Overall rating: ★★★☆☆ (3 out of 5 stars)

Introduction

When you hear about Charles II, you hear about his mistresses, and about the Restoration court. You might hear about his father, or even his mother. You’ll eventually get to his brother, who succeeded him but was overthrown by his own daughters. Yet Charles II also had a wife you’ll almost never hear much about—Catherine of Braganza.

That is why I decided to read the book The Lost Queen: The Surprising Life of Catherine of Braganza―the Forgotten Queen Who Bridged Two Worlds by Sophie Shorland.

Who Was Catherine?

I stumbled across Catherine’s name after getting to hear about Charles II’s mistresses, ironically. Do not get me wrong, Nell Gwyn and Barbara Palmer are very interesting women who deserve the spotlight, but so was Catherine.

Catherine was a Portuguese princess, but her way to becoming one was a bit more rocky than some. The book deals with her life, and to understand her origins, one has to know a bit about the history of Portugal and its crown. The prologue and the first few chapters explain this well. The author takes time to tell us about the succession crisis in Portugal which led to Catherine’s father becoming the king, and it explores her family. She had a strong and ambitious mother, and she loved her brother, who died tragically young.

I’ll admit, I don’t know much about Portuguese history, and it was actually a recent trip to Lisbon that inspired me to give this book a chance before any other I was planning on getting to. I am really glad I did. The history of the House of Braganza is very interesting, especially as they ruled Portugal from 1640 to 1910, which is a very impressive run. It was their house that saw the end of the monarchy in Portugal in 1910, in bloody circumstances which I won’t go into here (maybe there’s an interesting book on it I should give a try?).

I will say, I found I had to pause reading on occasion and look up some of the names and events to really have a clear picture of who’s who. I feel like the author could have been just a bit clearer when trying to explain the admittedly quite convoluted history of how the House of Braganza got to the throne.

Nevertheless, I enjoyed the path the author took us on with Catherine. She detailed her early life and described how Catherine’s marriage to Charles II was negotiated. I honestly had no idea that parts of her dowry were the town of Tangier in what is today Morocco and the Seven Islands of Bombay.

Catherine had a hard time adjusting to life in England, as it was quite different from life in Portugal, but I admire her resilience and political astuteness. She recognized there were things she needed to do and did them, winning quite a few sympathies. That, however, didn’t last for as long as she might have wanted to. She was a Catholic in a Protestant country, and whenever the public sentiment against Catholicism turned, she came under scrutiny and was criticised for being one.

After Charles II died, it took Catherine a while to return to Portugal. She did finally manage it, and although it turned out not to be as great as she remembered it, I am still glad she got the chance to return to her homeland, since it seems it was one of her greatest wishes.

I also had the chance to visit the pantheon where most of her family, including her, were laid to rest. It’s in the Monastery of São Vicente de Fora. It isn’t recommended as often as some other sights in Lisbon, but if you ever find yourself there, give it a visit. You’ll be able to see the impressive resting place of the House of Braganza, and it is within what was once one of the oldest monasteries in Lisbon.

Epilogue

I quite like how the author summarized Catherine’s impact in the epilogue:

“Catherine was also a taste-maker, helping to introduce the baroque to England, popularising tea drinking and changing English music. In her own time, she started a vogue for short skirts, and was ever-dutiful as a queen, maintaining diplomatic relations with half of Europe.

When reading about her life, the mob prejudice from which she suffered, the constant embarrassments and threats to her position, it is difficult to not at least admire the fact that at all times she remained dignified. She won the grudging respect of those who were her religious and political opposites. She was depressed one moment, then laughing over a turn of cards the next. She refused to be dismissed, or to remain down, like a weed that keeps on growing. In the great tradition of Portuguese monarchs and their descriptors, she should perhaps be called Catherine the Tenacious.”

I just love these paragraphs, so I thought I’d share them with you.

Conclusion

The book is well-written and easy to read. However, I generally wanted to learn a bit more about Catherine. It seems that even in a book that is supposed to be all about her, she gets sidelined a bit. For example, I’d have loved to hear more about how she popularized tea drinking in England, but all we got is one line about it.

I’d even have liked to learn a bit more about her fertility issues, especially since I believe this is why she is not as remembered as some other wives—she did not give birth to an heir in a time period when this would have been considered her duty and responsibility. I wonder how that might have affected her, especially given how the book often mentions that her position as Queen Consort was uncertain without an heir, and that there were many rumours about Charles II considering divorce. However, as with a lot of women, some things we’ll never know because they were not recorded. Maybe this is the closest we can get to knowing?

I certainly have some additional reading on this time period and these historical figures in mind, so maybe I’ll get to learn more from some other author.

All this to say, I would recommend it to those looking to learn a bit more about this period in English history, and those who would like the focus to be on Catherine, but be prepared for potential gaps in what you can learn.

My Rating: ★★☆☆☆ (2.5 out of 5 stars)

After several engaging non-fiction reads I had the chance to enjoy this year, I approached Stephen Budiansky’s Her Majesty’s Spymaster: Elizabeth I, Sir Francis Walsingham, and the Birth of Modern Espionage with a sense of anticipation. The premise – learning about the life of Queen Elizabeth I’s principal secretary and England’s first spymaster, particularly for someone with an interest in both espionage and history – seemed promising. In fact, the subtitle itself, “the Birth of Modern Espionage,” raised expectations of a deep dive into the evolution of intelligence gathering under Walsingham’s guidance. However, my experience with this book was disappointing, and notably, this central theme felt underexplored.

An Unexpected Detour in France

The book opens by focusing on Francis Walsingham’s time as the English ambassador in France, notably highlighting the tumultuous events of the St. Bartholomew’s Day Massacre. While the intention was clearly to provide immediate context for the complex political landscape Walsingham navigated, I personally found myself craving a broader introduction to the key players and the existing power dynamics before diving into this specific event. This actually sparked a greater curiosity in Catherine de Medici rather than immediately drawing me into Walsingham’s narrative.

Financial Insights and a Swift Appointment

Budiansky then moved on to explore Walsingham’s personal financial struggles, which offered an interesting, albeit perhaps unexpected, glimpse into the social realities of the time. However, the subsequent transition to Walsingham’s appointment as Principal Secretary felt somewhat abrupt. From this point, the narrative seemed to heavily emphasize Walsingham’s relentless pursuit of Mary Queen of Scots’ execution.

Where Was the “Birth of Modern Espionage”?

While this was a pivotal aspect of Walsingham’s career, I found myself yearning for a more in-depth exploration of the intricacies of his spycraft. While the author does attempt to shed light on Walsingham’s methods – his use of double agents, disinformation, and code-breaking – these explanations felt somewhat superficial and, for me, didn’t quite bring the innovative nature of his espionage to life in a compelling way. I was particularly hoping to see a more thorough examination of how these techniques were truly groundbreaking and laid the groundwork for modern espionage, a promise the title seemed to make but didn’t fully deliver on.

A Notable Absence: William Cecil

Furthermore, while perhaps I missed it, there also seemed to be a notable absence of significant discussion surrounding William Cecil. Given Cecil’s later importance in the realm of espionage and the historical understanding that Walsingham himself trained him, this omission felt like a missed opportunity to further illuminate the development of England’s intelligence network.

An Abrupt Ending

Finally, the book’s conclusion felt rather abrupt, leaving me with a sense of unfinished business. The straightforward recounting of Walsingham’s death lacked the reflective depth I often appreciate in historical biographies.

Final Thoughts

Ultimately, while Her Majesty’s Spymaster touches upon a fascinating historical figure and a pivotal period in the development of espionage, it didn’t fully capture my interest in the way I had hoped. The promised exploration of the “birth of modern espionage” felt underdeveloped, and the lack of focus on key figures like William Cecil was disappointing.

While this wasn’t the book for me, every reading experience offers something. In this case, it has unexpectedly ignited a desire to learn more about the enigmatic ‘Black Queen’ of France, Catherine de Medici. So, perhaps not a complete loss after all – but not a recommendation either.

Rating: ★★★½☆

Earlier this year, I found myself captivated by the book Sisters of Richard III. Eager to delve further into the period following the Wars of the Roses, I picked up The Thistle and the Rose: The Extraordinary Life of Margaret Tudor by Linda Porter. This biography promised a fresh perspective on Margaret Tudor—a figure often overshadowed by her more famous Tudor relatives—and I was keen to learn more about her story. There was a lot I liked, and a few things that didn’t quite work for me. So, let’s get into it.

Podcast Recommendation (Unsponsored!)

Before I proceed, I must give a shoutout to a fantastic episode of the Not Just the Tudors podcast. It features Linda Porter herself discussing The Thistle and the Rose. This History Hit production (available on Spotify) offered valuable context and helped me better understand the author’s perspective, sometimes even more so than the book itself. No one’s paying me to say that, I just genuinely enjoy the podcast.

Was Margaret Tudor Truly “Forgotten”?

Porter’s biography begins by grounding Margaret within the Tudor dynasty, providing essential background on her parents and the early years of the new regime, with the concern on establishing the new Tudor dynasty being an important concern. While the synopsis suggests Margaret is the “forgotten” Tudor, I would argue that her sister Mary, and even their brother Arthur, have arguably faded more from popular historical memory. Nevertheless, I approached this book with limited prior knowledge of Margaret, and I thoroughly enjoyed the journey of discovery.

One of the book’s most compelling sections details Margaret’s marriage to James IV of Scotland and her subsequent journey north to become Queen. Her royal progress was elaborate and meticulously documented. Your head might start hurting from the amount of nobility accompanying and greeting Margaret, but it’s well worth it to read through.

Margaret’s life between 1503 and 1513, her time as queen consort, was so interesting. That may be partly because I have a soft spot for James IV. Porter’s vivid descriptions of James’s effort to unite the nobles was fascinating and really made me appreciate James a lot. The lead-up to the Battle of Flodden was genuinely gripping. In fact, her depiction of the battle itself might be my favorite section. Also, while the English victory is often attributed to Katharine of Aragon (as Henry VIII was campaigning in France), I was disappointed to find that the Earl of Surrey, a character I particularly dislike, was actually the commander of the English forces. I think I’ll always feel like he’s undeserving of beating someone like James IV, so I’ll also pretend it was Queen Katharine that got him, thank you very much. 

Nevertheless, the Battle of Flodden reads almost like an action scene or a compelling Game of Thrones plot point, and it was amazing. If you know other non-fiction books with battle descriptions this good, please do let me know in the comments below.

Areas Where the Narrative Felt Less Compelling

Where I struggled a bit was in how sympathetically Margaret is portrayed throughout. I recognize the historical context where female historians often strive to reclaim and defend historical women from centuries of dismissive male interpretations. However, at times, I felt Porter leaned too heavily in the opposite direction, offering justifications or glossing over some of Margaret’s more questionable decisions. I recognize that Margaret was in a difficult position following James IV’s death, and I can sort of understand justifying her second marriage. However, the subsequent events often felt like a series of struggles and decisions driven by fear and financial necessity – a very human and relatable experience, oddly enough. So it’s okay to admit that she made mistakes—what powerful figure didn’t?

The podcast helped clarify the author’s intentions, and I came away with a better understanding of where she was coming from. But on the page, I sometimes found myself wishing for a more balanced analysis.

Legacy and Lasting Impact

One crucial takeaway from this biography is the undeniable significance of Margaret Tudor’s legacy, a legacy often underestimated. Despite all of Henry VIII’s political machinations, it was Margaret’s lineage that ultimately inherited the English throne. Elizabeth I, the Virgin Queen, never married nor had children. Consequently, the crown passed to James VI of Scotland—Margaret’s great-grandson—who became James I of England, establishing the Stuart dynasty. Even the current British royal family traces its ancestry back to her. There’s a certain poetic justice to that… or perhaps I’m just being a little petty. Either way, I find it undeniably satisfying.

Final Verdict

Overall, The Thistle and the Rose was a solid 3.5-star read for me. It is meticulously researched, accessible to a general audience, and provides a detailed and engaging portrait of a woman who undoubtedly deserves greater recognition. While I didn’t always align with the author’s interpretations, the book successfully ignited my interest in both Tudor and Scottish history. I’m now eager to explore further readings on James IV and Margaret, and who knows—perhaps that will even lead to a revised perspective on this biography in the future.

Overall Rating: ★★★★☆ (4.5/5 stars)

A fascinating and engaging look into the overlooked lives of three Plantagenet women—Anne, Elizabeth, and Margaret of York. The author offers a well-researched and accessible account of their roles during the Wars of the Roses, shedding light on the lives of women whose stories have long remained in the background.

My Thoughts

I came across Sisters of Richard III almost by accident, intrigued by the title and wondering how many sources there could possibly be on these lesser-known medieval women. Having recently developed an interest in English and British monarchs, I decided to give it a go. I’m not a historian—just a curious reader with a background in social sciences—so I read this for entertainment rather than academic insight.

That said, I really enjoyed the book. It drew me in with an excellent overview of the period, stretching from Edward II to Henry VI, and offering just enough background to make sense of the Wars of the Roses without becoming overwhelming. I’d only been vaguely familiar with the era before, but Hodder’s focus on the family of the Duke of York—and especially the sisters of Richard III and Edward IV—made this period come alive in a new way.

Anne of York

Anne, the eldest daughter, fascinated me. Married to the Duke of Exeter, a staunch Lancastrian, her life was clearly difficult—yet she somehow managed to divorce him, which was astonishing for the time. She held onto her title of Duchess of Exeter and remarried Thomas St. Leger, seemingly finding happiness before her untimely death in 1476.

One detail I found truly moving was that her DNA, passed through an unbroken female line of descendants, helped identify the remains of Richard III in 2013—more than 500 years after her death. That connection across centuries really stuck with me.

Elizabeth of York

Elizabeth, the second surviving daughter, married John de la Pole, Duke of Suffolk, and had eleven children. There’s very little recorded about her, but considering how important her children became in the Tudor period, I like to think she was a strong family supporter behind the scenes—even if that’s just speculation on my part.

Margaret of York

Margaret, the youngest, remained unmarried until her brother Edward became king, making her a valuable diplomatic match. She married Charles the Bold, Duke of Burgundy, and went on to become a powerful and influential figure there. Even after Charles’s death, she stayed in Burgundy, supported her stepdaughter Mary, and remained deeply involved in English politics. She supported Perkin Warbeck’s claim to the English throne, even though she might have known he was just an imposter, but was possibly hoping to restore Plantagenet power by any means available to her.

Margaret’s love of books and her impressive personal library made her especially relatable to me. I loved that detail—women like her rarely get credit for intellectual influence, and Hodder gives her due.

Final Thoughts

This book is definitely sympathetic to the Yorkist family, and the author leans into that affection at times. I didn’t mind—I leaned right along with her. But if you’re looking for a highly neutral take, it’s something to be aware of.

While the scarcity of records about women from this period can be frustrating, Hodder makes the most of what exists. Her narrative is engaging, thoughtful, and well-paced. I came away with a new appreciation for the complexity of the women in this family, who often played significant roles behind the scenes—even if their contributions haven’t always been well-documented.

If you’re a fan of Plantagenet or Tudor history and want a fresh perspective, especially one centered on the women often left out of the main narrative, this book is absolutely worth your time.