>
Here’s a bit of wisdom that has clearly escaped Prince Harry: It’s better to remain silent and be considered a fool than to speak up and remove all doubt.
Now that we’re all taking a look at his memoir ‘Spare’, first published in Spain, so these quotes are translations, there’s no doubt left: the Harry we’ve come to know, the duke of dishonor and misfortune. , it’s just that. little. Despite all the insults and reckoning from him (William pushed me!), no one in these pages looks worse than Harry himself.
No slight is too slight to go unnoticed: William took the best room in Balmoral, the biggest with a view. “My half was smaller and less luxurious,” our fallen prince writes, because, wait, “Willy was the heir while I was the spare.”
We know. We received the memo a long, long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away.
But if there’s one unifying theme in Harry’s golden existence, this is it.
His entire family, Harry writes, used these terms, so Harry, with all his wealth, privilege and access to the most powerful people in the world, has chosen, at 38, to indulge in a tepid bath of unbridled self-pity. .
“I was the shadow, the bit player, Plan B,” Harry writes. ‘I was brought into this world in case something happened to Willy. My mission was to offer a source of distraction, entertainment and, in case of need, a spare. A kidney, maybe. A blood transfusion, a pinch of marrow.
The drama!
As petty revenge, Harry writes of William’s ‘familiar scowl, which had always been the norm in his dealings with me’ (I wonder why, asks a weary world), ‘his alarming alopecia, more advanced than mine; the famous resemblance of him to our mother, which faded over time. With age.’
Bitter, bitter, bitter. And this is a man who believes himself to be a thought leader in mental health.
For all his insults and reckoning (William pushed me!), no one in these pages looks worse than Harry himself.
There are words and concepts in this book that, frankly, could only have come from Harry’s ghostwriter. Do we think our puny duke, who struggled to graduate from high school and demonstrates, in these very pages, a lack of curiosity about all things unrelated to his ‘genetic pain’, is well versed in: Arthurian legend ? Druidic forests? Astronomy, the Webb telescope, the Earendel star? The physics of contrails? The definition of the same?
By Harry’s own account here, his history teacher once asked him, ‘What could be stranger? . . What a British prince who doesn’t know the history of his country? . . . We are talking about your relatives, blood of your blood; Doesn’t that mean anything to you?
Harry’s response: ‘Less than nothing, sir.’
The epigraph of the book, which appears again in the text, is the famous line by William Faulkner: «The past never dies. It’s not even past.
Bless the ghostwriter of Harry, who actually earned his paycheck, for convincing Harry that these lines should stay in the book:
‘When I discovered that quote recently on BrainyQuote I was shocked. I thought, ‘Who the hell is Faulkner and how does he relate to us Windsors?’
OMG my sides this is too much fun and what we are all thinking isn’t it? Harry, the product of the best school in England and such a determined and useless idiot.
The Harry we’ve been seeing since Mexgit – angry, petty, spoiled, jealous, full of grievances, invective and disrespect, narcissistic and infuriated at his brother for the mere fact of existing – has always been like this.
Those history lessons, which Harry writes, bore him to tears, they only manage to awaken, once again, his gigantic inferiority complex.
‘My family had declared me null; the Spare,’ she writes, having seen, in these pages, examples of King Charles’ paternal love and care, of the bond with William forged in the crucible of Diana’s death.
But we continue: Charles and William, he writes, could never travel together for fear of a plane crash. But Harry?
Nobody gave a damn who I was traveling with; the spare can always be replenished.
Right. His father and his brother, who have kept quiet while Harry relentlessly shames them and sells them out, clearly don’t care about our Harry.
He reveals more of himself here than you probably realize: He wants so badly to be seen not just as a man, but as a warrior who will stop at nothing to protect his family and his rightful place in the lineage. real. He’s pathetic, actually. Especially since he clearly doesn’t possess any of the traits that truly make a man, or any person, really decent: Loyalty, kindness, honor, generosity, discretion, honesty.
Here’s a bit of wisdom that has clearly escaped Prince Harry: It’s better to remain silent and be considered a fool than to speak up and remove all doubt.
It’s no surprise that Harry opens this book with a ‘secret meeting’ he requested with Charles and William after Mexgit, after Prince Philip’s death, the trio standing on Wallis Simpson’s grave, ‘our feet almost on top’ of his dude, write
In case you missed the metaphor, Meghan is supposed to be Wallis. Yeah, big bad guys Charles and William won’t be happy until Meghan is dead and gone and they can stand on her face.
And for agreeing to a secret meeting with Harry, William and Charles have been rewarded with said ‘private’ meeting commemorated in their book.
Did he lie to you? Of course, no!
Harry tells us that there is no such thing as ‘the truth’, only his truth, sieved and shaped according to his view of the world. ‘My memory is my memory: it goes at its own pace and collects and orders what seems convenient, and there is as much truth in what I remember and how I remember it as in the so-called objective facts.’
In other words: there is no way to communicate with Harry, who lives, as a child, in Harry’s world.
So it follows that there is no real self-assessment in this memoir, without taking responsibility for any of these relationships that Harry, with that ‘be nice’ motto, has so brutally destroyed.
Zero self knowledge. Zero understanding of what ‘hypocrisy’ means, or how he and Meghan embody that term.
The most striking thing about this book is not the revelations. No, it’s the dissonance between the way Harry moves through the world (it’s all pretty dark, boring and obvious) versus the writing, which seeks to communicate a much more sophisticated, cultured, brilliant, agile and curious mind.
And so ‘Spare’ is another major self-inflicted blow, a barrage against #BrandSussex – these two are always selling completely false versions of themselves. There are echoes of Meghan here:
The Harry we’ve been seeing since Mexgit – angry, petty, spoiled, jealous, full of grievances, invective and disrespect, narcissistic and infuriated at his brother for the mere fact of existing – has always been like this.
“Homeland,” Harry writes, “what a troublesome expression.” The crown: colonialist, imperialist, racist. And how to bring down Charles, who so gracefully escorted Meghan halfway down the aisle at her wedding?
Harry tells us that his father still carries his childhood teddy bear with him everywhere.
It’s one thing for Harry, as he does here, to introduce Camilla in these pages as The Other Woman (and boy, does William come off right here, acknowledging his father’s happiness). But in my opinion, it is inexcusable to write that his father, the reigning monarch, is still so scarred from being bullied as a child that he still wants his teddy bear.
“Teddy accompanied my father everywhere,” Harry writes in part. He was a pitiful thing, his arms broken, frayed, and covered in patches.
Do you know what is unfortunate? Taking the private pain and vulnerabilities of those closest to you, taunting them for public consumption and gain, and then demanding they apologize to you.
I can’t wait to see ‘Spare’ where it belongs: the remaining container.