The Last Wife of Henry VIII

( 48 )

Overview

Author of The Hidden Diary of Marie Antoinette

Courageous, attractive, romantic, intelligent, Catherine Parr became the sixth wife of Henry VIII. Her story, as Carolly Erickson re-creates it, is page-turning drama: from the splendors of the Field of the Cloth of Gold to the gory last years of the outsize King Henry, when heads rolled and England trembled, Catherine bestrode her destiny and survived to marry her true love.

Catherine Parr ...

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The Last Wife of Henry VIII: A Novel

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Overview

Author of The Hidden Diary of Marie Antoinette

Courageous, attractive, romantic, intelligent, Catherine Parr became the sixth wife of Henry VIII. Her story, as Carolly Erickson re-creates it, is page-turning drama: from the splendors of the Field of the Cloth of Gold to the gory last years of the outsize King Henry, when heads rolled and England trembled, Catherine bestrode her destiny and survived to marry her true love.

Catherine Parr attracted the king’s lust and, though much in love with the handsome Thomas Seymour, was thrown into the intrigue-filled snake pit of the royal court. While victims of the king’s wrath suffered torture and execution, Catherine persevered—until, at last, she came within the orbit of the royal fury. King Henry toyed with her, first ordering her arrested, then granting her clemency. She managed to evade execution, but she knew that the king had his wandering eye fixed on wife number seven.

She was spared by his death and married the attractive but dangerously unbalanced Seymour. Her triumph was shadowed by rivalry with the young Princess Elizabeth, whose lands and influence the lecherous Seymour coveted. Catherine won the contest, but at great cost.

In The Last Wife of Henry VIII, critically acclaimed author Carolly Erickson brings this dramatic story of survival and redemption to life.

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Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher
Praise for The Hidden Diary of Marie Antoinette

“I read The Hidden Diary of Marie Antoinette in two days, and when I finished it, I reread the final pages, as hungry for more as a child scraping the last crumbs of chocolate cake off her plate with her fingers. I thrilled to Marie Antoinette’s every incarnation.…A very human and multi-textured portrait of a queen who all too often has been reduced to a historical one-liner.” —-Judith Warner, The New York Times Book Review

“[Marie Antoinette] regains her historical reputation in this historical novel. . . . The glittering but corrupt French court, the growing turmoil, the brutal poverty, the intrigues are all illuminated here.” —-Deirdre Donahue, USA Today

“Writers of historical fiction must tread a fine line between loving one’s protagonists while telling the truth about them. Carolly Erickson has executed this balancing act with the same scorching wit and great-heartedness that has always illuminated her biographies.” —-Robin Maxwell, author of The Secret Diary of Anne Boleyn and To the Tower

“Carolly Erickson turns cold fact to hot fiction in her first historical novel. The Hidden Diary of Marie Antoinette lets a much-maligned woman speak for herself—-in exquisitely precise prose that illuminates her growth from innocent princess to unloved wife to doomed queen. Erickson...reveals the very human truth behind history’s mask.” —-India Edghill, author of Queenmaker and Wisdom’s Daughter

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781250024381
  • Publisher: St. Martin's Press
  • Publication date: 5/22/2012
  • Edition description: Special Edition, $9.99 Edition
  • Pages: 336
  • Sales rank: 1,387,392
  • Product dimensions: 5.50 (w) x 8.20 (h) x 1.00 (d)

Meet the Author

Distinguished historian turned popular novelist CAROLLY ERICKSON is the author of The First Elizabeth, Great Catherine, Alexandra, The Hidden Diary of Marie Antoinette, and many other prize-winning works of fiction and nonfiction. She lives in Hawaii.

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Read an Excerpt

The Last Wife of Henry VIII ($9.99 Ed.)

A Novel
By Carolly Erickson

St. Martin's Griffin

Copyright © 2012 Carolly Erickson
All right reserved.

ISBN: 9781250024381

Chapter One 
My earliest memory is of a windswept plain in flanders called the Golden Valley. I was seven years old, a blue-eyed, fair-haired child in the retinue of Queen Catherine, and I rode into the valley on the back of a small cart filled with trunks and baskets and cages of squawking chickens and ducks. A light rain was falling, I remember, and I put up the hood of my cloak to cover my head.
 
As we trundled and rattled down through the hills the rain suddenly ceased and the sun came out. I could see the entire plain spread out before me, with the little town of Ardres beside the river on one side of the valley and the smaller settlement of Guines on the other side. Rows and rows of tents had been erected near each of the towns and a huge tent of gold cloth with a shiny statue atop it loomed over them like a broody mother hen over her chicks.
 
It was near sunset and the late afternoon sun struck the golden tent and turned it to fire, its red-gold glow spilling out over the nearby rooftops and gilding the river water. As I watched, all the windows in a nearby stone pavilion began to glow red, reflecting the setting sun, and I thought to myself, this must be the most beautiful sight I have ever seen.
 
I thought the grand display in the Golden Valley quite wondrous, but to my mother, who was a thrifty woman, it was an excuse for waste.
 
"I'm glad your father didn't live to see this," she remarked to me the following day, after we were settled into our lodging in Guines. "These two kings, Francis and Henry, are spending a fortune to impress each other. So much silk and brocade, so many feathered plumes and perfumed gloves and jeweled buckles. Why, our King Henry alone bought five hundred ells of fine Italian cloth of gold just to line his tent. There is so much of the stuff in view that the townspeople are calling this the Field of Cloth of Gold."
 
"Father, if he were here, would be wearing his best velvet doublet and his gold chain of office." My father had been controller of King Henry's household until his death three years earlier, and had been responsible for paying out all the expenses and wages. I remembered him as a vigorous, forceful man who loved his finery and took any excuse to wear it.
 
"Yes but he would have grumbled about the king's excesses at the same time. Now that he is gone, there is no one but Cardinal Wolsey to check the royal extravagance. And everyone knows how prudent the cardinal himself is with money."
 
I smiled. Even I, at seven years old, knew that the cardinal threw gold coins to beggars when copper would have been lavish and wore ermine-lined cloaks that were finer than the king's own. We all were in awe of Cardinal Wolsey.
 
"Now, Cat, I want you to remember what I told you. I will present you to Queen Catherine, you will kneel and be silent. She will bless you and smile, as she always does with children. She loves children. If you must speak, say only 'May God keep your royal highness.' Have you got that?"
 
"Yes, mother. 'May God keep your royal highness.'"
 
"Now, remember. No matter what others are here for, I have brought you with me to this place for one purpose only: to find a husband for you, and to arrange for your betrothal. When the queen requires my presence, I will serve her. The rest of my time I will devote to you."
 
She looked at me critically, smoothing down my hair and centering the pendant cross that hung from my gold necklace over my breastbone.
 
"Turn around."
 
I turned slowly.
 
"You'll do." She allowed her face to relax and smiled at me and kissed my cheek. "We'll make a fine match for you. One your father would have been proud of. You were his favorite, you know."
 
She took me by the hand and led me to where a groom was waiting with horses. A strong wind whipped at our cheeks as we rode to the newly built tilting ground where under a bright red awning trimmed in gold Queen Catherine sat with her ladies, doing her best to look content and interested in the spectacle before her though the weather was very cold and we all wished we were indoors by a warm fire. Coals burned in open braziers but the fires did nothing to alleviate the chill. As we approached the queen I could see that she kept her hands under a fur lap-robe and when she lifted one hand and delicately wiped her mouth her finger-ends were blue.
 
I had often seen Queen Catherine before, but had never been formally presented to her. My mother had been one of the queen's ladies-in-waiting for as long as I could remember. I thought she was the most beautiful of them, with her rich red hair and white skin and wide mouth, though I had to admit that Maria de Salinas, a striking brunette, was at least equally lovely. Queen Catherine was a small woman whose reddish-blond hair had begun to go gray and whose fair skin was wrinkled around the eyes and mouth. Her expression in repose was severe--I had often seen that, when I accompanied my mother to mass with the queen or when I entered a room where the ladies-in-waiting were and the queen was among them, reading. Yet when she smiled that severity melted and she looked quite joyful. I watched that transformation now as she saw my mother approach, with me in tow.
 
"So this is your little girl," she said, quite informally, holding out both hands to me and smiling.
 
"Yes, your majesty."
 
I knelt before her and bowed as my mother had told me to do and the queen placed her hands on my shoulders.
 
"Bless you, child. What is your name?"
 
"Cat. Catherine. I was named for you, your majesty."
 
"Well then, little namesake, stand up and let me take a look at you."
 
She regarded me gravely, and I felt kindness in her regard, not the harsh scrutiny I often felt from other adults. I was used to being stared at and judged. I knew very well that my worth, as a girl, lay in my appearance. And I knew that I was thought to be a pretty little girl.
 
"Has she any dowry?" Queen Catherine asked my mother.
 
"Only a modest one. Four hundred pounds."
 
"She has her looks, and her mother's royal blood, and the sponsorship of the queen--"
 
My mother curtseyed deeply. "Thank you, your majesty."
 
It was true, I was of royal descent. My mother's mother's family, the Fitzhughs, claimed as an ancestor John of Gaunt, a son of King Edward III. Though as I knelt before Queen Catherine, I felt very sharply aware of the difference between us. Her mother had been the great Queen Isabella of Castile, conqueror of the Moors and, with her husband Ferdinand of Aragon, uniter of all Spain. It had been Queen Isabella who sponsored the voyages of the Italian Cristobal Colon, the man who claimed the new lands of the Americas for Spain. Catherine was indeed a highborn queen, and she was honoring me with her recommendation.
 
"Ah, I see that my lord is ready to begin the joust." Catherine stood, her attention on the tiltyard, where a crowd had been gathering to watch the competition. A wide expanse of barren ground had been fenced off, the fencing decorated with bright red and blue banners and the heraldic shields of England and France. Pennons flew in the wind atop tall poles. Down the middle of the fenced-in area ran a long wooden barrier. Riders approached each other from opposite ends of the field, on opposite sides of the barrier. Using long wooden lances with blunt ends, each attempted to knock the other off his horse. It all took much strength and skill, and the champion of the tiltyard was always the hero of the court.
 
A loud blast of trumpets and even louder noise from the crowd of onlookers announced the start of the tilting.
 
With a thunderous pounding of hoofs an immense dun-colored stallion, mane and tail flying, galloped down the length of the wooden barrier as the onlookers shouted and cheered. The rider, his face hidden behind the lowered visor of his gilded and plumed helmet, was an outsize man with a broad, strong frame and powerful legs. He dipped his lance to the cheering spectators, then rode back to the starting point.
 
"It is the king! It is the king!"
 
I was so caught up in the excitement that I almost forgot where I was, and began jumping up and down. I felt a restraining hand on my shoulder and heard my mother whisper loudly, "Look at the princess! See how well behaved she is!"
 
I glanced over to where the blond, delicate four-year-old Princess Mary rested in the arms of Maria de Salinas, her eyes bright and intent on watching her magnificent father but her body obediently still. She was well trained to keep her composure and her quietness put me to shame.
 
But then, Princess Mary was the heir to the throne. If Queen Catherine had no son--and I had heard my mother and the other ladies-in-waiting say quietly to one another that she would not--then Mary would be the next ruler of England. No wonder she was so well behaved and dignified. She would one day be queen.
 
A second rider had now made his appearance and was introducing himself to the crowd. He was the great French champion the Sieur de Chatelherault, and I heard his name murmured through the mass of spectators as he rode up and down along the barrier as the king had, making his splendid warhorse sidestep and toss his head proudly.
 
In a moment the herald stepped forward and announced the first test of arms. Now the onlookers fell silent, watching the two riders take their places at opposite ends of the lists, adjust their visors and lower their wooden lances. At a signal they spurred their mounts forward and, amid much spewing of mud clumps and churning of earth, the horses flew toward one another and the riders took aim with their long lances.
 
There was a tremendous crash as the lances splintered with the impact of the two hurtling combatants--and then it was over, the French champion in his black and silver armor lay struggling on the ground, his mount shying and snorting.
 
The crowd roared "King Henry! King Henry!" again and again, and the king, who appeared unshaken by his clash with the Frenchman, raised his visor and waved, smiling to the entire assembly before resuming his place at the end of the field.
 
Another challenger was brought against him, and then another. Each time my heart beat quickly and I feared for King Henry's safety. Yet each time he thundered along the barrier, lance held securely, and unhorsed his opponent while evading being unhorsed himself.
 
His strength was prodigious, and his stamina even more so. I cannot now remember how long I stood watching, open-mouthed and in awe, but it seemed like a very long afternoon. Finally the herald announced the winner, in a voice that trembled with emotion: "King Harry the Eighth of That Name, champion!"
 
Yet another deafening cheer rose from hundreds of throats, and the champion made his tired mount trot up and down the tiltyard one last time while flowers were thrown in his path and tributes called out. Diverging from his path down the center of the jousting field, he turned his horse in the direction of a richly dressed young woman who stood in one of the royal pavilions adjacent to Queen Catherine's. As we watched, the woman held out a square of shimmering blue silk and he reached up and took it from her, kissing it and attaching it to his armor where it fluttered conspicuously against the gleaming silver metal.
 
I saw that the queen had been holding out a square of red silk, no doubt expecting the king to take it and wear it. When she saw him take the other woman's token she quickly withdrew her outstretched arm and handed the red silk square to my mother, who tucked it discreetly into the pocket of her gown.
 
"Why didn't the king wear the queen's token?" I asked my mother, who put her finger to her lips to silence me. Later, at the lavish banquet the king held to celebrate his victory, I had my answer.
 
In the torchlit banqueting hall of his newly built palace, King Henry gave a feast that night for the French king Francis that surpassed any feast I had ever attended. Long dining tables were heaped with platters of roast beef and pork, swan and pheasant, succulent puddings and towering miniature castles made from spun sugar and filled with marzipan and sweet comfits. The wine flowed freely and many toasts were offered to the jousters and their ladies.
 
I observed that Queen Catherine sat with the French Queen Claude and her ladies, not with King Henry. He sat at a table apart from all the others, the French king in the place of honor on his right hand but on his left, the young woman who had given him the square of blue silk.
 
She was very beautiful in her gown of deep red velvet, her abundant hair held back by a headdress that sparkled with gems. As if she did not have enough finery already, I saw the king slip an emerald ring on her finger, and her smile, when she looked over at him, was one of gratitude combined with deep pleasure and satisfaction. It was the smile of a woman who has achieved what she wants, and is well pleased with it.
 
I saw that several of the French ladies were looking over at Henry and his attractive companion and talking to one another about her. I had been instructed in French since I began my studies at the age of four, and I understood quite a bit of what they said. The woman's name was Bessie Blount, and she had been King Henry's mistress for several years. Evidently the king preferred her company to that of his wife.
 
One of the French ladies seemed to be staring at Bessie with fascination. She interested me because she spoke both French and English, and because I enjoyed watching her dance. She was graceful, she dipped and swayed to the music as if dancing rather than walking was her natural form of movement.
 
"That is Lady Elizabeth Boleyn's daughter, Anne," my mother told me. "She lives at the French court. She is one of Queen Claude's maids of honor. I suppose she will marry a Frenchman."
 
"She doesn't look like the others."
 
"No. She has a wild, gypsy look about her. Such dark skin and those black eyes. Unfortunate really. Still, I suppose some Frenchman will have her--if her dowry is high enough."
 
Later that evening my mother discussed my dowry with a tall, spare old man who leaned on his cane and looked at me carefully as they conversed, as if examining a painting. I looked back. After a time he smiled.
 
"She has heart, your daughter. Not one girl in twenty would look back at an old man like me in that unflinching way."
 
"She is her father's daughter, Lord Scrope. My late husband, Thomas Parr, as you may remember, was a valiant fighter. He fought at the king's side against the French here in Flanders some years ago. And he was a fearless rider and hunter."
 
"So he was. Can she ride?"
 
"I am told I ride well for my age," I said. "And I am learning to shoot. And to dance."
 
I could see that Lord Scrope was amused at my very forthcoming response. His eyes twinkled.
 
"We will have to talk further," he said to my mother. "Perhaps something can be arranged. It is a possibility." And he took himself off, limping on one leg and leaning heavily on his cane.
 
I have many memories of the Golden Valley. How the wind blew so hard that the horses lost their way, blinded by the dust in their eyes. How King Francis was injured while competing in the tiltyard and had to wear an eyepatch over his bloodshot right eye. I remember Queen Catherine, when she thought no one could see her, crying quietly into her handkerchief and then drying her eyes and crossing herself. But most of all I remember King Henry, splendid in his suit of dazzling cloth of gold, a gold cloth cap on his head with a white feather plume, laughing and joking with Bessie Blount and his friends.
 
One night the French king gave a reception for the English courtiers in his huge silken tent and King Henry arrived late, making a great noise as he burst into the midst of the gathering. In his arms he carried a sturdy baby boy, dressed exactly as he himself was dressed in a small suit of cloth of gold with a feathered cap. The king went from one guest to another, showing off the baby to each of them in turn and asking, "Isn't he a fine boy, this son of mine? Truly England never had a more handsome prince." The baby, bounced up and down too often by his energetic father, or frightened by the sight of so many strangers, turned down the corners of his mouth and began to cry.
 
I looked at my mother questioningly. "But I thought Queen Catherine only had a daughter, Princess Mary."
 
"Yes," my mother answered through clenched teeth. "She does."
 
"Then who is this boy?"
 
"He's the son of Bessie Blount. Now, bow to King Henry and say nothing."
 
I obeyed. We bowed low to the king as he passed, smiling and chortling over his boy. He moved on, and I watched his retreating figure, thrilled to have been so near to him, honored that he should glance in my direction, and above all puzzled that with such a lovely wife and well-behaved daughter he should show such a marked preference for a mistress and a bastard son.
 
Copyright ? 2006 by Carolly Erickson. All rights reserved.

Continues...

Excerpted from The Last Wife of Henry VIII ($9.99 Ed.) by Carolly Erickson Copyright © 2012 by Carolly Erickson. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4.5
( 48 )
Rating Distribution

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(21)

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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 48 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted August 27, 2008

    A historical novel that failed History

    I believe that if you¿re going to write a historical novel, that you have a duty to present an accurate history. While you may imagine personalities and dialog and invent servants and other minor figures, when it comes to the main players in your story, you should stick to the facts in the historical record. Carolly Ericson plays fast and loose with the facts in The Last Wife of Henry VIII. As I was reading through the novel I kept coming across bits and pieces that didn¿t fit with my knowledge of Tudor history. I could forgive this if she¿d written a compelling novel, but the fact is, I never felt the slightest bit sympathetic for our heroine, Catherine Parr, who comes across as a bit of a weak willed ninny. One of the reasons I love to read historical novels is that feeling of being immersed in the history, of being there. The novelist has to have done their research to be able to build a realistic representation of the era that they¿re writing about. I¿ve read extensively about the Tudors and Elizabethans, and again and again I ran across details in this novel that made me go, ¿Huh, is that right?¿ After I finished the book it took just a few minutes on the Internet to confirm my suspicions that the authro got many, many of the historical details in the novel wrong. If you like historical fiction, I recommend trying Phillipa Gregory or Alison Weir, both of whom are excellent writers.

    7 out of 7 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 6, 2010

    I loved it!

    I found this book a very good read. I had never really took an interest in the wives of King Henry, but after reading this book, I took more of an interest in them. She was detailed but still mysterious enough about them to make me want to look them up and read more.

    I read the book quickly the first time, eager for what would happen next to Catherine Parr and the men in her life. I felt like I didn't get the whole story, so I read it again and picked up more of the little details Erickson slips in every now and then. The only thing that disappointed me was the ending. It was a little dull for me, but it was still touching in a way. Its sad how Catherine worked so hard but lost everything in a sense. (I'm trying not to give the ending away completely)

    But over all, I would recommend this book to anyone who enjoys a good, quick read.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted December 30, 2006

    A great read!

    I loved this book. IF you like historical fiction... you won't be able to put this one down. Well done!

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted December 9, 2008

    more from this reviewer

    a reviewer

    This is a biographical fictional account of Catherine ¿Cat¿ Parr, the real survivor having become King Henry Tudor¿s only widow.. Interestingly, Cat in some ways matches the deviousness of Henry by outlasting four spouses Henry being her number three. Henry was drawn to the intelligent and beautiful Cat when she was still a teen, but they married others until she became number six on his death card though by then he was aging and obese so that she became his final chapter. In fact after Henry died Cat married her lover. Whereas her predecessors, new rivals, and his two daughters are looked upon as losers, she laments that Henry¿s Church of England is more corrupt than the Papacy it replaced, as priests expected to be bought, which she used to achieve her desires.-------------- Carolly Erickson¿s tale is interesting as it brings out the Machiavellian marital machinations of the fifteenth century English aristocracy in which loving relationships took a back seat to power marriages. Though over titillating at times as if the reader is a voyeur, THE LAST WIFE OF HENRY VIII is a fascinating look at the last woman standing.---------------- Harriet Klausner

    1 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 21, 2014

    First read by author but won't be my last!

    Really liked it.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 14, 2012

    Great read

    This is my first read from this author and will definitely not be my last. She has a way to draw you into this book and keep you there. Loved it. A must read.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 4, 2012

    Couldn't put it down

    I absolutely loved this book and had a hard time putting it down. If you don't mind a few liberties being taken with the history, this is a very enjoyable book.

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  • Posted December 27, 2010

    more from this reviewer

    Highly Recommended!

    This was an excellent book that went in depth in the life of Catherine Parr, the last wife of King Henry VIII. She are not that many books that tell the tale of Catherine Parr from her point of view. It was a very interesting read...I read the entire book in one day while I was snowed in. :-)

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  • Anonymous

    Posted March 18, 2010

    Good read...

    I liked it!

    0 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted November 28, 2009

    I Also Recommend:

    Good Historical Fiction

    I thought this book was very well written, the author did not lose the reader by over analyzing the surroundings or the time like many historical fiction books tend to do. Catherines story was a sad one, like many of the women of that time. It was engaging and kept you interested until the very end. That Henry was just a "bastardo". Good quick read.

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted August 30, 2009

    more from this reviewer

    WORTH READING

    Very well written and interesting.
    This book held my attention.
    I will read this one again and other books by the same author.

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted February 24, 2009

    The Last Wife of Henry VIII

    Because I read just a bit before going to bed, I have to go back and review the characters sometimes but I love history so it has been a very interesting book to read. I don't know if it is historically correct and true but makes for good reading.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted July 25, 2008

    Pretty Good

    I liked it ok. I found it interesting, but I have read better books.

    0 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted June 29, 2008

    Not bad at all

    I really enjoyed this book. I had read other novels about Catherine Parr and this had a unique take on the events, especially about the time before she became queen. Some things plotwise didn't really go with what I've read in history books, but enjoyable none the less. I'd recommend it to someone who isn't a stickler about true facts.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted July 13, 2008

    Catherine Parr

    The Last Wife of Henry VIII is the story of Catherine Parr's strugle for survival on her own terms in Tudor England. Catherine would marry four times: the first for family duty, the second for pertection, the thrid because she had no other choice, and final for love. Though in the end it would break her heart. I could not put this book down.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted February 25, 2008

    Outstanding!

    I listened to the audio version of this book, and in addition to the book itself being terrific, the reader was wonderful, too. It's an enlightening, entertaining look at the life of Cat Parr, one of Henry's lesser known wives. Highly recommended!

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  • Anonymous

    Posted December 31, 2007

    A reviewer

    'The Last Wife of Henry VII' was very enjoyable. I couldn't put it down, I even got my mom hooked on it. Now were trying to get my dad to read it too. I recommend this book for people who like cliff-hanger books and books you just can't put down.

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted July 20, 2007

    Loved This Book

    I love reading anything about the Tudor era. And this book really brought Catherine Parr to life, a woman I knew little about. I plan to read more of Carolly Erickson's books.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted April 11, 2007

    It's a Good Book

    I liked this book because it was interesting yet believable. The characters were realistic and full of life. There were some parts that bored me slightly, but overall, it was a good read.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 24, 2007

    first person and fun

    it is an interesting novel that gives a good story of what may have happened to Catherine Parr. I read it in one day and really enjoyed the characters and telling of the tale.

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