From the Publisher
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![The New Yorker says “[A] blockbuster memoir.”](https://m.media-amazon.com/images/S/aplus-media-library-service-media/971b76e7-d50a-4d5d-97b2-b92e5d6201ab.__CR0,0,300,300_PT0_SX300_V1___.jpg)
Editorial Reviews
Review
“Compellingly artful . . . [a] blockbuster memoir.”—The New Yorker
“A scorching account of life in a golden cage.”—The Atlantic
About the Author
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
I looked around, saw no one.
I checked my phone. No texts, no voicemails.
They must be running late, I thought, leaning against the stone wall.
I put away my phone and told myself: Stay calm.
The weather was quintessentially April. Not quite winter, not yet spring. The trees were bare, but the air was soft. The sky was gray, but the tulips were popping. The light was pale, but the indigo lake, threading through the gardens, glowed.
How beautiful it all is, I thought. And also how sad.
Once upon a time, this was going to be my forever home. Instead it had proved to be just another brief stop.
When my wife and I fled this place, in fear for our sanity and physical safety, I wasn’t sure when I’d ever come back. That was January 2020. Now, fifteen months later, here I was, days after waking to thirty-two missed calls and then one short, heart-racing talk with Granny: Harry . . . Grandpa’s gone.
The wind picked up, turned colder. I hunched my shoulders, rubbed my arms, regretted the thinness of my white shirt. I wished I’d not changed out of my funeral suit. I wished I’d thought to bring a coat. I turned my back to the wind and saw, looming behind me, the Gothic ruin, which in reality was no more Gothic than the Millennium Wheel. Some clever architect, some bit of stagecraft. Like so much around here, I thought.
I moved from the stone wall to a small wooden bench. Sitting, I checked my phone again, peered up and down the garden path.
Where are they?
Another gust of wind. Funny, it reminded me of Grandpa. His wintry demeanor, maybe. Or his icy sense of humor. I recalled one particular shooting weekend years ago. A mate, just trying to make conversation, asked Grandpa what he thought of my new beard, which had been causing concern in the family and controversy in the press. Should the Queen Force Prince Harry to Shave? Grandpa looked at my mate, looked at my chin, broke into a devilish grin. THAT’S no beard!
Everyone laughed. To beard or not to beard, that was the question, but leave it to Grandpa to demand more beard. Let grow the luxurious bristles of a bloody Viking!
I thought of Grandpa’s strong opinions, his many passions—carriage driving, barbecuing, shooting, food, beer. The way he embraced life. He had that in common with my mother. Maybe that was why he’d been such a fan. Long before she was Princess Diana, back when she was simply Diana Spencer, kindergarten teacher, secret girlfriend of Prince Charles, my grandfather was her loudest advocate. Some said he actually brokered my parents’ marriage. If so, an argument could be made that Grandpa was the Prime Cause in my world. But for him, I wouldn’t be here.
Neither would my older brother.
Then again, maybe our mother would be here. If she hadn’t married Pa . . .
I recalled one recent chat, just me and Grandpa, not long after he’d turned ninety-seven. He was thinking about the end. He was no longer capable of pursuing his passions, he said. And yet the thing he missed most was work. Without work, he said, everything crumbles. He didn’t seem sad, just ready. You have to know when it’s time to go, Harry.
I glanced now into the distance, towards the mini skyline of crypts and monuments alongside Frogmore. The Royal Burial Ground. Final resting place for so many of us, including Queen Victoria. Also, the notorious Wallis Simpson. Also, her doubly notorious husband Edward, the former King and my great-great-uncle. After Edward gave up his throne for Wallis, after they fled Britain, both of them fretted about their ultimate return—both obsessed about being buried right here. The Queen, my grandmother, granted their plea. But she placed them at a distance from everyone else, beneath a stooped plane tree. One last finger wag, perhaps. One final exile, maybe. I wondered how Wallis and Edward felt now about all their fretting. Did any of it matter in the end? I wondered if they wondered at all. Were they floating in some airy realm, still mulling their choices, or were they Nowhere, thinking Nothing? Could there really be Nothing after this? Does consciousness, like time, have a stop? Or maybe, I thought, just maybe, they’re here right now, next to the fake Gothic ruin, or next to me, eavesdropping on my thoughts. And if so . . . maybe my mother is too?
The thought of her, as always, gave me a jolt of hope, and a burst of energy.
And a stab of sorrow.
I missed my mother every day, but that day, on the verge of that nerve racking rendezvous at Frogmore, I found myself longing for her, and I couldn’t say just why. Like so much about her, it was hard to put into words.
Although my mother was a princess, named after a goddess, both those terms always felt weak, inadequate. People routinely compared her to icons and saints, from Nelson Mandela to Mother Teresa to Joan of Arc, but every such comparison, while lofty and loving, also felt wide of the mark. The most recognizable woman on the planet, one of the most beloved, my mother was simply indescribable, that was the plain truth. And yet . . . how could someone so far beyond everyday language remain so real, so palpably present, so exquisitely vivid in my mind? How was it possible that I could see her, clear as the swan skimming towards me on that indigo lake? How could I hear her laughter, loud as the songbirds in the bare trees—still? There was so much I didn’t remember, because I was so young when she died, but the greater miracle was all that I did. Her devastating smile, her vulnerable eyes, her childlike love of movies and music and clothes and sweets—and us. Oh how she loved my brother and me. Obsessively, she once confessed to an interviewer.
Well, Mummy . . . vice versa.
Maybe she was omnipresent for the very same reason that she was indescribable—because she was light, pure and radiant light, and how can you really describe light? Even Einstein struggled with that one. Recently, astronomers rearranged their biggest telescopes, aimed them at one tiny crevice in the cosmos, and managed to catch a glimpse of one breathtaking sphere, which they named Earendel, the Old English word for Morning Star. Billions of miles off, and probably long vanished, Earendel is closer to the Big Bang, the moment of Creation, than our own Milky Way, and yet it’s somehow still visible to mortal eyes because it’s just so awesomely bright and dazzling.
That was my mother.
That was why I could see her, sense her, always, but especially that April afternoon at Frogmore.
That—and the fact that I was carrying her flag. I’d come to those gardens because I wanted peace. I wanted it more than anything. I wanted it for my family’s sake, and for my own—but also for hers.
People forget how much my mother strove for peace. She circled the globe many times over, traipsed through minefields, cuddled AIDS patients, consoled war orphans, always working to bring peace to someone somewhere, and I knew how desperately she would want—no, did want—peace between her boys, and between us two and Pa. And among the whole family.
For months the Windsors had been at war. There had been strife in our ranks, off and on, going back centuries, but this was different. This was a fullscale public rupture, and it threatened to become irreparable. So, though I’d flown home specifically and solely for Grandpa’s funeral, while there I’d asked for this secret meeting with my older brother, Willy, and my father to talk about the state of things.
To find a way out.
But now I looked once more at my phone and once more up and down the garden path and I thought: Maybe they’ve changed their minds. Maybe they’re not going to come.
For half a second I considered giving up, going for a walk through the gardens by myself or heading back to the house where all my cousins were drinking and sharing stories of Grandpa.
Then, at last, I saw them. Shoulder to shoulder, striding towards me, they looked grim, almost menacing. More, they looked tightly aligned. My stomach dropped. Normally they’d be squabbling about one thing or another, but now they appeared to be in lockstep—in league.
The thought occurred: Hang on, are we meeting for a walk . . . or a duel?
Kailyn –
I don’t really read these kinds of books. I’m addicted to sci fi and historical romance and intake most my gossip/nonfiction news from social media mediums and independent research (Tik Tok and Twitter). I don’t think I’ve ever read a biography, autobiography, or memoir outside of an educational setting. I picked this up just bc I was interested in all the weird excerpts the media put all over headlines in the days leading up. I’m also a big supporter of evaluating primary sources first-hand as my liberal arts bachelors degree taught me before I form opinions. I expected a celebrity tell-all gossip piece..BUT, this piece took my breath away. I read it in one night and went through so many emotions. I had to put it down multiple times to laugh, cry, and self reflect. Well-done to Harry taking the hard step to be vulnerable to the world in his own way and taking control of his narrative and his writer is absolutely so talented. The writer is so magnificent, I cannot say it enough.This book is going to be analyzed in classrooms, positively, negatively, analytically one day as it touches on coming-of age, literature and motifs, the most recent war, and a love story and a social and political discourse on British press and its relationship with the Palace. People are going to be talking about this book for ages and as Meghan and Harry seem to be really polarizing to some. I recommend anyone supporter or not, British or American, read this book first and form your own opinions. Clear your mind of the bias from what you know of Harry from the press and media and read it about a story of a boy growing into a man. It’s really quite good when you look past you’re own biases.Harry’s really grown when it comes to his own biases and privilege and this book really explores that growth in a first person POV that also causes to reader to take a step back and evaluate themselves but I do think he needs to sit on his support of a Monarchy a bit more lol…it was nice as an American to understand British culture a bit more though and I feel like I was able to put myself in the other Royals shoes and humanize them as well! Since Meghan and Harry are the only ones who we’ve been able to authentically hear from as of late.I know a lot of people will speak on his chapters of his experiences in the war negatively, and to be honest. I wasn’t expecting that kind of candor and rawness and it resonated with me but in a introspectively beneficial way..as someone who is currently in the neo-stage of their military officer career (I only joined because I wanted to be a leader and get college paid but I’ve been more introspective on leadership and military more lately) I had to take military history classes when I was in college, I read many textbooks and memories who recount experiences similar to his from the civil war, Vietnam and WW1/2 perspective and we analyzed them relentlessly…but I haven’t seen a lot of memoirs from veterans from the War on Terror or from non-Americans. With the peacetime the U.S. is in I guess I doubt I’ll be serving long enough to ever experience the trauma he went through and it helps me understand the PTSD of modern soldiers and those veteran NCOs I work with. That section made me really introspective about the military and the way we’re trained and the discourse around the ethics of it even though his military experience is from a different country. (Side note this really helped me realize how important OPSEC is lol I literally screamed OPSEC at the book at one point).I enjoy the way he recounted his childhood and his relationship with his family. It was very tactful and well-written and I think every comment that a tabloid has pulled as “offensive” out of context was balanced out throughout the book as we really delved into the nuances of family and our childhoods. The people he mentions in this book are not just characters and celebrities in a show or tabloid but real people who are multifaceted and there is no antagonist and protagonist in real life.He also kept it spicy with the funny TMI moments about his social life and ~extracurricular~ activities. The random celebrity name drops were hilarious to me with his sarcastic tone and obviously not ill-mannered or narcissistic as I saw some implied. I think that was the perfect amount of comedy and tiny factoids that are ultimately harmless and affect no one except entertain the reader. I’m a very TMI person and the way he exposed embarrassing moments is the way I talk to my inner circle of friends and I felt like I was listening to a friend tell me a story on girls night. I saw on Twitter people were offended by the TMI but let’s be honest, if he hadn’t left in the spicy/funny comments people would have just said his memoir is boring and a waste of money and money-seeking. I’m sure there are plenty of other TMI details of his life that are private and he did not share. Everything he shared that people called “TMI” is inconsequential to the audience and only there to entertain comedic relief amongst the other dark themes in this book. This probably went through hella reviews and many consultations to make sure it wasn’t too out there.I could ramble forever about this book…I wanna join like a book club or reddit to discuss it. This is truly one of my favorite reads in like the last ten years. I may have separate opinions about the Harry v. the Monarchy discourse but I just want to endorse the book is SUCH a good read anyways for those on edge.
Amanda –
I’m a 35 year old American and all I knew of the Royal family before Meghan married Harry was that my parents were sad when Diana died and that the grocery store checkout magazines always had headlines about them. I was kind of drawn in and charmed by the idea of them accepting Meghan and how pretty and warm she always looked (I remember sending a picture of her in a pale pink dress with a matching jacket when she was pregnant with her son to my group chat with a note about how oh my God she is the most gorgeous human ever) and it made me sad and angry when like…all of the media over there seemed to hate her all of a sudden. But even though I felt bad for her I never had strong feelings about Harry, he was just kinda there. Now? I freaking love Harry. Harry and Meghan fan for life. LIFE.I am shell-shocked at how freaking real and good this book is. I saw so many headlines leading up to the release that made the book sound like a (super fun tbh) mean and petty silly little airing of grievances. And instead it’s this incredibly thoughtful, fair, raw depiction of both his family and his life. It kind of blows my mind the royals were so short sighted they willingly gave up what appears to be the only one among them with an ounce of emotional intelligence. He and Meghan are both so sincerely self-deprecating and open and honest and they contrast so dramatically against his family. The rest of them seem so stilted and fake and political and sneaky in comparison.How honest he is about his insecurities and ambitions and hopes and dreams and embarrassments is kind of stunning. Openly acknowledging what is complicated about England’s history. Confessing freely to his own limitations in so many ways like Eminem in the battle scene in 8 Mile is ridiculous but kind of effective?! Like….he isn’t pretending not to be upset about being thought stupid, about being a spare, about being single, about so many things. He’s human and it hurt and I respect him for not doing the pretending to be unbothered thing.Also, he is insanely fair to his family. Far more than they seem to deserve!. He is so freaking kind to them. Going out of his way to defend Kate and Will from tabloid gossip and repeatedly explain why things that were said about them or done to them were unfair and untrue. He acknowledges being emotionally unavailable, even to his brother who would want to discuss their mother at times. He even defends his dad’s reasoning on so many things and makes him seem bumbling and ineffectual rather than like the indifferently cruel and disinterested father he seemed like he must be before.Reading this book is the closest I have ever come to having any sympathy at all for the rest of the Royal family. They just seemed like cold selfish remote awful little rich people before but Harry’s book makes them seem more human and likable and normal. Like people who if they hadn’t been born to this might have actually stood a chance of being halfway decent but they were born into this and now they’ve just leaned into being unbearable cartoon villains for forever.The description of the bee, the fly, and the wasp? How he used to grocery shop? Such good writing. And him being painfully honest about him having mom issues and looking for mother figures and wanting to make people laugh and looking for signs in things. I know they’re being mean about it in some headlines and I don’t believe in signs or astrology or psychics or whatever myself but I know a lot of people who do. I think it’s kind of normal and human after a big and unexpected loss. My friend lost her 12 year old son to an asthma attack that stopped his heart and she is constantly on the hunt for “signs”. Connections, coincidences, messages.He’s even fair about his mom. You can tell he knows he kind of puts her on a pedestal but he acknowledges she was imperfect, especially when he talks about her insecurity over them loving their nanny. I think the main takeaway from the book for me is how sad I feel for him. Because he seems to love everyone in his family for who they are. He sees them clearly, their flaws and weaknesses and strengths, and loves them. And you can just tell it wasn’t ever reciprocated. Because none of them seem capable of loving him back.”How lost we are, I thought. How far we’ve strayed. How much damage has been done to our love, our bond, and why? All because a dreadful mob of dweebs and crones and cut-rate criminals and clinically diagnosable sadists along Fleet Street feel the need to get their jollies and plump their profits—and work out their personal issues—by tormenting one very large, very ancient, very dysfunctional family.”Anyway, it is a really good book. I really enjoyed it, read it super fast, and highly recommend.
Maria Adelaide Ribeiro –
Livrão
Excelente material de estudo para ghostwriters, além de ser uma leitura fascinante.
Muy resistente, lo utilizo todos los días para mi trabajo es muy bueno conservando lo frío ?? –
Muy buena compra
Que buen libro con chisme interesante ??
Abagail Vanmerlin –
Incredible! Best Biography I Know Of!
I bought this book on Audible yesterday, and have since purchased a Kindle copy and hard copy as well. It is INCREDIBLE!I am not a “Royal watcher” or lover of tabloids. My jam is listening to non-fiction books on Audible and devouring the classics in paperback. I am a book lover through and through! I pre-ordered my Audible version (no I don’t work for them!) and I was excited to see it was narrated by Harry. First of all, his narration is beautiful, truly perfection. The story, all of it, well nothing short of a well deserved standing ovation, and not at all what I was expecting based upon the headlines in my news feed. Was this the same book?! The media is clearly not reviewing this book in the same way as every other book and seem to be grasping for these gossipy bits and this “narrative” that I didn’t feel was a plot point. Truth be told, I have compassion and a human understanding for all of them, the entire family. It is a riveting story filled with adventure and tender, honest moments that are captured perfectly. Heartfelt, classy and unbelievably down-to-earth, a relatable human experience from a world that few could ever truly relate to. It was breathtaking and worthy of praise and applause. Harry, for his part, was brilliant.
Isabell Meyer –
Interessante Lektüre
Ein sehr interessantes Buch, das hinter die Fassade des britischen Königshauses blicken lässt. Autobiografien sind immer lesenswert, besonders wenn sie tiefe Einblicke in sonst sehr versteckte Institutionen zulassen.
Terrazza Santa Croce –
Good mum, good son
it’s good for the heart to know the prince is not what the press says. it is NEVER what the press says. he couldn’t be that bad, raised by that loving mother in a bitter royal household. He found comfort in war, always hiding. he describes his “top-gun” life in the army and the girlfriends. He explains how hard it is to have a life in the eternal hiding, never protected by the royal system.