Sonnet 87

Every time I see an online or offline ad for The Other Boleyn Girl, my eye starts to twitch and my impulse to kill rises. It’s not that I absolutely hate Natalie Portman, Scarlett Johansson and Eric Bana—well, I admit, I do a little, for various reasons such as Troy and the Star Wars prequels and the stupid Nanny Diaries previews—but they’re the least of my concerns. No, I despise The Other Boleyn Girl itself, as a novel. I cannot I believe I actually wasted time on that tripe, and that Hollywood wasted money on making that tripe into a movie. For shame!

My absolute love for Anne Boleyn is well-documented on this blog, but for the uninitiated—girl got the short end of the stick. She was separated from the man she wanted to marry, the king forced his own attentions on her, and rather than end up discarded like Mary Boleyn—the other Boleyn sister of the book and film—she played the game and became queen. She refused to sell her virginity for baubles and an old husband, especially after the husband she wanted was taken from her. No one woman can destroy Catholicism in England; she obviously did influence the change and set in motion a lot of political and religious machinations, but she had help from the politicians itching to bring Lutheran thought into clear view in England. When she was queen she made “missteps” in her new station as a result of not being born to it; it was bound to happen with a love-match marriage, even if she didn’t marry the man she wanted, there’s nothing to suggest she didn’t fall in love with Henry VIII during their courtship. She did not treat Princess Mary very well (who gets her own horrible treatment at the hands of historians, too, but that’s another post) but she provided well for her own daughter (the First Act of Succession and the condition of the royal nursery before her death may not prove love but do prove concern for Elizabeth’s place in the royal family). She was well-hated by her subjects even as she did charitable works and had a vested interest in the education of her subjects. All in all, she did what she could, but her death was a political necessity that Eric Ives argues was engineered not by Henry but by Thomas Cromwell, a man whose political maneuvering had initially helped Anne to the throne. Cromwell successfully pushed Henry towards Jane Seymour with “facts” about Anne’s traitorous infidelity. Stupidly convinced, prone to fits of cursing his marriage even as he validated it right before Anne was arrested, Henry threw Anne to the dogs. Let’s not even discuss her recalcitrant womb (because nothing says it’s not you better than your first two wives unable to carry a male child to term and your third wife only able to carry a sickly boy to term).

And why do I hate The Other Boleyn Girl so much? Anne’s a horrible witch throughout; sure, the real Anne was strong-willed but I doubt she was the harpy that the book claims she was. She’s only given this strong treatment because she was a woman who could hold her own even as her choices are limited (wife or whore, take your pick). The novel outright declares that Anne quite willingly engaged in an incestuous relationship with her brother, George, in order to have the son Henry wanted. George Boleyn is a closeted homosexual even though historical evidence suggests he was a womanizer. The movie hints that Anne was enticing Henry but Henry, god bless his small brain, was distracted by the heavenly and fair Mary (never mind that it’s well-documented that Mary was far from the angel we see in the film; her exploits in France alone would lead to one believing she’d have no hesitation in bedding a king for the financial gain). The book insists that Anne is older; while we can’t pinpoint the dates of birth for the Boleyn sister, documentary evidence suggests Mary was older. The act of becoming ward to Mary’s son (who was probably not Henry’s son) was not an act of malice on Anne’s part towards Mary, as implied in the book—wardship of children to wealthier relatives was granted and encouraged, especially in Mary’s case (her finances weren’t the best, especially after her first husband died and she married beneath her station the second time around).

That’s only the tip of iceberg when it comes to my hatred of The Other Boleyn Girl. I can’t believe it enjoys the popularity it does; the rave reviews I see of it on Amazon and Barnes & Noble make me want to post myself, insisting that these readers pick up Philippa Gregory’s source materials (all of the historians she used believe Anne innocent, but Gregory ignores that for her story); I also suggest Eric Ives’ The Life and Death of Anne Boleyn. That the novel was written because it seemed that Mary was the more interesting Boleyn sister makes me want to stab my brain with a Q-tip; Anne became freaking queen. She’s the mother of England’s most successful ruler. She used more than her sexuality to attract the king (a la Mary); she used her mind. She was ultimately murdered by her husband, but not before she left a deep imprint on English history. If it weren’t for Anne’s ascent to the throne no one would care about Mary Boleyn, so she was far from interesting—she was an ordinary noblewoman who enjoyed the king’s favor for a time. She’s interesting by way of Anne, no more, no less.

(As for the criticism the film is receiving for casting three foreigners in English roles—it ain’t Shakespeare’s Henry VIII, people, so who gives a flying fuck? I’d have a problem if they were doing a film of Shakespeare’s play and cast these three—I have a hard time imagining them pulling off Shakespeare. Amidala, Hector and Nan would be awful.)

The only positive of this post? I got to review my Anne Boleyn materials, sitting on my Medieval/Renaissance/Early Modern shelf. The best shelf in the world.