The White Queen (Cousins' War Series #1)by Philippa Gregory
THE COUSINS' WAR
Philippa Gregory, "the queen of royal fiction,"*
presents the first of a new series set amid the
deadly feuds of England known as the
Wars of the Roses.
BROTHER TURNS ON BROTHER to win the ultimate prize, the throne of England, in this dazzling account of the wars of the/b>/b>/b>/i>/b>/b>… See more details below
THE COUSINS' WAR
Philippa Gregory, "the queen of royal fiction,"*
presents the first of a new series set amid the
deadly feuds of England known as the
Wars of the Roses.
BROTHER TURNS ON BROTHER to win the ultimate prize, the throne of England, in this dazzling account of the wars of the Plantagenets. They are the claimants and kings who ruled England before the Tudors, and now Philippa Gregory brings them to life through the dramatic and intimate stories of the secret players: the indomitable women, starting with Elizabeth Woodville, the White Queen.
The White Queen tells the story of a woman of extraordinary beauty and ambition who, catching the eye of the newly crowned boy king, marries him in secret and ascends to royalty. While Elizabeth rises to the demands of her exalted position and fights for the success of her family, her two sons become central figures in a mystery that has confounded historians for centuries: the missing princes in the Tower of London whose fate is still unknown. From her uniquely qualified perspective, Philippa Gregory explores this most famous unsolved mystery of English history, informed by impeccable research and framed by her inimitable storytelling skills.
With The White Queen, Philippa Gregory brings the artistry and intellect of a master writer and storyteller to a new era in history and begins what is sure to be another bestselling classic series from this beloved author.
Read an Excerpt
In the darkness of the forest the young knight could hear the splashing of the fountain long before he could see the glimmer of moonlight reflected on the still surface. He was about to step forward, longing to dip his head, drink in the coolness, when he caught his breath at the sight of something dark, moving deep in the water. There was a greenish shadow in the sunken bowl of the fountain, something like a great fish, something like a drowned body. Then it moved and stood upright and he saw, frighteningly naked: a bathing woman. Her skin as she rose up, water coursing down her flanks, was even paler than the white marble bowl, her wet hair dark as a shadow.
She is Melusina, the water goddess, and she is found in hidden springs and waterfalls in any forest in Christendom, even in those as far away as Greece. She bathes in the Moorish fountains too. They know her by another name in the northern countries, where the lakes are glazed with ice and it crackles when she rises. A man may love her if he keeps her secret and lets her alone when she wants to bathe, and she may love him in return until he breaks his word, as men always do, and she sweeps him into the deeps, with her fishy tail, and turns his faithless blood to water.
The tragedy of Melusina, whatever language tells it, whatever tune it sings, is that a man will always promise more than he can do to a woman he cannot understand.
My father is Sir Richard Woodville, Baron Rivers, an English nobleman, a landholder, and a supporter of the true Kings of England, the Lancastrian line. My mother descends from the Dukes of Burgundy and so carries the watery blood of the goddess Melusina, who founded their royal house with her entranced ducal lover, and can still be met at times of extreme trouble, crying a warning over the castle rooftops when the son and heir is dying and the family doomed. Or so they say, those who believe in such things.
With this contradictory parentage of mine: solid English earth and French water goddess, one could expect anything from me: an enchantress, or an ordinary girl. There are those who will say I am both. But today, as I comb my hair with particular care and arrange it under my tallest headdress, take the hands of my two fatherless boys and lead the way to the road that goes to Northampton, I would give all that I am to be, just this once, simply irresistible.
I have to attract the attention of a young man riding out to yet another battle, against an enemy that cannot be defeated. He may not even see me. He is not likely to be in the mood for beggars or flirts. I have to excite his compassion for my position, inspire his sympathy for my needs, and stay in his memory long enough for him to do something about them both. And this is a man who has beautiful women flinging themselves at him every night of the week, and a hundred claimants for every post in his gift.
He is a usurper and a tyrant, my enemy and the son of my enemy, but I am far beyond loyalty to anyone but my sons and myself. My own father rode out to the battle of Towton against this man who now calls himself King of England, though he is little more than a braggart boy; and I have never seen a man as broken as my father when he came home from Towton, his sword arm bleeding through his jacket, his face white, saying that this boy is a commander such as we have never seen before, and our cause is lost, and we are all without hope while he lives. Twenty thousand men were cut down at Towton at this boy's command; no one had ever seen such death before in England. My father said it was a harvest of Lancastrians, not a battle. The rightful King Henry and his wife, Queen Margaret of Anjou, fled to Scotland, devastated by the deaths.
Those of us left in England did not surrender readily. The battles went on and on to resist the false king, this boy of York. My own husband was killed commanding our cavalry, only three years ago at St. Albans. And now I am left a widow and what land and fortune I once called my own has been taken by my motherin-law with the goodwill of the victor, the master of this boy-king, the great puppeteer who is known as the Kingmaker: Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, who made a king out of this vain boy, now only twenty-two, and will make a hell out of England for those of us who still defend the House of Lancaster.
There are Yorkists in every great house in the land now, and every profitable business or place or tax is in their gift. Their boyking is on the throne, and his supporters form the new court. We, the defeated, are paupers in our own houses and strangers in our own country, our king an exile, our queen a vengeful alien plotting with our old enemy of France. We have to make terms with the tyrant ofYork, while praying that God turns against him and our true king sweeps south with an army for yet another battle.
In the meantime, like many a woman with a husband dead and a father defeated, I have to piece my life together like a patchwork of scraps. I have to regain my fortune somehow, though it seems that neither kinsman nor friend can make any headway for me. We are all known as traitors. We are forgiven but not beloved. We are all powerless. I shall have to be my own advocate, and make my own case to a boy who respects justice so little that he would dare to take an army against his own cousin: a king ordained. What can one say to such a savage that he could understand?
My boys, Thomas, who is nine, and Richard, who is eight, are dressed in their best, their hair wetted and smoothed down, their faces shining from soap. I have tight hold of their hands as they stand on either side of me, for these are true boys and they draw dirt to them as if by magic. If I let them go for a second, then one will scuff his shoes and the other rip his hose, and both of them will manage to get leaves in their hair and mud on their faces, and Thomas will certainly fall in the stream. As it is, anchored by my grip, they hop from one leg to another in an agony of boredom, and straighten up only when I say, "Hush, I can hear horses."
It sounds like the patter of rain at first, and then in a moment a rumble like thunder. The jingle of the harness and the flutter of the standards, the chink of the chain mail and the blowing of the horses, the sound and the smell and the roar of a hundred horses ridden hard is overwhelming and, even though I am determined to stand out and make them stop, I can't help but shrink back. What must it be to face these men riding down in battle with their lances outstretched before them, like a galloping wall of staves? How could any man face it?
Thomas sees the bare blond head in the midst of all the fury and noise and shouts "Hurrah!" like the boy he is, and at the shout of his treble voice I see the man's head turn, and he sees me and the boys, and his hand snatches the reins and he bellows "Halt!" His horse stands up on its rear legs, wrenched to a standstill, and the whole cavalcade wheels and halts and swears at the sudden stop, and then abruptly everything is silent and the dust billows around us.
His horse blows out, shakes its head, but the rider is like a statue on its high back. He is looking at me and I at him, and it is so quiet that I can hear a thrush in the branches of the oak above me. How it sings. My God, it sings like a ripple of glory, like joy made into sound. I have never heard a bird sing like that before, as if it were caroling happiness.
I step forward, still holding my sons' hands, and I open my mouth to plead my case, but at this moment, this crucial moment, I have lost my words. I have practiced well enough. I had a little speech all prepared, but now I have nothing. And it is almost as if I need no words. I just look at him and somehow I expect him to understand everything my fear of the future and my hopes for these my boys, my lack of money and the irritable pity of my father, which makes living under his roof so unbearable to me, the coldness of my bed at night, and my longing for another child, my sense that my life is over. Dear God, I am only twenty-seven, my cause is defeated, my husband is dead. Am I to be one of many poor widows who will spend the rest of their days at someone else's fireside trying to be a good guest? Shall I never be kissed again? Shall I never feel joy? Not ever again?
And still the bird sings as if to say that delight is easy, for those who desire it.
He makes a gesture with his hand to the older man at his side, and the man barks out a command and the soldiers turn their horses off the road and go into the shade of the trees. But the king jumps down from his great horse, drops the reins, and walks towards me and my boys. I am a tall woman but he overtops me by a head; he must be far more than six feet tall. My boys crane their necks up to see him; he is a giant to them. He is blond haired, gray eyed, with a tanned, open, smiling face, rich with charm, easy with grace. This is a king as we have never seen before in England: this is a man whom the people will love on sight. And his eyes are fixed on my face as if I know a secret that he has to have, as if we have known each other forever, and I can feel my cheeks are burning but I cannot look away from him.
A modest woman looks down in this world, keeps her eyes on her slippers; a supplicant bows low and stretches out a pleading hand. But I stand tall, I am aghast at myself, staring like an ignorant peasant, and find I cannot take my eyes from his, from his smiling mouth, from his gaze, which is burning on my face.
"Who is this?" he asks, still looking at me.
"Your Grace, this is my mother, Lady Elizabeth Grey," my son Thomas says politely, and he pulls off his cap and drops to his knee.
Richard on my other side kneels too and mutters, as if he cannot be heard, "Is this the king? Really? He is the tallest man I have ever seen in my life!"
I sink down into a curtsey but I cannot look away. Instead, I gaze up at him, as a woman might stare with hot eyes at a man she adores.
"Rise up," he says. His voice is low, for only me to hear. "Have you come to see me?"
"I need your help," I say. I can hardly form the words. I feel as if the love potion, which my mother soaked into the scarf billowing from my headdress, is drugging me, not him. "I cannot obtain my dowry lands, my jointure, now I am widowed." I stumble in the face of his smiling interest. "I am a widow now. I have nothing to live on."
"My husband was Sir John Grey. He died at St. Albans," I say. It is to confess his treason and the damnation of my sons. The king will recognize the name of the commander of his enemy's cavalry. I nip my lip. "Their father did his duty as he conceived it to be, Your Grace; he was loyal to the man he thought was king. My boys are innocent of anything."
"He left you these two sons?" He smiles down at my boys.
"The best part of my fortune," I say. "This is Richard and this is Thomas Grey."
He nods at my boys, who gaze up at him as if he were some kind of high-bred horse, too big for them to pet but a figure for awestruck admiration, and then he looks back to me. "I am thirsty," he says. "Is your home near here?"
"We would be honored..." I glance at the guard who rides with him. There must be more than a hundred of them. He chuckles. "They can ride on," he decides. "Hastings!" The older man turns and waits. "You go on to Grafton. I will catch you up. Smollett can stay with me, and Forbes. I will come in an hour or so."
Sir William Hastings looks me up and down as if I am a pretty piece of ribbon for sale. I show him a hard stare in reply, and he takes off his hat and bows to me, throws a salute to the king, shouts to the guard to mount up.
"Where are you going?" he asks the king.
The boy-king looks at me.
"We are going to the house of my father, Baron Rivers, Sir Richard Woodville," I say proudly, though I know the king will recognize the name of a man who was high in the favor of the Lancaster court, fought for them, and once took hard words from him in person when York and Lancaster were daggers drawn. We all know of one another well enough, but it is a courtesy generally observed to forget that we were all loyal to Henry VI once, until these turned traitor.
Sir William raises his eyebrow at his king's choice for a stopping place. "Then I doubt that you'll want to stay very long," he says unpleasantly, and rides on. The ground shakes as they go by, and they leave us in warm quietness as the dust settles.
"My father has been forgiven and his title restored," I say defensively. "You forgave him yourself after Towton."
"I remember your father and your mother," the king says equably. "I have known them since I was a boy in good times and bad. I am only surprised that they never introduced me to you."
I have to stifle a giggle. This is a king notorious for seduction. Nobody with any sense would let their daughter meet him. "Would you like to come this way?" I ask. "It is a little walk to my father's house."
"D'you want a ride, boys?" he asks them. Their heads bob up like imploring ducklings. "You can both go up," he says, and lifts Richard and then Thomas into the saddle. "Now hold tight. You on to your brother and you Thomas, is it? you hold on to the pommel."
He loops the rein over his arm and then offers me his other arm, and so we walk to my home, through the wood, under the shade of the trees. I can feel the warmth of his arm through the slashed fabric of his sleeve. I have to stop myself leaning towards him. I look ahead to the house and to my mother's window and see, from the little movement behind the mullioned panes of glass, that she has been looking out, and willing this very thing to happen.
She is at the front door as we approach, the groom of the household at her side. She curtseys low. "Your Grace," she says pleasantly, as if the king comes to visit every day. "You are very welcome to Grafton Manor."
A groom comes running and takes the reins of the horse to lead it to the stable yard. My boys cling on for the last few yards, as my mother steps back and bows the king into the hall. "Will you take a glass of small ale?" she asks. "Or we have a very good wine from my cousins in Burgundy?"
"I'll take the ale, if you please," he says agreeably. "It is thirsty work riding. It is hot for spring. Good day to you, Lady Rivers."
The high table in the great hall is laid with the best glasses and a jug of ale as well as the wine. "You are expecting company?" he asks.
She smiles at him. "There is no man in the world could ride past my daughter," she says. "When she told me she wanted to put her own case to you, I had them draw the best of our ale. I guessed you would stop."
He laughs at her pride, and turns to smile at me. "Indeed, it would be a blind man who could ride past you," he says.
I am about to make some little comment, but again it happens. Our eyes meet, and I can think of nothing to say to him. We just stand, staring at each other for a long moment, until my mother passes him a glass and says quietly, "Good health, Your Grace."
He shakes his head, as if awakened. "And is your father here?" he asks.
"Sir Richard has ridden over to see our neighbors," I say. "We expect him back for his dinner."
My mother takes a clean glass and holds it up to the light and tuts as if there is some flaw. "Excuse me," she says, and leaves. The king and I are alone in the great hall, the sun pouring through the big window behind the long table, the house in silence, as if everyone is holding their breath and listening.
He goes behind the table and sits down in the master's chair. "Please sit," he says, and gestures to the chair beside him. I sit as if I am his queen, on his right hand, and I let him pour me a glass of small ale. "I will look into your claim for your lands," he says. "Do you want your own house? Are you not happy living here with your mother and father?"
"They are kind to me," I say. "But I am used to my own household, I am accustomed to running my own lands. And my sons will have nothing if I cannot reclaim their father's lands. It is their inheritance. I must defend my sons."
"These have been hard times," he says. "But if I can keep my throne, I will see the law of the land running from one coast of England to another once more, and your boys will grow up without fear of warfare."
I nod my head.
"Are you loyal to King Henry?" he asks me. "D'you follow your family as loyal Lancastrians?"
Our history cannot be denied. I know that there was a furious quarrel in Calais between this king, then nothing more than a young York son, and my father, then one of the great Lancastrian lords. My mother was the first lady at the court of Margaret of Anjou; she must have met and patronized the handsome young son ofYork a dozen times. But who would have known then that the world might turn upside down and that the daughter of Baron Rivers would have to plead to that very boy for her own lands to be restored to her? "My mother and father were very great at the court of King Henry, but my family and I accept your rule now," I say quickly.
He smiles. "Sensible of you all, since I won," he says. "I accept your homage."
I give a little giggle, and at once his face warms. "It must be over soon, please God," he says. "Henry has nothing more than a handful of castles in lawless northern country. He can muster brigands like any outlaw, but he cannot raise a decent army. And his queen cannot go on and on bringing in the country's enemies to fight her own people. Those who fight for me will be rewarded, but even those who have fought against me will see that I shall be just in victory. And I will make my rule run, even to the north of England, even through their strongholds, up to the very border of Scotland."
"Do you go to the north now?" I ask. I take a sip of small ale. It is my mother's best but there is a tang behind it; she will have added some drops of a tincture, a love philter, something to make desire grow. I need nothing. I am breathless already.
"We need peace," he says. "Peace with France, peace with the Scots, and peace from brother to brother, cousin to cousin. Henry must surrender; his wife has to stop bringing in French troops to fight against Englishmen. We should not be divided anymore, York against Lancaster: we should all be Englishmen. There is nothing that sickens a country more than its own people fighting against one another. It destroys families; it is killing us daily. This has to end, and I will end it. I will end it this year."
I feel the sick fear that the people of this country have known for nearly a decade. "There must be another battle?"
He smiles. "I shall try to keep it from your door, my lady. But it must be done and it must be done soon. I pardoned the Duke of Somerset and took him into my friendship, and now he has run away to Henry once more, a Lancastrian turncoat, faithless like all the Beauforts. The Percys are raising the north against me. They hate the Nevilles, and the Neville family are my greatest allies. It is like a dance now: the dancers are in their place; they have to do their steps. They will have a battle; it cannot be avoided."
"The queen's army will come this way?" Though my mother loved her and was the first of her ladies, I have to say that her army is a force of absolute terror. Mercenaries, who care nothing for the country; Frenchmen who hate us; and the savage men of the north of England who see our fertile fields and prosperous towns as good for nothing but plunder. Last time she brought in the Scots on the agreement that anything they stole they could keep as their fee. She might as well have hired wolves.
"I shall stop them," he says simply. "I shall meet them in the north of England and I shall defeat them."
"How can you be so sure?" I exclaim.
He flashes a smile at me, and I catch my breath. "Because I have never lost a battle," he says simply. "I never will. I am quick on the field, and I am skilled; I am brave and I am lucky. My army moves faster than any other; I make them march fast and I move them fully armed. I outguess and I outpace my enemy. I don't lose battles. I am lucky in war as I am lucky in love. I have never lost in either game. I won't lose against Margaret of Anjou; I will win."
I laugh at his confidence, as if I am not impressed; but in truth he dazzles me.
He finishes his cup of ale and gets to his feet. "Thank you for your kindness," he says.
"You're going? You're going now?" I stammer.
"You will write down for me the details of your claim?"
"Yes. But "
"Names and dates and so on? The land that you say is yours and the details of your ownership?"
I almost clutch his sleeve to keep him with me, like a beggar. "I will, but "
"Then I will bid you adieu."
There is nothing I can do to stop him, unless my mother has thought to lame his horse.
"Yes, Your Grace, and thank you. But you are most welcome to stay. We will dine soon...or "
"No, I must go. My friend William Hastings will be waiting for me."
"Of course, of course. I don't wish to delay you..."
I walk with him to the door. I am anguished at his leaving so abruptly, and yet I cannot think of anything to make him stay. At the threshold he turns and takes my hand. He bows his fair head low and, deliciously, turns my hand. He presses a kiss into my palm and folds my fingers over the kiss as if to keep it safe. When he comes up smiling, I see that he knows perfectly well that this gesture has made me melt and that I will keep my hand clasped until bedtime when I can put it to my mouth.
He looks down at my entranced face, at my hand that stretches, despite myself, to touch his sleeve. Then he relents. "I shall fetch the paper that you prepare, myself, tomorrow," he says. "Of course. Did you think differently? How could you? Did you think I could walk away from you, and not come back? Of course I am coming back. Tomorrow at noon. Will I see you then?"
He must hear my gasp. The color rushes back into my face so that my cheeks are burning hot. "Yes," I stammer. "T...tomorrow."
"At noon. And I will stay to dinner, if I may."
"We will be honored."
He bows to me and turns and walks down the hall, through the wide-flung double doors and out into the bright sunlight. I put my hands behind me and I hold the great wooden door for support. Truly, my knees are too weak to hold me up.
"He's gone?" my mother asks, coming quietly through the little side door.
"He's coming back tomorrow," I say. "He's coming back tomorrow. He's coming back to see me tomorrow."
When the sun is setting and my boys are saying their evening prayers, blond heads on their clasped hands at the foot of their trestle beds, my mother leads the way out of the front door of the house and down the winding footpath to where the bridge, a couple of wooden planks, spans the River Tove. She walks across, her conical headdress brushing the overhanging trees, and beckons me to follow her. At the other side, she puts her hand on a great ash tree, and I see there is a dark thread of silk wound around the rough-grained wood of the thick trunk.
"What is this?"
"Reel it in," is all she says. "Reel it in, a foot or so every day."
I put my hand on the thread and pull it gently. It comes easily; there is something light and small tied onto the far end. I cannot even see what it might be, as the thread loops across the river into the reeds, in deep water on the other side.
"Magic," I say flatly. My father has banned these practices in his house: the law of the land forbids it. It is death to be proved as a witch, death by drowning in the ducking stool, or strangling by the blacksmith at the village crossroads. Women like my mother are not permitted our skills in England today; we are named as forbidden.
"Magic," she agrees, untroubled. "Powerful magic, for a good cause. Well worth the risk. Come every day and reel it in, a foot at a time."
"What will come in?" I ask her. "At the end of this fishing line of yours? What great fish will I catch?"
She smiles at me and puts her hand on my cheek. "Your heart's desire," she says gently. "I didn't raise you to be a poor widow."
She turns and walks back across the footbridge, and I pull the thread as she has told me, take in twelve inches of it, tie it fast again, and follow her.
"So what did you raise me for?" I ask her, as we walk side by side to the house. "What am I to be? In your great scheme of things? In a world at war, where it seems, despite your foreknowledge and magic, we are stuck on the losing side?"
The new moon is rising, a small sickle of a moon. Without a word spoken, we both wish on it; we bob a curtsey, and I hear the chink as we turn over the little coins in our pockets.
"I raised you to be the best that you could be," she says simply. "I didn't know what that would be, and I still don't know. But I didn't raise you to be a lonely woman, missing her husband, struggling to keep her boys safe; a woman alone in a cold bed, her beauty wasted on empty lands."
"Well, Amen," I say simply, my eyes on the slender sickle. "Amen to that. And may the new moon bring me something better."
Copyright © 2009 by Philippa Gregory Limited
Meet the Author
Philippa Gregory is the author of several bestselling novels, including The Other Boleyn Girl, and is a recognized authority on women’s history. Her Cousins’ War novels are the basis for the critically acclaimed Starz miniseries The White Queen. She graduated from the University of Sussex and received a PhD from the University of Edinburgh, where she is a Regent. She holds an honorary degree from Teesside University, and is a fellow of the Universities of Sussex and Cardiff. She welcomes visitors to her website, PhilippaGregory.com.
- Yorkshire, England
- Date of Birth:
- January 9, 1954
- Place of Birth:
- Nairobi, Kenya, East Africa
- B.A. in history, Sussex University, 1982; Ph.D., 18th-century popular fiction, Edinburgh, 1984
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I've always thoroughly enjoyed Phillipa Gregory's fabulous historical novels. Ms. Gregory's last series about the Tudors included such titles as "The Constant Princess", "The Other Boleyn Girl" (remember the great movie from this book?!), "The Boleyn Inheritance" &"The Other Queen" - plus there were two other books that completed this series. Ms. Gregory claims that a chance "taster" history class at the University of Sussex started her on the road to penning her lush, well researched books. The only thing that my history classes in college did were to strengthen my passion for both history (history minor) & reading about history - both fiction and non-fiction. I love to read books in a series because they allow you to really develop a good feel for the subjects & the time period. One of the things I enjoy doing when I am reading historical fiction is to research the true facts - people, places, dates - you get the idea. I like to see how far a writer goes to weave a tale around the truth. Ms Gregory generally writes fiction with a strong non-fiction base to which she adds just a pinch of plausible fiction to round out the story. Highly recommended! Get this book!
I have been anxiously awaiting the new Philippa Gregory book THE WHITE QUEEN. Like many, I enjoyed THE OTHER BOLEYN GIRL; however, I didn't exactly love the last book that I read by Ms. Gregory. I was sincerely hoping that THE WHITE QUEEN would love up to all its advance billing. While I definitely enjoy historical fiction, I am sadly lacking in knowledge about England and its Monarchy. As a result, I knew almost nothing about the Plantagenets except for a few small things that appeared as side stories in other novels. I can't tell you how much of this story is fact versus fiction; and frankly, I don't even care. I was fascinated by the story Ms. Gregory told about these characters' lives. THE WHITE QUEEN is better than any televised drama or movie I've ever seen. These characters are smart, determined, and ruthless; and I just loved reading about them. I thought THE WHITE QUEEN had a little bit of everything; and I'm sure there is something in Elizabeth Woodville' s story that will capture your attention. First, THE WHITE QUEEN is just a fabulous historical story about the Cousins' War. There are so many scenes where brother is pitted against brother for control; and the characters involved have absolutely no idea who they can and can not trust. It was a great, suspenseful ride for the reader too! I also thoroughly enjoyed how Ms. Gregory used facts to tell the story while also embellishing the mysteries and holes in the characters' lives to make a very readable story. Another part of this story that will keep many readers entertained is the magical and sorcery elements. Elizabeth is said to be the descendant of a mythical water creature called Melusina. Ms. Gregory incorporated the myth of Melusina into the novel and actually used it as a recurring theme/symbol throughout the story. In addition, Elizabeth's mother practiced some examples witchcraft. Some people actually claimed that Elizabeth's mother put a spell on Edward to make him fall in love with her daughter. One of my favorite elements of the THE WHITE QUEEN was the love story angle. It seemed to me as if there was a perfect blend of romance and history in this book. Not only did THE WHITE QUEEN show the love affair between Elizabeth and Edward, but this book is also demonstrated the love between mothers and their children. More than once, I was amazed by what women did to protect their children especially in the case of Elizabeth and her sons. THE WHITE QUEEN would make an excellent book club pick. In fact, if your group enjoys historical fiction like mine does, then you should definitely consider this book in the very near future. One added bonus is that the book is around 400 pages (shorter than many historical novels), and it is not at all overwhelming in scope. There is a great reading guide with fifteen questions that really allow you to delve into Elizabeth's life and her actions. Another recent read that was just outstanding that you should definitely give a look was I Love Yous Are for White People.
Everyone is shocked when twenty-seven years old widow Elizabeth Woodville Grey marries the newly crowned King Edward IV; five years younger than her. He is the House of York while she is the House of Lancaster. With a twist, her family becomes his greatest loyalist backers while his brother George and his advisor Warwick unite in duplicity to steal the throne. A third family of cousins the Tudors wait in the wings while encouraging both sides in the dispute. The War of the Roses begins with the ascension of THE WHITE ROSE as queen. The key to this super historical fiction is not the often told tale of changing loyalties or heated trysts (a Philippa Gregory norm), but the speculation into Edward and Elizabeth's two sons, the lost princes placed in the Tower by their Uncle Richard. Clearly researched in great depth, Ms Gregory makes her case plausible based on accepted facts. Fans will enjoy the epic WHITE QUEEN as history comes alive, but it is the speculative history that makes this a triumph worth reading amidst a sea of novels as cousins go to war with ironically the long term victor being the third family Tudor. Harriet Klausner
This is an amazing book! Philippa Gregory finally gives the needed attention to the families, the Yorks and Lancastors, who ruled England before the Tudor family. This novel brings to life the bloody history of the War between the Roses when cousins battled each other for the throne of England, and the turbulent environment in which the Tudor began to rise to power. Elizabeth Woodville, who is married to King Edward of England, is the main character who lets the reader see just how much influence a woman in the 1400s can have. It is her sons who become the famous twins in the tower, which history still hasn't solved the mystery of what happened to them. Overall the novel is one of the best Philippa Gregory has written.
As a lover of historical fiction with a particularly keen interest in the Wars of the Roses, I was very eager to read this latest novel of Philippa Gregory. However, upon purchasing the book and beginning to read it, I couldn't help but be very disappointed. The characters seem like flat cardboard cutouts of themselves, playing their parts in history with very little emotion conveyed. Gregory writes Elizabeth Woodville's commentary in voices ranging from monotone to vindictive without much in between. All in all, this novel was a rather disappointing read.
I had a tough time finishing this book. It didn't have the easy flow and intrigue of her other books. If you are expecting an interesting read like the Boleyn series, skip this.
There's been countless books done on the royal families of England but nobody writes like Gregory. Although we know how it happens in history the way she tells the story you find yourself wanting to read more. However this was nowhere near the page turn the Other Boleyn Girl was but it's still a good read. I will be looking foward to reading the next book in the series.
http://maggiesbookshelf.blogspot.com/2009/11/white-queen.html Elizabeth Woodville was born little more than a commoner, but by virtue of her beauty alone she became Queen of England, beloved by her husband the king, feared by her enemies and grudgingly admired by her people: a true historical Cinderella. Set against the dramatic and brutal backdrop of one of the longest wars in history, the War of the Roses, this first installment in acclaimed historical fiction writer Philippa Gregory's new series The Cousins War explores the life of this extraordinary woman and one of the most famous mysteries in English history: the Princes in the Tower. While my personal favorite of Gregory's remains The Other Boleyn Girl for sheer intrigue and powerful plotting, The White Queen is an extraordinary tour-de-force that blends history with fiction so seamlessly that it's hard to imagine a more engaging and interesting read about this period. It's especially nice to see the author leaving the Tudor period for awhile and turning her considerable talents to a little-explored region of English history that is as fascinating as it is confusing. However, as something of a Tudor scholar myself, I continue to struggle with Gregory's boldness in rearranging history to tell a good story. They are indeed excellent stories, and she makes good cases for more controversial historical theories, but it certainly isn't a history lesson. I began to cringe at the constant repetition of the witchcraft themes in this novel-and while the story of Melusina was certainly fascinating and important to Elizabeth's character, it gets old, too. In a way, they're almost more historical fantasy than historical fiction, despite the author's meticulous research. All in all, this novel is like watching a train wreck. You know it won't end happily, and that every time of peace and quiet is merely the calm before the storm; which gives it a depressing air that can be exhausting at times. But truly, it's hard to imagine a better tribute to a beautiful and powerful woman so often neglected in history books. Her character brims with life from the first page, from her love for her children (including the doomed Princes) to her stubborn refusal to give up her crown; and I imagine that in the end what I felt was similar to what England felt: awe at the risks she took and pity at how much she lost.
Historical fiction (along with chocolate) is my weakness. I love history and almost became a history major in college (perhaps I missed my calling), so, naturally, turning history into a novel has great appeal to me. I've devoured many of Ms. Gregory's books: "The Other Boleyn Girl", "The Boleyn Inheritance", "The Queen's Fool", "The Constant Princess", and the list goes on. She enthralls me anytime she puts pen to paper, and "The White Queen" was no different. The Tudors were a fascinating family, but it was refreshing to switch gears and turn to the family that came before the Tudors-- the Plantagenets. I don't want to spoil the story for you, but the events happen during a time of strife and civil war and King Edward had to fight to even get the throne, much less stay on it. He marries the beautiful Elizabeth Woodville, who becomes the "White Queen", and drama and adventure ensue. This book was a birthday gift from my parents, and I cracked it open the second I had a free time and did not stop reading it until the end. Oh, I suppose I went to work and hung out with friends, but that nonsense happened between chapters. The voice of Elizabeth really brought out her character and the trials she had to go through. Weaved in between the action was the story of Melusina, the water goddess, and it fit in so well with the novel you almost didn't even notice it. Elizabeth was so pragmatic. I think that's what I liked the most. She had her ambitions and when they exceeded her expectations, she just went with the flow and remained her stoic, stubborn self. She loved her family and enjoyed being queen, but she stuck with her opinions and did what she could to attain her goals. This book is the first of a series about the Plantagenet family, and I'm excited to feed my addiction with the rest of the novels. If you love historical fiction like I do, pick up this novel. And if you have yet to read a Philippa Gregory book, any one of them that you read will make you a fan. Just be warned, though. You may not want to stop reading to do normal everyday tasks...
1st I want to say that this should be either 2n or 3rd in the series not 1st. You should read the Lady of the Rivers 1st. That being said, i wanted to read this after i saw the miniseries The White Queen. The book tells you what they couldn't in the mini-series and I loved it. She tells you the history in a way that makes you like the time period & the people. Yes you could say that this is just her opinion on how it happened but she does have all the historical facts correct. She brings the time period alive and she tells it from how it happened to the women of that time. I am waiting for the Red Queen, The KingMakers Daughter and the White Princess to come so that I have read the whole series. This novel was so good that I read it in one night. She has made me a bigger fan of history and a new fan of hers. Highly recommend this one and all of her works.
Philippa Gregory is one of the best authors I have read in years. I actually felt like Elizabeth was talking to me personally. This book was excellent reading and historically correct. A must read and now I am on to the next in the Cousins' War Series.
I read the other bolyn and loved it. This is another great read from phillipa gregory. Looking forward to the red queen!
Another great book about the Queens of England. Enjoyed and plan on reading the next on "The Red Queen".
Really enjoyed this book and the true story of a king marrying for love. Looking forward to the next book in the series...and the rest of Philippa's books.
I love history especially this period in time. The White Queen is written very well by Philippa Gregory. Written through the eyes of Queen Elizabeth! Queen to King Edward IV. The story by Elizabeth and how she lived and ruled in her life time. The women's side to the story if you will, which I did enjoyed. I would recommend this story to help add to the whole history and thinking of that time.
Amazing! Mrs. Gregory NEVER Lets me down! I could truly feel and sense the Queen's desperation as well as her scheming and ambition. Can't wait until I start the Red Queen!
As a fan of romantic historical fiction, I have heard a lot about Philippa Gregory. But The White Queen, though full of period details, was lacking romance and an exciting plot line. It was slow to get into and the romance between the queen and king Edward was motivated by lust, to say the least. I didnt feel a real emotional bond between the characters, and the side of "witchcraft" that the main character participated in just came off as tacky and unrealistic. I enjoyed the Boleyn Inheritance, and was disappointed after reading this novel.
This was another great book by Philippa Gregory. This story centered the War of the Roses and is the beginning of a new series about this time. The point of view was of Elizabeth Woodville & she met and fell madly in love with Edward of York, King of England. They secretly eloped and then the King acknowledged their marrige that surprisely shocked the whole court. But Elizabeth's risen power & influences expanded her family with wealth and bigger titles. So her and her family as well as for future children belonged to the royal realm. They did but unfortunatly it didn't stay like that for long. The plot keeps thicking with the constant worry of one of King Edward's brothers trying to take over the throne. Including the all of the obsticles Elizabeth and her children goes through. So much happens thru out this captivating tale. It haves rich historical details, some magic, romance & thrills. Also some mystical elements as Elizabeth descended from the line of Melusina, a goddess of water. This gave the females of her family the ability to influence events through magic. I sware the story was entertaining from beginning to the end. When you get to the ending you wouldn't want to finished. I really loved it alot. Philippa Gregory writing for this novel was truely spellbinding. Especially reading it by ear. I sware the audio book made the story pace move pretty fast. I loved Bianca Amato's tone & diction. This is the first book I've heard her narrate others before. So she sounded lovely as always. I would recommend anyone to read or listen to The White Queen. Now I can't wait to get my hands on the next book to this series.
The first book in the Cousins' War series This latest series tells the story of the Plantagenets, the first novel is centered around Elizabeth Woodville and her family. Based on facts and mixed with the author's vivid imagination, this historical fiction proves once more that Ms Gregory is more than a researcher, she is also a master storyteller. Elizabeth cherishes the idea that she is a descendant of the water goddess Melusina and the daughter of a woman believed to be a witch. Applying her magic she charms the previously betroth King Edward into marrying her in secret this allows her to eventually move into the castle. Keeping the throne and staying in power is not easy. Her husband had recently dethroned King Henry thus making him the new target... The story recounts the struggle for ultimate power during this time period. Although witchcraft plays an important part in this fictional plot it also highlights Elizabeth Woodville influence on history. I like the way Ms Gregory depicted this era, it is quite entertaining but some may not like the route she took and may prefer the traditional point of view. You will find the characterization is one dimensional.... they are all described as having a wicked side to them..... This tale is definitely not for the historical buff....
This book was very engrossing for me as I love anything to do with the Pantagenants and the Tudors and in particular the War of the Roses. Good storyline with lots of good historical facts. Just enough romance to please those who want that in their stories. Just an overall good read.
This book took me by surprise. Only halfway through the book did I recognize that the queen of the title is surrounded by family members that were historical figures familiar to us today. The queen herself is extremely self-centered and grasping, but telling the story from her prespective actually makes the book unusually interesting. It's a bit draggy in sections, but overall, it's a very enjoyable read, enough to inspire the reader to pick up a British history to see how the academics view the events, and certainly a spur to purchase future novels about the Platagenets promised in the author's foreword.
My husband turned me onto her a few years ago knowing that I love a good historical fiction. I have several of ther books and I have read and re-read them all several times. You know an author is great when your 4 yr old daughter asks you to read aloud so she can hear about the Kings and Queens and the fancy parties. This is a great start to another series, I had this one finished in 4 days. I can't wait for the second and third books in this series. B
The War of the Roses: the beginnings,the battles,and not the ending. The Royal loves, wars, trysts, marriges, births, deaths and WITCHCRAFT A fanciful historical novel and excellent followup to Gregory's prior stories.
While this is a good book, Ms, Gregory's other books have been either great reads or excellent reads. The point is, this is still better than most of the sludge out there, but it does not live up to the expectations one has of the writer.
Phillpa Gregory is truly a gifted writer. This tale is woven well. Rarely does one read of such a main character as this who is not only truly beautiful but incredibly intelligent and wily as a fox. You just love to hate her but you pity her the same for the lose of her sons. No one can applaud a horror such as that. And she must be admired to have been so strong a woman during her times when it was very much a man's world. All in all, you must admire her for her fortitude and that she held fast to what was rightfully hers and that of her children.