He was a good guy, srsly.

[penmage]

I am editing a novel right now that involves time travel. It involves travelling back to 1483, which happens to be the time period of my beloved historical boyfriend, Richard III.

Now, if you know anything about me and my unholy Richard III obsession, you will know that this is not easy for me. The Richard of this book is—well, he’s not Shakespeare’s supervillain, but he’s not a nice guy, either.

I keep muttering out loud all sorts of historical bits and pieces—that it was clearly Henry VII who had a vested interest in the death of the princes, and that Richard wasn’t like that, and that Elizabeth Woodville was a conniving, sneaky lady, and all sorts of things—things that I don’t dare edit into the novel.

Because if I’m being fair, I have to admit that there is evidence (poor evidence, but evidence nonetheless) for the other side. The anti-Richard side. And clearly, that’s the direction the author’s going in. And I don’t get to decide that she has to change her book to match my view on history.

But it is itching me something fierce. And I keep muttering, and checking things on R3.org, and quoting bits of Shakespeare.

I think I need to go reread Alison Weir’s The Princes in the Tower so I can get a Richard primer and also mutter a lot.

Comments

[penmage.livejournal.com]

I read The Princes in the Tower after reading Josephine Tey’s The Daughter of Time. I was pretty convinced by Tey’s arguments, but I wanted to get more of a clear sense of the time period, and to read an opposing viewpoint. I was ready to be convinced that Richard was as bad a guy as Sir Thomas Moore and history have made him out to be.

Unfortunately, while The Princes in the Tower is an excellent primer on the Richard III story, it’s also heavily biased against Richard, and not always in a good way. I found holes in her research and reasoning, and I spent a lot of the book muttering and yelling at her. My friends thought I was crazy, but it was college, so I was crazy a lot.

Funny story: I was so enraged by the book that I did something I never do—I scribbled in the margins. I wrote things like “this makes no sense!” and “you’re crazy, woman!” and “see p.___ for contradictory statement.”

And then I returned it to the library.

A few months later, I was writing another paper on Richard, and I wanted the book back. And not just any copy—my copy. NYPL had eleven copies. So systematically, I placed a hold on each one until they came in, and then I kept renewing them and paying late fees. It took nine copies until I got mine back. Then, I returned eight and told them I had lost one, and paid for it.

Amusingly enough, six different copies of the book also had scribbles of a similar type in the margins. I guess it’s the kind of book that inspires it.

[blergeatkitty.livejournal.com]

Have you read this one? This guy was a major crankypants when it came to anything Weir wrote, and he also came off as very paranoid and muttery in places, but he wrote an incredibly readable book on this very subject. And he did inspire me (along with a couple of LJ posters, I think maybe you included) to pick up The Daughter of Time, which rocked my socks.