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Spare Hardcover – January 10, 2023
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“Compellingly artful . . . [a] blockbuster memoir.”—The New Yorker (Best Books of the Year)
It was one of the most searing images of the twentieth century: two young boys, two princes, walking behind their mother’s coffin as the world watched in sorrow—and horror. As Princess Diana was laid to rest, billions wondered what Prince William and Prince Harry must be thinking and feeling—and how their lives would play out from that point on.
For Harry, this is that story at last.
Before losing his mother, twelve-year-old Prince Harry was known as the carefree one, the happy-go-lucky Spare to the more serious Heir. Grief changed everything. He struggled at school, struggled with anger, with loneliness—and, because he blamed the press for his mother’s death, he struggled to accept life in the spotlight.
At twenty-one, he joined the British Army. The discipline gave him structure, and two combat tours made him a hero at home. But he soon felt more lost than ever, suffering from post-traumatic stress and prone to crippling panic attacks. Above all, he couldn’t find true love.
Then he met Meghan. The world was swept away by the couple’s cinematic romance and rejoiced in their fairy-tale wedding. But from the beginning, Harry and Meghan were preyed upon by the press, subjected to waves of abuse, racism, and lies. Watching his wife suffer, their safety and mental health at risk, Harry saw no other way to prevent the tragedy of history repeating itself but to flee his mother country. Over the centuries, leaving the Royal Family was an act few had dared. The last to try, in fact, had been his mother. . . .
For the first time, Prince Harry tells his own story, chronicling his journey with raw, unflinching honesty. A landmark publication, Spare is full of insight, revelation, self-examination, and hard-won wisdom about the eternal power of love over grief.
- Print length416 pages
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherRandom House
- Publication dateJanuary 10, 2023
- Dimensions6.38 x 1.24 x 9.56 inches
- ISBN-100593593804
- ISBN-13978-0593593806
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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?
Product details
- Publisher : Random House; First US Edition (January 10, 2023)
- Language : English
- Hardcover : 416 pages
- ISBN-10 : 0593593804
- ISBN-13 : 978-0593593806
- Item Weight : 1.63 pounds
- Dimensions : 6.38 x 1.24 x 9.56 inches
- Best Sellers Rank: #812 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- #1 in Historical British Biographies
- #2 in Royalty Biographies
- #47 in Memoirs (Books)
- Customer Reviews:
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This book is a memoir. It is from Prince Harry's perspective about his life. These are his experiences, his traumas, his joys, and his sorrows. He is sharing his world openly and honestly with the reader, always fully acknowledging that it is his own viewpoint. I believe this book should be respected, not only because it is an extremely rare reflection of an incredibly unique life experience, but also because it is a thoughtful retrospective and a well written book.
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.
I found the chapters about Harry's military service among the most interesting. Clearly he could never be just an ordinary soldier, but he went through the same paces and journey as pretty much any recruit in many ways. This part of the story provides a compelling and clear context for his service and dedication to veterans and his Invictus Games endeavors. After reading this, it broke my heart that he was stripped of some of his military titles and was not allowed to wear his uniform to his grandmother's funeral. Especially when you see his family members who never served in the same way strutting around with chests full of unearned medals. I said what I said.
There is some information in the book I guess I didn't need to know, but I understand why he included it. His life has been media fodder since Day One, and it's clear that people have been writing and reading twisted and even untrue stories about him for decades. I guess he wanted to get some things out there himself so he could say it in his own words, because he didn't get to do that before.
The book is really a story of enduring and overcoming trauma, and how it can take years and a lot of mistakes, missed chances and side-journeys to do so. I was never a Royal watcher. I remember when Diana died, and watching her sons walk behind her coffin. But I had a job and young kids at the time, so I didn't pay attention to the family for years after that. You get a tremendous insight into how they operate reading this book. I would never, ever want to be Royal or raise my kids that way. Certainly not the way it has been done in Great Britain.
Oh, and Camilla is awful. That really comes across in Harry's memoir. He doesn't trash her, but he is honest about what she did and how he felt about it. I would say she is the one whose misdeeds are really laid bare here. Even then, as I said, he is not on a war path or anything. He's just telling it like it is.
Anyway, it's a compelling story about a public figure, a man (and before that a boy) whom people thought they knew but who has so much more depth and complexity than many believed. It's definitely worth reading. Slow in spots and with some details that made me scratch my head a bit. But very interesting and sympathetic.
Top reviews from other countries
And I really want to acknowledge and pay my respect to Harry for his courage, stemina and his willingness to walk the painful path in order to be able to find appropriate words for what he went through.
Everyone who chooses the quest of finding healing and understanding one's own deep seated pain never chooses the easiest way. Never.
But sometimes it's the only way to be able to move forward, to staying alive or come to life.
I am not and was never a fan of royal families. Quite resently I learned how and why this "blue blood"-generations came to and kept their power for centuries until this day. There's nothing really honest, decent and/or admirable about it.
In his book Harry mentions this reality and history of his own family in an honest way too, without being disrespectful towards his lineage. This take guts. I respect that a lot.
Until now I wasn't aware or/and interested in royalties' upbringing. No wonder sensible souls can't cope with such coldness and emotional cruelty in long terms.
Harry is a very sensible human being, everybody who's heart and soul isn't completely shut down will recognize and feel it. There cannot be any doubt about it.
I wasn't interested in Harry's story because he is a "prince". I always felt that he is somewhat different than other "royals". In interviews given by him I always felt a deepness within him as a Human Being. Now after having read his book, I know why.
From time to time I came across the dirt that has been thrown at him and Meghan on the internet, which I couldn't understand. But I wanted to. "Spare" gave me / gives us the answer for it too.
For me it is important to hear a person's own words, reading them, seeing a person speaking them.
Everyone who is interested in Harry's story, told and written in HIS own words, in addition I would recommend to watch interviews with him and Meghan with an open heart and mind.
In the end no truth can be kept hidden forever, no matter if you are from a "normal" or "royal" family. That's the Natural Law of Life.
In the end WE ALL are "royalty" or none of us.
Those who think they are better, more worthy, more important than others are proclaiming a lie.
This concept is a man-made concept originates from a power complex. This is NOT life's/God's truth.
Harry's book is a proof for that.
May our blueprint of humanity and compassion never cease.
May we keep it or free it no matter what painful steps it takes. Because nothing else matters, when we want to experience the beauty, kindness and gentleness of life that is there for everyone of us too.
Reviewed in Spain on January 22, 2023
The dedication is, unsurprisingly: "For Meg, and Archie, and Lili... and, of course, my mother."
A sentence of William Faulkner accompanies our reading at the beginning of the book: "The past is never dead. It's not even past."
The book is divided into three parts, the titles of which are taken from the poem "Invictus" by Ernest Henley: Out of the night that covers me; Bloody, but Unbowed; Captain of my soul. These three parts contain very short chapters (sometimes a single page) which evoke precise or felt or fleeting memories, sometimes painful, sometimes tender and funny. What emerges is the total honesty of the character, his humanity, his desire to understand his mistakes, to grow up to become a responsible human being, protector of his country, his wife, his family of which his mother would have been proud. . It's masterful.
I recommend reading this book which can also be read as a dystopian fairy tale where we see behind the scenes of classic fairy tales. The prince here is poor, unloved. As in fairy tales, he undergoes a tragic ordeal (here, the loss of his mother, killed by dragons, understand the press). He then carried out a life-saving initiatory journey which led him down the wrong paths but, in the end, which transformed him into a knight serving his kingdom, then his Belle Meghan, whom he succeeded in snatching her from the claws of the dragons (the sexist and racist tabloid press) who are still rampant in the kingdom from which he moves away to protect his soul mate and their children. They lived happily with their children, in Montecito, fighting for a better world far, far away from the monarchy held by media dragons.
To read urgently!
Reviewed in France on January 19, 2023
The dedication is, unsurprisingly: "For Meg, and Archie, and Lili... and, of course, my mother."
A sentence of William Faulkner accompanies our reading at the beginning of the book: "The past is never dead. It's not even past."
The book is divided into three parts, the titles of which are taken from the poem "Invictus" by Ernest Henley: Out of the night that covers me; Bloody, but Unbowed; Captain of my soul. These three parts contain very short chapters (sometimes a single page) which evoke precise or felt or fleeting memories, sometimes painful, sometimes tender and funny. What emerges is the total honesty of the character, his humanity, his desire to understand his mistakes, to grow up to become a responsible human being, protector of his country, his wife, his family of which his mother would have been proud. . It's masterful.
I recommend reading this book which can also be read as a dystopian fairy tale where we see behind the scenes of classic fairy tales. The prince here is poor, unloved. As in fairy tales, he undergoes a tragic ordeal (here, the loss of his mother, killed by dragons, understand the press). He then carried out a life-saving initiatory journey which led him down the wrong paths but, in the end, which transformed him into a knight serving his kingdom, then his Belle Meghan, whom he succeeded in snatching her from the claws of the dragons (the sexist and racist tabloid press) who are still rampant in the kingdom from which he moves away to protect his soul mate and their children. They lived happily with their children, in Montecito, fighting for a better world far, far away from the monarchy held by media dragons.
To read urgently!