The White Queen - Philippa Gregory

Having flogged the Tudor horse well past death but with people still inexplicably reading her drivel (*is guilty as charged*), Philippa Gregory is moving on to less-churned pastures.  In keeping with her lady-mojo (or something?) she tells the story of King Edward IV's rise and fall, and the usurpance of his rightful heirs by his wicked brother Richard III, but from the POV of Edward's witchy wife Elizabeth Woodward.

And to be fair, The White Queen is less bad than The Other Queen, but to be MORE fair this isn't really saying much.  It's like her editor was in a coma for all of TOQ, woke up to make a few blue-pencilled stabs at TWQ and promptly relapsed.  This makes for a bit of reading-agony, but also means you can feel free to read Her Gregoryness when you have the flu or are otherwise distracted, because she will repeat things enough times to make sure you Get It.  Par example:

'Edward starts the hard work of making England a country at peace with itself once more.  A country at peace instead of a country at war.'  Which, thanks for that coda, because I was confused about what the alternatives to peace were.

Or: 'And it will be something, to raise a king. It is a legacy to leave: that of making the boy who will be king...it will be something to be guardian of such a boy. I should be proud to have the making of the next King.'  Making a king, then, is...something.

And I understand repeating things for emphasis, but I don't think even the Early Moderns did it NEARLY as much as El Gregor has them do.  Observe:  'I thought I would never see you again!  Beloved, I thought I would never see you again.'  Or:  'I am wrong, I am so wrong.  We are not so powerful, we are not powerful enough.'  Or:  'He will come home.  But this time, he does not.  This time, he does not.'  Or this little exchange:  '"There is something at the door," she says.  "Something horrible at the door."  "What is at the door," I ask.'  DUDE, something HORRIBLE!  Even I caught that, and I'm barely paying attention now.

And to be honest I'm not even sure how she can type with those ham-hands.  And maybe it's because this is historical fiction, with its foregone conclusions et al., but her foreshadowing is like a giant stage-wink.  Lady Woodward (whose sons rather famously disappear from the Tower of London later) is always like, Ack, I can never let my sons go from me, never, not ever, especially not to the Tower of London, which I totally hate for no real reason.  Or, Ugh, that young Henry Tudor is such a whiny upstart.  He will SURELY never amount to anything.  There is one bit, where Woodward's brother is chatting about how bloodthirsty the Yorks are and how he hopes that 'when we finally have peace, they don't kill each other out of sheer habit' that made me chortle because that is sort of exactly what happens, but without being quite so on the nose.

All that to say, though, PGregg continues to be my chocolate-chips-straight-from-the-bag (they're not good for you, they're not even that tasty, but they are readily accessible and there are many of them).  It will continue to be my fault that authors like her exist in the world, and I refuse to make any apologies.

Six caterpillars.