Biographers sometimes borrow the attitudes of their subjects. Perhaps that is why Gyles Brandreth would like you to know this about the marriage of Queen Elizabeth II and Philip, Duke of Edinburgh: What goes on between them, Dear Reader, is really none of your affair.
In a world with no need whatsoever for another study of British royalty, Brandreth has somehow written a whole book from that haughty perspective. It turns out to have been a canny choice. Presumptuousness becomes a selling point if it signifies any actual familiarity. And Brandreth turns out to have spent enough time in royal company to be told by Prince Philip (about his childhood): "I just had to get on with it. You do. One does."
But neither Prince Philip nor the queen has been garrulous with Brandreth. As he points out frequently, neither is prone to great bouts of introspection. "He cannot be cajoled or tempted into complaining about any aspect of his upbringing," Brandreth writes about Prince Philip. "Nor is he interested, it seems, in analyzing the effect it might have had on him."
That leaves the author free to speculate, fill in blanks and make up dialogue. He imagines that the first words between 18-year-old Philip of Greece and 13-year-old Princess Elizabeth, when they met in 1939, as "How do you do?" and "I'm quite well. Thank you." He is also free to inflate the extent of his contact with the royals, although the acquaintance sounds substantial enough to make this a semi-authorized biography. Prince Philip has also annotated some of the manuscript, at one point having asked: "Do you really want to keep the last sentence?"
"Philip and Elizabeth," well-received in Britain and admired there for its cheekiness, does make such cooperation understandable. Both the queen and Prince Philip have long been at the mercy of tabloids and tell-alls. And they would like to supply some indirect rebuttal. The queen in particular, according to the book, has always resented The Little Princesses, a 1950 book-length breach of trust committed by her ex-governess. Because of that book, there are widely circulated fond memories of Elizabeth's childhood that are not her own.
What qualifies Brandreth for this mission? Well, he is both a politician and a journalist who holds the record for world's longest after-dinner speech (18 hours). All of this makes him well qualified to spin little bits of information into long stories and to ramble reasonably charmingly about royal history. It makes him bold enough to include a long footnote about his hapless efforts to flirt at Buckingham Palace. And it makes him equipped to deal with the central question raised by a book about two staunch public figures: "Where's the story?"
One part of the story is simply conveying the royal experience: "Cars come, guards salute, breakfast is served, valets press your suits, the fairies clean your shoes." Dishiness in this area extends only to Tupperware, which is what is used to keep the queen's breakfast cereal fresh, though Prince Charles extravagantly wastes cereal in boxes. Brandreth must bring interest to the fact that the queen's morning includes music from her personal piper at 9am each day.
But this book purports to be modeled on Nigel Nicolson's revealing book about his parents, Portrait of a Marriage. So it needs to pry, or at least pretend to. Once Philip and Elizabeth fell in love and married, they shared a boudoir -- or adjoining separate bedrooms -- that the book must invade somehow. "Thanks to servants' tittle-tattle (reliable in this instance) we do know that Prince Philip, in the early days of his marriage, did not wear pajamas," Brandreth reports.
The trickiest part of his assignment is maintaining a dignified aura while stooping to snoop. So he invokes the royals' most loose-lipped employees. And he brings some wit to this mission. The valet who wrote about Prince Philip, he says, delivered "a memoir of his happy years as the prince's trouser-presser." And he tells Paul Burrell, the butler who wound up with some of the clothing of Diana, Princess of Wales, after she died, "Your trouble was that you fell in love with Diana because Judy Garland was dead."
Inevitably, this admiring yet lively book must address what will be a point raised by Prince Philip's obituaries (according to Brandreth, who has already studied them): How much of a ladies' man has he been? The author's tactics here are nothing if not resourceful, especially after he tells readers: "I am going to try to nail the issue once and for all."
In ensuing pages he incorporates the most outrageous rumors, expresses concern that this may seem exploitative (because it is), tracks down women with whom Prince Philip has been friendly and defends an older man's need for "the occasional confidential companionship of a sparky, larky girl who is flattering, intelligent and fun." He does a fine job of defending the prince's behavior until he brings up Lewis Carroll as another innocent victim of calumny.
In the end, typically, Brandreth loyally dismisses the matter. He dutifully praises the prince's honor and the queen's understanding nature. And he amusingly thanks "Mrs. Thompson (the Brandreth family's lone cleaning lady)" for refusing to tell tales.
Publication Notes:
`Philip and Elizabeth: portrait of a royal marriage'
By Gyles Brandreth
413 pages
WW Norton
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