclear conflict with crises in Hungary and Suez.

​FOR CRIME ADDICTS
 
For lovers of crime fiction series there's Antonia Hodgson's DEATH AT FOUNTAIN'S ABBEY, set in 1728, it follows Jack Hawkins to Yorkshire on a mission to uncover a murder; or MJ Carter's THE DEVIL'S FEAST, set in 1842, in which Captain William Avery must uncover a horrible death at The Reform Club. Both are the third books in their series, so if you were feeling generous you might want to offer all three.

FOR STRONG WOMEN AND SPIES
 For those who like novels about strong women there's Katherine Webb's 1950s set, THE ENGLISH GIRL, about a woman who longs to escape the rigid boundaries of her life and marriage but finds more than she'd bargained for on a desert adventure. Or for a less exotic setting but equally strong women is Elizabeth Buchan's THE NEW MRS CLIFTON, set in London in the wake of WW2, when a brother, to his sisters' dismay, returns from the war with a German bride.

​FOR WW2 BUFFS
 
These two gripping novels tell of soldiers devastated by their experiences war. Jason Hewitt's DEVASTATION ROAD follows a broken English soldier trying to find his way home in the dying days of the war. William Ryan's THE CONSTANT SOLDIER offers another perspective depicting a German soldier, badly injured, who returns home to find his eyes are opened about the Nazis who have taken over his village.

​FOR SECRET GOTHICS
 
For those with a yearning for dark victoriana Anna Mazzola's debut THE UNSEEING tells of a woman who is about to hang for a gruesome murder but there's more to her story than meets the eye. Your could offer it alongside Waterstone's pick, Sarah Perry's acclaimed victorian gothic novel THE ESSEX SERPENT.

​FOR PEPYS PEOPLE
 
The Stuart period is having a moment. This year marked the 350th year since London's great fire and how about Rebecca Rideal's excellent non-fiction, 1666: PLAGUE, WAR AND HELLFIRE, which gives an overview of the world-shaking events of that year. You could give it together with Andrew Taylor's novel about  a murder uncovered in the wake of the great fire THE ASHES OF LONDON

​FOR FAMOUS FEMALES
 
Themes of fame and the female run through Katherine Clement's and Essie Fox's latest novels. Still with the Stuarts THE SILVERED HEART, tells of a notorious highway-woman during the chaos of the English Civil War. THE LAST DAYS OF LEDA GREY slips between the heatwave of 1976 and the Edwardian era to reveal the secrets of a silent movie star.

​FOR TUDOR FANS
 
For those who have read everything there is to read about the Tudors, Sarah Gristwoods far-reaching non-fiction work, GAME OF QUEENS, contextualises the lives of the Tudors by exploring the network of powerful women throughout sixteenth century Europe. Another little-known Elizabethan and Stuart woman is the subject to (ahem – cheekiness alert) my own novel. THE GIRL IN THE GLASS TOWER is Arbella Stuart, raised to be heir to Elizabeth I and the novel tells of her attempts to escape the life fate and politics has prescribed.

​FOR WITCHES
 
Witchcraft, or accusations of it in the Medieval period tie these novels together. Maitland's west country setting is the scene for dark and mysterious happenings in THE PLAGUE CHARMER and Manda Scott's, INTO THE FIRE explodes myths about Joan of Arc in a thrilling tale of a political cover up that spans hundreds of years. 

‘Prepare to be welcomed into the coveted world of power and privilege....the leaders of an empire await,’  states the blurb on Netflix about The Crown. Whether or not you subscribe to the streaming service you will doubtless be aware of the eagerly anticipated new series about the reign of Elizabeth II from Peter Morgan, (of The Queen and The Audience fame) if only because, with a reputed budget of a hundred million, it is the most expensive series yet to grace the small screen.
 
Morgan seems to have cornered the market on our monarch and is light-hearted about his seeming obsession with the enigmatic woman, saying it happened ‘by accident’ through his interest in politics, power and the press, themes he has returned to throughout his career. He has tellingly also written about Nixon, Tony Blair, Idi Amin and Henry VIII. When interviewed by Andrew Marr who suggested he must have developed a deep affection for the Queen he joked that perhaps it was ‘Stockholm Syndrome’. He has often been quoted as saying that he has no interest in meeting her as he feels it would compromise his project to seek royal approval. It is a sentiment I applaud and one that makes for a better, richer and more honest drama.
 
Morgan is a subtle writer who doesn’t spoon feed the viewer and this works well for material that might have become mawkish in the hands of another. This is no scurrilous soap opera about the royals; it is a subtle and impressive exploration of a strangely fascinating and archaic institution. The research is meticulous and the pacing measured, refusing to resort to the cheap cliff-hangers and explosive sex scenes we have become used to in television drama, allowing the performances to take centre stage. Clare Foy’s Elizabeth is a masterful portrayal, her accent perfectly pitched and the sense of buttoned up shyness and vulnerability she conveys is touching. Her dialogue is spare and she uses long and meaningful pauses to great effect.

As the drama progresses we come to understand that it is not the Queen but the crown that is the central character and she merely its embodiment, constantly tugged between her public and private selves, making Foy’s quiet portrayal all the more powerful.  Another compelling performance comes from Vanessa Kirby as Princess Margaret, the foil to her sister, who spills over with barely repressed libido, her dresses seeming about to slip off and expose her, compared to Elizabeth’s demure cardigans and brooches. Though each episode works as its own complete narrative, Margaret’s scandalous affair with the divorced Group Captain Peter Townsend provides one of the main narrative threads stitched through the series as a whole.
 
The romance itself comes secondary to its political implications. The example of Margaret’s outcast uncle looms, played with a louche precision by Alex Jennings whose flat vowels, presumably an affectation caught from his American wife, cause unmasked disapproval from his relatives, particularly Queen Mary, who is herself wont to burst into German, a telling detail that is pure taboo. We see history repeating and understand the glacial pace of change within this institution. Almost twenty years have passed, a world war has been and gone, the country has changed beyond recognition, yet still a royal princess cannot marry a divorcee. Margaret’s inappropriate love becomes the catalyst for Elizabeth’s slow realisation that her duty to the crown must come before everything, including her loyalty to her sister. It is an understanding hard won.
 
Morgan uses pairs of characters, working against one another to create drama: Elizabeth and Margaret, Elizabeth and Prince Phillip, Edward VII and George VI and Churchill and Eden, whose rivalry occupies another primary narrative thread. Indeed Churchill too stubbornly resists change, living in the past, like the royal family. These pairs are all in some ways deeply connected and yet exposed to betrayal by the uncompromising force of duty. Morgan employs flashbacks to the past to emphasise the pressure of history and responsibility weighing down on the shoulders of a young woman quite unprepared for the role that is thrust on her by the premature death of her father from lung cancer.
 
She may be Queen but we understand that she hasn’t even the power to choose her Private Secretary. Tommy Lascelles is foisted on her, exquisitely brought to life by a saturnine and moustachioed Pip Torrens, who comes to represent the pedantry of the royal institution. Protocol and precedence dictate everything. Morgan’s spare and precise writing allows us to see this in a powerful scene in which Elizabeth first encounters her family as Queen. Her sister kisses her on the cheek in intimate close-up and they make for the stairs, the camera drawing back. ‘Wait,’ says the Queen Mother to Margaret. Her sister must go first from now on. Prince Phillip gives her a look, a minuscule, knowing smile and we, like Margaret, begin to understand the new dynamic and how it will impact on their personal relationships: Elizabeth in chilly isolation and her husband, mother and sister always in her wake.
 
Every episode is shot through with themes of sacrifice and duty, exposing what seems an arcane and illogical system that has a country in its thrall. This is emphasised by the scenes set in the impersonal spaces of the palace, its hushed carpeted acres bathed in cool blue light with staff moving through them silently. This is cast into sharp relief by glimpses into Margaret’s wild parties, seen mainly from a servant’s eye view, through half opened doors, lit with tantalising warmth, and Prince Philip’s escapades with his male friends, whizzing around London’s night spots in his sports car. He too, like his glamorous sister-in-law, is depicted as a charismatic individual sacrificed to a system beyond his control.
 
There is barely a hair out of place in this impressive drama and I found myself watching it compulsively. My criticisms are few; an unnecessarily silly episode with a rogue elephant and the occasional anachronistic idiom, which only a pedant like me might notice, stood out, perhaps more so because everything else was so carefully rendered. The greatest pity for me is that was The Crown on the BBC we would all be talking and tweeting simultaneously about each episode, and together impatiently awaiting the next. That is the downfall of streaming sites like Netflix but had it been a BBC production it certainly wouldn’t have had such a stratospheric budget and high production values and would have been the poorer for it – nor would I have been able to binge watch the entire first series over two days.

​Images: Netflix
First published on Historia – the place to go for the best in historical writing.
 
Elizabeth Fremantle’s latest novel The Girl in the Glass Tower is published by Penguin.

A chance encounter with Toby Litt the other day made me go back and take a look at his essay titled Against Historical Fiction. It is an oft-quoted and gently provocative piece that frequently puts the noses of historical fiction writers out of joint by calling their work ‘deeply bogus’ and suggesting the term historical fiction is an ‘oxymoron’. But, though Litt is clearly not a fan of historical fiction, it is easy to take what he says out of context. 

He suggests historical fiction is created in ‘bad faith’. Though it is clearly a critical point it is not intended to be insulting or derogatory but to describe the function of fiction about the past and the contract between reader and writer. He takes the term ‘bad faith’, in a philosophical sense, from Sartre, as to mean the vacillation between what is known to be fact and what is purely speculative. He opposes this with history books, which he deems are ‘written in good faith’, meaning by this that they aspire to truthfulness.

It would be tempting to argue that even documented historical ‘fact’ can be subject to unreliability and misinterpretation. We know ‘the truth’ is a slippery concept and that the writers of history often have their own political agendas at play in their work, but it is Litt’s statement about it being only, as it were, ‘proper’ history that seeks, ‘in an honest way,’ to say something ‘useful or truthful about the past’ that interests me more. 

What he seems to be saying is that the intentions of the ‘proper’ historical writer and the historical novelist are in opposition to one another. This is tricky territory as it lumps together the aims of all those who set their fiction in the past. Each novelist surely has a different, subjective, aim for his or her fiction. Some may indeed be simply be using history as an exotic screen on which to project stories with contemporary sensibilities, wilfully flouting known 'truths' for the sake of the aims of their particular narrative. Others, though, might be seeking to exploit the imaginative space between the known 'facts' of the past as a way to tell the untold stories, or as attempting to use historical parallels as a way to better understand the present.