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moominmama_11's review
3.0
The war of the roses is one of the most fascinating periods of English history, never dull. This novel, on the other hand, didn’t quite spark for me
shroudofthesea's review
2.0
finished just in time for the 535th anniversary of bosworth! i feel a little bad giving this book two stars, because when i enjoyed it i truly did enjoy it, but i think it lost enough steam in its middle section that i can't quite give it the same rating i gave to [b:Rebellion|25242120|Rebellion|Livi Michael|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1438791585l/25242120._SY75_.jpg|44961507]. where the second entry in this series succeeded in capturing the lives of these historical figures in a way that fully utilized the chosen medium, this novel felt a lot messier. early on, the dreamy scenes of margaret beaufort and henry tudor's twin introspection, as well as the chilling depiction of margaret of anjou's post-tewkesbury existence, served as the perfect continuation from the previous book. however, it gets a little lost in the chaos surrounding edward iv's death, and i think that some of this comes from the fact that one of the series' two principle focuses suddenly leaves the narrative, and elizabeth woodville is never quite fleshed-out enough to fill that margaret-of-anjou-shaped hole. instead, we go from perspective to perspective with few of the little moments of characterization that really made the earlier parts of the series tick--for example, the scene where hastings is beheaded reminded me a lot of the previous execution of henry duke of somerset in [b:Rebellion|25242120|Rebellion|Livi Michael|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1438791585l/25242120._SY75_.jpg|44961507], but the magic of that earlier scene, where the condemned man staring at the dirt below finds wonder in the vastness of even the smallest of existences, wasn't quite captured again. when we finally do return to margaret beaufort's perspective, it's unclear exactly how much of a role she is or isn't playing in the mystery of the princes, and i didn't necessarily mind that ambiguity, but as a reader it meant feeling a sudden distance from margaret that hadn't previously been there, even in the very private agonies of her early life. ultimately, i didn't feel that the author had added much to the conversation around this part of the wars of the roses that hadn't already been said by the chronicles, even if i really enjoyed a couple stand-out scenes towards the beginning, in addition to a few scattered throughout, such as elizabeth of york forced into comforting anne neville after the death of her son. in short, a complicated 2 stars.
lisa_setepenre's review
4.0
Accession is the third and final volume in Livi Michael’s series about Margaret of Anjou and Margaret Beaufort, focusing on the years after the Battle of Tewkesbury, when Edward IV holds the throne securely, the Lancastrians all but defeated – but the upheavals of Edward IV’s death and Richard III’s usurpation leave an opening in which all Margaret Beaufort’s hopes are poured.
Michael writes exquisitely and once again, everyone is characterised with great empathy and complexity. There is no real ‘good’ or ‘bad’ here but complex people living in complex times, trying to make the best of their lives. I loved the characterisation of Elizabeth Woodville and the way Michael showed the impossibility of her situation after Edward IV’s death. Jasper Tudor is finally sketched out into a more real character (though I remain bewildered at why no one seems to like him that much). While I’m not sure if I agree with Michael’s depiction of Margaret Beaufort and the actions she gives her in this volume, I did enjoy that they formed a character arc that, again, showed Michael as able to create complex and empathetic characters, even when their actions are quite unsympathetic.
I especially loved the chapters dealing with Margaret of Anjou. I expected there would be little of Margaret of Anjou in this book as her role in the Wars of the Roses really ended in the last book with the deaths of her husband and son and while we don’t get a lot of Margaret, what we do get is exquisite – particularly the chapter with Alice Chaucer, dowager Duchess of Suffolk, having Margaret in her charge.
If there was a weakness in Accession, it’s Richard III, whom Michael seems to avoid writing much about at all and when she does, seems reluctant to depict him as morally dubious. Perhaps she was more attracted to the idea thatgood, pious Margaret Beaufort agitating for the death of the Princes of the Tower, instead of the traditional view that it was Richard III who did it . It did read a little, though, as though Michael was scared of writing him in a way that bring a horde of Ricardians down on her head. The great questions of his reign – whether Edward IV was pre-contracted to Eleanor Talbot and thus his marriage to Elizabeth Woodville was invalid and their children illegitimate, what happened to the Princes in the Tower – remain unanswered but the answers Michael hints at show Richard III as the innocent and noble party here. I just wish he’d been depicted like everyone else – complex, not morally perfect, capable of mistakes and misdeeds.
Michael’s approach is more experimental – again, she uses excerpts from historical records to give structure – and more literary than most historical fiction. Yet this is probably the best novel series I’ve read about the Wars of the Roses, depicting the people and conflict as complex and no one as goodies or baddies.
Michael writes exquisitely and once again, everyone is characterised with great empathy and complexity. There is no real ‘good’ or ‘bad’ here but complex people living in complex times, trying to make the best of their lives. I loved the characterisation of Elizabeth Woodville and the way Michael showed the impossibility of her situation after Edward IV’s death. Jasper Tudor is finally sketched out into a more real character (though I remain bewildered at why no one seems to like him that much). While I’m not sure if I agree with Michael’s depiction of Margaret Beaufort and the actions she gives her in this volume, I did enjoy that they formed a character arc that, again, showed Michael as able to create complex and empathetic characters, even when their actions are quite unsympathetic.
I especially loved the chapters dealing with Margaret of Anjou. I expected there would be little of Margaret of Anjou in this book as her role in the Wars of the Roses really ended in the last book with the deaths of her husband and son and while we don’t get a lot of Margaret, what we do get is exquisite – particularly the chapter with Alice Chaucer, dowager Duchess of Suffolk, having Margaret in her charge.
If there was a weakness in Accession, it’s Richard III, whom Michael seems to avoid writing much about at all and when she does, seems reluctant to depict him as morally dubious. Perhaps she was more attracted to the idea that
Michael’s approach is more experimental – again, she uses excerpts from historical records to give structure – and more literary than most historical fiction. Yet this is probably the best novel series I’ve read about the Wars of the Roses, depicting the people and conflict as complex and no one as goodies or baddies.
girlwithherheadinabook's review
4.0
For my full review: http://girlwithherheadinabook.co.uk/2017/01/review-accession-livi-michael.html
Historical fiction is a genre overpopulated with fluffy romances which fail to capture the steel required to survive in a period of long-term civil war. Livi Michael's spectacular trilogy has always felt like a breath of fresh air; with the two preceding novels, Succession and Rebellion, the stage was set for Henry VI to fall, Edward IV to rise and now with this, the conclusion to the trilogy, a new Henry readies himself for the final battle. The pieces which were flung into the air with the first book are coming back down to rest, but yet it was in this period that several of the most notorious incidents of the conflict occurred. Michael is venturing into territory which has been written, rewritten, squabbled over, disputed, subjected to official inquiry, squabbled over some more and which even a couple of years ago culminated in a man who had been dead for five hundred years being given a state funeral where people attended in black with somber expressions. So how did Michael choose to interpret events?
The focus of the trilogy has always been Margaret Beaufort and it is not surprising that Accession opens with her, lying awake at night and thinking, as she always did, of her son. The ravenous mother-love that seems to have powered Margaret Beaufort has puzzled many other historical fiction writers, given what a great portion of her life she spent separated from him, but Michael has always depicted the relationship deftly, with the two coming so close to being together time and again and then always the wider conflict always striking them apart. Margaret knows that it is too late now for her to be the mother she wanted to be but still her ever step, every thought is for him. The sense of fatigue as she realises that she needs to marry again is perfectly caught - Margaret has been married since she was six and she is utterly fed up of the estate, but needs must and with poor grace, she heads back into the melee.
Of course, there is another famous Margaret within the Wars of the Roses, Margaret of Anjou, and Michael tries to imagine what her life must have been after the Battle of Tewkesbury, when she lost the battle, lost the kingdom, lost her son. Through the eyes of Alice Chaucer, the former queen's former lady-in-waiting now charged to stand as gaoler, we observe this once great lady made small. Michael's great talent lies in her ability to take the bare facts of the chronicles and give them life and so we see Lady Alice fretting over what would be least offensive tapestry to hang in Margaret's chamber and what on earth would be appropriate conversation topics given that the two of them were going to be having to spend an undetermined and possibly indefinite amount of time together. Lady Alice knows that nobody would reproach her as negligent if Margaret of Anjou died in her care - the news might in fact be welcomed. The former queen has passed beyond the point of anybody's interest. Of no political use, when Margaret comments to Lady Alice that she does not think she will marry again, Lady Alice has to stop herself from responding that nobody would want her. It is a strange thing to imagine a life for a woman who was not old, not ill and yet was utterly spent. There would be no more battles for Margaret of Anjou, no more armies to raise, no more children. She simply had to put the time in between Tewkesbury and her death. Written without any melodrama, Michael's description of this existence made me shudder.
Elsewhere in the Yorkist camp, Edward IV and his queen Elizabeth continue to move further apart, the bond sparked by lust turned cold by his infidelity and her ambition. The cluster of their children seem to be a safeguard against future political strife, but some have other ideas. There is the sputtering threat of George of Clarence, brother to the king and perennial troublemaker. The pain here is what is felt by their mother Cecily, wanting to protect her golden boy - and while Edward may be angry at his mother for loving George more, he cannot but feel a guilt in causing her grief. But it is not his wife who will comfort him, but rather his mistress Jane Shore. As Michael draws him, Edward IV is a man overwhelmed by the office he bears, torn between the will of his own family and what his wife's family would have him do - he is not man enough to wear the crown and feels lost in his role as king.
Yet still, there are moments from court life which do stand out - as the court watches the four year old Prince Richard marry the six year-old Anne Mowbray, Margaret Beaufort cringes as she remembers being married at that age to John de la Pole - the union was annulled not long afterwards though and during the ceremony, the two are careful to avoid each other's eye. Accession seems slightly more reliant on the chronicles than its predecessors, with a slightly steeper bent towards the non-fiction as it lists alliances and allegiances made and then broken. It is difficult though when dealing with a period this complex to maintain that lightness of touch which has made this trilogy so distinctive and memorable - but this is a minor point.
The downfall of the Woodvilles is handled with an unusual subtlety - as Anthony Woodville tries to do the right thing and to maintain order, we feel the astonishment along with him as events overtake him. Indeed, it is a little innovative in itself to have the Woodvilles portrayed as anything other than jumped-up power-hungry nobodies, but in the brief glimpses that we get, Anthony Woodville is a good man and his fate feels undeserved. So often when dealing with the Wars of the Roses, historical fiction writers are unable to keep themselves from 'picking a side' (*cough* Gillipa Phregory *cough*) but Michael seems content to stand more on the sidelines. When the priest explains that twenty years before, he had secretly married Edward IV to Eleanor Butler, we hear as he expresses inward relief that his story has seemed credible, but the point is not over-emphasised. Similarly, Michael does not let her story get too far drawn into the debate over what befell the two Princes in the Tower. As far as the 'changeling' theory goes concerning whether it really was Prince Richard who entered the Tower, Michael shows Elizabeth Woodville's agony as she is ordered to hand over her second son, but not only is she not sure what is going to happen, the child wants to go to his brother, to leave sanctuary. She gives him up. She has no choice. It is not her fault. But this is not a novel about those two poor boys.
Threaded all the way through has been the story of young Henry Tudor, exiled and generally imprisoned abroad. He becomes a man while a stranger from his own land. He is given everything he could possibly want and treated with the highest respect but still he knows that there is a reckoning to be had. There is no real other way out of his situation than gaining the crown. Victory or nothing at all - and as a man, he will not even be granted the half-life inflicted upon Margaret of Anjou. It will be the axe. In our twenty-first century world of certainties, it is strange to think of someone having to bank all their hopes on something so subject to chance. Henry Tudor can plan all he wants, get all the men he possibly can, but his first invasion attempt is scuppered (literally) due to the weather.
Back in England, Jane Shore's life is made more complicated by the men who have entered her life in the wake of the old king's death, culminating in her infamous penance walk. It is interesting to contrast Michael's muted interpretation of this with the baroque version depicted by Game of Thrones a couple of years ago. Here, Jane Shore is allowed to keep her shift on, she carries a lighted taper and a kindly flower-seller scatters a posy in her path, then a man lies down his cloak for her to walk on. For all the cruelty, Michael never denies that there was also humanity. Indeed, with plots being discussed indirectly over chess, under cover of visits from physicians - the whirrings of rebellion continue on through this book with little loyalty and few scruples. Margaret Beaufort has cause to doubt her final choice of husband as Lord Stanley sets out to prove his loyalty to Richard III. Imprisoned in her own home, there are times when she seems to have been as out-manoeuvred as the former queen who shared her name.
The only part of the novel which I truly struggled with was the way in which Michael depicted Elizabeth of York. Having read the disclaimer which Richard III signed in order to get his nieces and their mother to agree to leave sanctuary, it was clear that he knew that he had given them no reason to trust him - he had openly killed their half-brother, their uncle and taken their brother's throne. These were all points of fact. It is not hard to imagine the young Elzabeth determining to survive in her uncle's court, or even that she tried to comfort her recently bereaved aunt, the new queen. What did stretch my credulity was the idea that she could be so easily seduced by her uncle. Having read Alison Weir's Elizabeth of York, the evidence supporting her having genuine feelings for him is slender at best and struck a strange note within a series which has always been about humanising the events of the chronicles. Even if Richard III had not ordered the deaths of the young princes, he had done quite enough other things to earn his niece's distrust. I have never believed Richard III to have been unusually evil for his age, but he was a king in a time when this was not a task for the soft-hearted - indeed, the most genuinely sweet-natured monarch was probably Henry VI and his reign was not known for being a golden age.
Michael has shown vividly in this trilogy how one could go from hero to zero, or rather from monarch to fugitive. With Accession, she reverses the process. When Henry Tudor is fleeing Brittany, his commoner guide castigates him as a 'foreign leech' who has been 'eating and drinking - paying no taxes - doing no work - who do you think you are?' When Henry replies that he thinks he is king, Perrin responds 'And I'm the Virgin Mary' and tells him to go and 'bleed your own country dry.' How ludicrous that someone could go from being a beggar in one place to a king in another. When Perrin asks Henry to describe his claim to the throne, it is convoluted in the extreme - nobody could have anticipated that it would work. But it did, an event truly stranger than fiction. Michael imagines how Margaret of Beaufort heard the news of her son's final victory in Bosworth, a woman broken by long isolation, her piety more a mark of identity with faith long failed - after all the years of hardship and hopes dashed, the question of how she can find happiness is left slightly open. I feel that in all the writings about Margaret of Beaufort, Michael seems to have come the closest to capturing her complexity and her contradictions. How could a woman so devout spend so much of her life plotting, manipulating and scheming? What was in her heart after all those years of sorrow? One of the most intriguing women of the medieval era, Margaret Beaufort would always leave us guessing, but with Accession and its two predecessors, she seems slightly more approachable. I am going to really miss this series.
Historical fiction is a genre overpopulated with fluffy romances which fail to capture the steel required to survive in a period of long-term civil war. Livi Michael's spectacular trilogy has always felt like a breath of fresh air; with the two preceding novels, Succession and Rebellion, the stage was set for Henry VI to fall, Edward IV to rise and now with this, the conclusion to the trilogy, a new Henry readies himself for the final battle. The pieces which were flung into the air with the first book are coming back down to rest, but yet it was in this period that several of the most notorious incidents of the conflict occurred. Michael is venturing into territory which has been written, rewritten, squabbled over, disputed, subjected to official inquiry, squabbled over some more and which even a couple of years ago culminated in a man who had been dead for five hundred years being given a state funeral where people attended in black with somber expressions. So how did Michael choose to interpret events?
The focus of the trilogy has always been Margaret Beaufort and it is not surprising that Accession opens with her, lying awake at night and thinking, as she always did, of her son. The ravenous mother-love that seems to have powered Margaret Beaufort has puzzled many other historical fiction writers, given what a great portion of her life she spent separated from him, but Michael has always depicted the relationship deftly, with the two coming so close to being together time and again and then always the wider conflict always striking them apart. Margaret knows that it is too late now for her to be the mother she wanted to be but still her ever step, every thought is for him. The sense of fatigue as she realises that she needs to marry again is perfectly caught - Margaret has been married since she was six and she is utterly fed up of the estate, but needs must and with poor grace, she heads back into the melee.
Of course, there is another famous Margaret within the Wars of the Roses, Margaret of Anjou, and Michael tries to imagine what her life must have been after the Battle of Tewkesbury, when she lost the battle, lost the kingdom, lost her son. Through the eyes of Alice Chaucer, the former queen's former lady-in-waiting now charged to stand as gaoler, we observe this once great lady made small. Michael's great talent lies in her ability to take the bare facts of the chronicles and give them life and so we see Lady Alice fretting over what would be least offensive tapestry to hang in Margaret's chamber and what on earth would be appropriate conversation topics given that the two of them were going to be having to spend an undetermined and possibly indefinite amount of time together. Lady Alice knows that nobody would reproach her as negligent if Margaret of Anjou died in her care - the news might in fact be welcomed. The former queen has passed beyond the point of anybody's interest. Of no political use, when Margaret comments to Lady Alice that she does not think she will marry again, Lady Alice has to stop herself from responding that nobody would want her. It is a strange thing to imagine a life for a woman who was not old, not ill and yet was utterly spent. There would be no more battles for Margaret of Anjou, no more armies to raise, no more children. She simply had to put the time in between Tewkesbury and her death. Written without any melodrama, Michael's description of this existence made me shudder.
Elsewhere in the Yorkist camp, Edward IV and his queen Elizabeth continue to move further apart, the bond sparked by lust turned cold by his infidelity and her ambition. The cluster of their children seem to be a safeguard against future political strife, but some have other ideas. There is the sputtering threat of George of Clarence, brother to the king and perennial troublemaker. The pain here is what is felt by their mother Cecily, wanting to protect her golden boy - and while Edward may be angry at his mother for loving George more, he cannot but feel a guilt in causing her grief. But it is not his wife who will comfort him, but rather his mistress Jane Shore. As Michael draws him, Edward IV is a man overwhelmed by the office he bears, torn between the will of his own family and what his wife's family would have him do - he is not man enough to wear the crown and feels lost in his role as king.
Yet still, there are moments from court life which do stand out - as the court watches the four year old Prince Richard marry the six year-old Anne Mowbray, Margaret Beaufort cringes as she remembers being married at that age to John de la Pole - the union was annulled not long afterwards though and during the ceremony, the two are careful to avoid each other's eye. Accession seems slightly more reliant on the chronicles than its predecessors, with a slightly steeper bent towards the non-fiction as it lists alliances and allegiances made and then broken. It is difficult though when dealing with a period this complex to maintain that lightness of touch which has made this trilogy so distinctive and memorable - but this is a minor point.
The downfall of the Woodvilles is handled with an unusual subtlety - as Anthony Woodville tries to do the right thing and to maintain order, we feel the astonishment along with him as events overtake him. Indeed, it is a little innovative in itself to have the Woodvilles portrayed as anything other than jumped-up power-hungry nobodies, but in the brief glimpses that we get, Anthony Woodville is a good man and his fate feels undeserved. So often when dealing with the Wars of the Roses, historical fiction writers are unable to keep themselves from 'picking a side' (*cough* Gillipa Phregory *cough*) but Michael seems content to stand more on the sidelines. When the priest explains that twenty years before, he had secretly married Edward IV to Eleanor Butler, we hear as he expresses inward relief that his story has seemed credible, but the point is not over-emphasised. Similarly, Michael does not let her story get too far drawn into the debate over what befell the two Princes in the Tower. As far as the 'changeling' theory goes concerning whether it really was Prince Richard who entered the Tower, Michael shows Elizabeth Woodville's agony as she is ordered to hand over her second son, but not only is she not sure what is going to happen, the child wants to go to his brother, to leave sanctuary. She gives him up. She has no choice. It is not her fault. But this is not a novel about those two poor boys.
Threaded all the way through has been the story of young Henry Tudor, exiled and generally imprisoned abroad. He becomes a man while a stranger from his own land. He is given everything he could possibly want and treated with the highest respect but still he knows that there is a reckoning to be had. There is no real other way out of his situation than gaining the crown. Victory or nothing at all - and as a man, he will not even be granted the half-life inflicted upon Margaret of Anjou. It will be the axe. In our twenty-first century world of certainties, it is strange to think of someone having to bank all their hopes on something so subject to chance. Henry Tudor can plan all he wants, get all the men he possibly can, but his first invasion attempt is scuppered (literally) due to the weather.
Back in England, Jane Shore's life is made more complicated by the men who have entered her life in the wake of the old king's death, culminating in her infamous penance walk. It is interesting to contrast Michael's muted interpretation of this with the baroque version depicted by Game of Thrones a couple of years ago. Here, Jane Shore is allowed to keep her shift on, she carries a lighted taper and a kindly flower-seller scatters a posy in her path, then a man lies down his cloak for her to walk on. For all the cruelty, Michael never denies that there was also humanity. Indeed, with plots being discussed indirectly over chess, under cover of visits from physicians - the whirrings of rebellion continue on through this book with little loyalty and few scruples. Margaret Beaufort has cause to doubt her final choice of husband as Lord Stanley sets out to prove his loyalty to Richard III. Imprisoned in her own home, there are times when she seems to have been as out-manoeuvred as the former queen who shared her name.
The only part of the novel which I truly struggled with was the way in which Michael depicted Elizabeth of York. Having read the disclaimer which Richard III signed in order to get his nieces and their mother to agree to leave sanctuary, it was clear that he knew that he had given them no reason to trust him - he had openly killed their half-brother, their uncle and taken their brother's throne. These were all points of fact. It is not hard to imagine the young Elzabeth determining to survive in her uncle's court, or even that she tried to comfort her recently bereaved aunt, the new queen. What did stretch my credulity was the idea that she could be so easily seduced by her uncle. Having read Alison Weir's Elizabeth of York, the evidence supporting her having genuine feelings for him is slender at best and struck a strange note within a series which has always been about humanising the events of the chronicles. Even if Richard III had not ordered the deaths of the young princes, he had done quite enough other things to earn his niece's distrust. I have never believed Richard III to have been unusually evil for his age, but he was a king in a time when this was not a task for the soft-hearted - indeed, the most genuinely sweet-natured monarch was probably Henry VI and his reign was not known for being a golden age.
Michael has shown vividly in this trilogy how one could go from hero to zero, or rather from monarch to fugitive. With Accession, she reverses the process. When Henry Tudor is fleeing Brittany, his commoner guide castigates him as a 'foreign leech' who has been 'eating and drinking - paying no taxes - doing no work - who do you think you are?' When Henry replies that he thinks he is king, Perrin responds 'And I'm the Virgin Mary' and tells him to go and 'bleed your own country dry.' How ludicrous that someone could go from being a beggar in one place to a king in another. When Perrin asks Henry to describe his claim to the throne, it is convoluted in the extreme - nobody could have anticipated that it would work. But it did, an event truly stranger than fiction. Michael imagines how Margaret of Beaufort heard the news of her son's final victory in Bosworth, a woman broken by long isolation, her piety more a mark of identity with faith long failed - after all the years of hardship and hopes dashed, the question of how she can find happiness is left slightly open. I feel that in all the writings about Margaret of Beaufort, Michael seems to have come the closest to capturing her complexity and her contradictions. How could a woman so devout spend so much of her life plotting, manipulating and scheming? What was in her heart after all those years of sorrow? One of the most intriguing women of the medieval era, Margaret Beaufort would always leave us guessing, but with Accession and its two predecessors, she seems slightly more approachable. I am going to really miss this series.
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