The Anne Boleyn of it all

I have thoughts about historians.

A few weeks ago (maybe months? Scientists are undecided) I tweeted about Anne Boleyn: Fatal Attractions, the 2010 biography by G.W. Bernard. Why? Because it is the only contemporary biography of the Queen that suggests that she could possibly have been guilty of most/all charges. Using the evidence of a poem by French poet Lancelot de Carles, he weaves the tale of a woman who, while intelligent, is highly sexual and insincere in many of her public beliefs.

I was 12 when I read that biography, and deep into my Tudor phase. I like to think that now the dynasty is part of a larger obsession that somehow includes Liza Minelli. But at the time, I was in the midst of reading every book about that era of history when this stopped me in my tracks. It isn’t that I believed it, but rather was shocked by the evidence used. It seemed so flimsy to me. That was when I discovered that academia could be, and often is, bullshit.

But back to Anne Boleyn.

When I think of our cultural obsession with the Tudors, which has lasted centuries, I think of narrative. There’s a few in there, but if we want to boil down to the big three, they are:

·      Henry VII and Bosworth

·      Henry VIII and the Great Matter

·      Elizabeth I and the Armada

There are a myriad of stories within those three historical moments, but the one we come back to is, obviously, the Great Matter. Which is strange in itself. Historians love battles, they love war, they love conquerors. But that isn’t what we are drawn to culturally. Look to Marie Antoinette, the lovers of Louis XIV, Mary, Queen of Scots. No matter how important the meeting of men was, we love the intimate drama that comes from infidelity and romance.

Gossip rules textbooks.

The story of Henry VIII and the Great Matter is one with five central characters. The King, the Queen, his Mistress, his Councillor, and his Daughter. Other men and women enter the stage at various points, but these are the ones we come back to. Through the annals of history, we see the marriage of Henry Tudor and Catherine of Aragon break down over the course of two decades and countless failed promises. The betrayal of new love that ends in a murder with Anne Boleyn. Thomas Wolsey and the souring of a friendship and paternal bond that dies out of impatience and ego. And finally, young Mary Tudor, who sees her status, dreams and family be torn apart. It’s Shakespearian.

How we read that story depends on who the protagonist is. But for many centuries, outside of the cult of Gloriana, Anne Boleyn was the antagonist. If you stanned Henry VIII, she failed her one job as Prince-breeder. If you loved Wolsey (why?) she had a hand in his demise. And the Marians…they were not hot on her. But in the past century, as the cultural conversation has turned against the elements that made other parties popular, Anne Boleyn has become the only protagonist we trust. The story of Anne Boleyn, re-examined critically in the wake of a society much less in the grip of the Catholic Church, is solid. Which is why that biography was so shocking to read.

There’s a meta-analysis of Anne Boleyn that I read a few years later that I think puts much of this into stark relief, The Creation of Anne Boleyn by Susan Bordo (2014). In it, she sketches the broad strokes of the Englishwoman’s life and finds threads in her portrayals in media. In this, you see the gradual shift in the reputation of Boleyn, from she-devil, to fallen angel, to a woman. For some biographies of Anne Boleyn context is missing, but in Bordo’s book, there is only context. She takes her life as described by historians like Eric Ives and Antonia Fraser for granted, which makes sense, because their evidence is solid, and their takes are sane.

Bernard’s book, by comparison, feels like an exercise in arguing for the sake of it.

That is not to say the other side of the coin from Bernard is exempt from poor evidence and hot takes. Hayley Nolan’s 2019 biography, Anne Boleyn: 100 Years of Lies, is a book that attempts to right the wrongs of previous biographies. Yes, in 2019, after the publication of the Ives, Fraser and Bordo biographies I have already written, along with countless other books concerning the titular Queen. This premise, while dated, did suggest some interesting evidence might be used, so I picked up a cheap copy.

I’ve never been more put off by a non-fiction book in my life.

To keep it short and sweet, this book is written like a Buzzfeed article. It winks at the reader in a style that feels inappropriate for the subject matter. I do not mind straightforward or varied styles in historical biographies, but a reference to emojis did make me put it down for at least a week when I first read it.

But the thing that affected me most was the arguments made throughout the book. Nolan is clearly a woman of the internet, and it shows in the book. Not only does she use a very specific, online tone to this non-fiction piece, but her evidence is just as flimsy as Bernard’s. The Shane-Dawson-esque declarations of sociopathy for Henry VIII, with the help of a doctor, is foundational to her examination of the couple. This, paired with a section where she claims Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk molested his infant daughter, led me to nearly throw the book away. Not everything in the book is without merit, but much of it feels like a desperate attempt to say anything.

I think we, as a society, have recently begun to expect new and shocking angles on culture and history as the norm. Hot takes if you will. It’s been an unexpected biproduct of the internet, simultaneously encouraging groupthink and needing radical new ideas. But oftentimes, these takes are unsupported garbage, meant only to drive traffic. Social media in particular encourages the mess because the entire business model relies upon engagement.

And look, I love gossip. It’s what drew me to history as a subject in the first place. But, quite frankly, this obsession with escalating theories and takes feels less like taking the gossip of history and crafting clear and evidenced narratives, and more like the continued Regina George-ification of all media. It’s lazy and cheap.

Which is what Anne Boleyn said about Henry VIII in bed.