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Spare Tapa dura – 10 Enero 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.
- Número de páginas416 páginas
- IdiomaInglés
- EditorialRandom House
- Fecha de publicación10 Enero 2023
- Dimensiones6.38 x 1.24 x 9.56 pulgadas
- ISBN-100593593804
- ISBN-13978-0593593806
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Opiniones editoriales
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“Compellingly artful . . . [a] blockbuster memoir.”—The New Yorker
“A scorching account of life in a golden cage.”—The Atlantic
Biografía del autor
Extracto. © Reimpreso con autorización. Reservados todos los derechos.
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?
Detalles del producto
- Editorial : Random House; First US Edition (10 Enero 2023)
- Idioma : Inglés
- Tapa dura : 416 páginas
- ISBN-10 : 0593593804
- ISBN-13 : 978-0593593806
- Dimensiones : 6.38 x 1.24 x 9.56 pulgadas
- Clasificación en los más vendidos de Amazon: nº1,584 en Libros (Ver el Top 100 en Libros)
- nº2 en Biografías Históricas de Gran Bretaña
- nº3 en Biografías de la Realeza (Libros)
- nº81 en Memorias (Libros)
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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.
First, the main takeaway is the incredible strength and natural integrity Harry has in the midst of immoral madness. This experience reminded me of the poem, "IF" by Kipling. The line that relates here goes something like this: "If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs, and blaming it on you...." He has been blamed for using his mind and his decision-making skills, while those sold into submission (the whole Royal family) gave up their 'Self' and any real sense of whole 'being-ness."
There remain systems that no longer work. They were unethical when they started and they are unethical now. The Royal business is as such. It can be morally Re-balanced and I will hope someone at some time will do that if the British people continue to need or enjoy it. But 'Royals' needing and requiring submission, bows, from others why they make the others feel 'less than' and more, is morally wrong. Especially when you have a new 'queen' who is a liar and cheat, along with her mate. Where is the 'better than you" there?
Kate was what British folks call a "commoner" as I read when William met her. She has relinquished her autonomy, so of course William will demand that from Meghan. In many families the first born are favored, and in William's case he will be King. Who wants that? Who wants the bows, the submission? No one really. Read Shakespeare. The royals end up needing the servants more than the servants 'need' them. I feel badly for William and can only hope that when he is King, he will rid the tradition of these horrible actions. I do think there is envy there on his end. Harry can be free. William is not and never will be.
In the meantime, the many moral issues Harry points out are great lessons for students of all ages. What makes us a person? What epithets do we live by that give us identity and power or hold us hostage and powerless? How is one person more valuable than another just by birth order? Why must an American woman who has developed her own Self-worth change who she is and give up autonomy (as Kate has) just to marry? How incredibly wrong.
Diana was used "merely as a means to an end" (Kant) and the Royal "company" are complicit in that. Once she had the heir and spare there was no more need for her. That is made clear by the king and mate now. Incredibly wrong. Why any British citizen would bow to them is a thought I do not understand. Tradition is okay, until we know it is wrong.
Congratulations Harry. You are a teacher. Continue to pay attention to building your 'house' emotionally and financially so when you are older you can contribute to the lives of others even more You have already done that in many ways and I thank you.
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Interessante, envolvente. Vale muito a leitura.
Great book, well written, interesting. I do recommend.
Easy to read and great!
This quote, taken from part 2, page 170, chapter 33 really spoke to me. I noted it immediately upon reading, highlighting it, because it really spoke to the theme of this book. That truth is often wrapped with pain...that owning ones truth is often brave, hard and often misunderstood. That speaking ones truth often comes with risk, with people who will continue to read your truth and misquote you, who will cherry-pick and judge based on mistruths, often quoted as others as the gospel.
I started this book with my own opinions, and when I finished this book, I was surprised - surprised to find myself empathizing with almost every major player. Even the ones I had demonized in my own minds eye. I found myself empathizing with what it must feel like to be "owned" by an institution - owned by the public. After all, the public were paying for their very existence. What it must feel like to have to grow up, make mistakes and be judged perhaps more harshly than those of his peers. But I also experienced a level of sympathy for what generations of that family have had to undergo.
Trauma is a major theme that wraps it's tentacles around Harry - long past childhood, it ensnares him, forms his very being. I was surprised to learn many things about his feelings about Diana's passing, ones that would be understandable for any young man to feel, but are more so understandable after what he experienced on a world stage. The descriptions of his feelings are so vivid, so painfully raw, that you can't help but feel for him.
I have to give credit where credit is due - this book is exceptionally well written...this speaks to a very close partnership with Prince Harry's ghost writer, JR Moehringer. I could see Prince Harry pouring over his laptop all night long, writing all his feelings down and then JR, taking those feelings and moments and creating a more aesthetically pleasing, descriptive tome. You never feel like it isn't Prince Harry talking from his heart, but you can see where JR has been able to give such clear description, you feel like you're right there, in the battlefield with Harry - that you're walking along side him during that long walk behind his mom. I usually find biographies exceptionally boring because they feel like a history lesson, and don't speak from the heart. This isn't that type of book. You feel like you're reading from his diary, a very personal and private journey he is giving us access too. His entire life has been shown to the world, by those events were not by his choice. THIS was his choice. His truth.
I don't want to take away from this book so I will not go into specifics because I feel like you should go into this book willing to listen - remove your preconceived notions, drop your prejudice, erase from your memory the stories told by others about him and read his truth. Because if nothing else, why should someone else opinion of you be treated as truth, when their opinions are formed by the very people who have tried to destroy you.
One of the most striking aspects of Spare is Prince Harry’s gut-wrenching account of losing his mother, Princess Diana, at the tender age of twelve. He movingly describes learning she had died in a car crash in Paris, waiting in agonized hope that perhaps she had only been injured. Harry poignantly conveys his numb confusion when told the devastating news, writing “Everything distinctly, certainly, irrevocably, came to a stop.” He recalls being unable to cry at Diana’s funeral, having absorbed the royal family’s stoic creed.
Harry touchingly expresses his enduring pain and longing for his mother in the months after her shocking death. He clung to the belief that her death was an elaborate hoax and she would eventually reappear, noting “I still hadn’t mourned, still hadn’t cried, except that one time at her grave, still hadn’t processed the bare facts.” Harry writes of his constant yearning for Diana, describing her as “light, pure radiant light,” too phenomenal to be gone. His palpable grief leaps off the page.
The memoir highlights how profoundly losing Diana at such a young age shaped Harry. He links his eventual struggles with drugs and alcohol to unresolved trauma, poignantly recalling how he avoided quiet moments when difficult emotions might surface. Harry suggests it fueled his rebellious streak, noting he felt unable to publicly mourn while being labeled the “naughty” prince. His unwillingness to believe Diana was truly gone prevented him from properly grieving during his teen years.
Harry paints a less than flattering picture of his father, King Charles III, referring to him as the distant, emotionally repressed “Pa” throughout the memoir. He portrays Charles as aloof, consumed by public perception, and unwilling to stand up for his sons against media attacks. Harry heartbreakingly describes craving physical affection from Charles as a child but rarely receiving it. However, glimmers of Harry’s love and sympathy for his father occasionally emerge. He expresses compassion for the bullying Charles endured at school, suggesting it influenced his guarded nature. Harry writes movingly of clutching Charles’ hand for comfort after Diana’s death, highlighting their rare moment of connection. While he clearly harbors resentment towards Charles, Harry poignantly shares that he simply wanted his father to be happy.
Harry is also candid regarding his complex dynamic with Prince William, referring to him as “Willy” in the memoir. He characterizes their sibling relationship as deeply affectionate yet competitive, noting William’s dislike of being treated as a package deal. Harry recounts his eagerness to support William and sense of pride in playing the role of protective younger brother. However, he also shares William’s request that Harry pretend not to know him at school, illustrating the rift between them. Their warm but strained bond leaps off the page.
Providing an intimate glimpse into the cloistered world of royals, Harry details the intense pressures and lack of privacy he endured growing up in the public eye. He expresses disdain for the superficiality of much royal life, writing that “Being a Windsor meant working out which truths were timeless, and then banishing them from your mind. It meant absorbing the basic parameters of one’s identity, knowing by instinct who you were, which was forever a byproduct of who you weren’t.” Prince Harry suggests his role as the “spare” heir contributed to his feelings of isolation, noting he was treated as merely a backup for William. He conveys his sense of destiny as the rebellious, misunderstood prince.
Harry truly seems to come into his own during his military service, which he describes as a respite from royal duties. He provides colorful descriptions of his time in officer training, candidly admitting he struggled with academic lessons. Harry speaks poignantly of finding purpose, camaraderie, and escape from his privilege as a young soldier. His disappointment about being prevented from serving in Iraq due to safety concerns is palpable. He sees the military as a way to finally be “just Harry.”
The most revealing glimpse into Harry’s state of mind comes as he describes struggling with substance abuse and anger issues in his late twenties. He admits that heavy drinking provided an outlet for deep unhappiness during this period, candidly writing “I was in a bad, bad place.” Harry acknowledges excessive partying and lashing out at paparazzi, reflecting “Something had to change. I knew I couldn’t go on like this.” His willingness to be so forthright makes these passages compelling.
As he falls in love with Meghan Markle, Harry paints an idyllic portrait of their courtship. He speaks effusively about their instant connection, recalling thinking “Compared to her, Cinderella was the queen of long goodbyes.” shortly after being introduced. Harry movingly recounts his nervousness about introducing Meghan to his father and brother, conveying his anxiety about acceptance. He passionately defends Meghan against what he sees as racist media attacks on their relationship.
Harry’s devotion toward Meghan and conviction that she was being treated unfairly inform his account of their dramatic decision to leave royal life. He criticizes the institution for failing to protect her as it had failed Diana. Harry conveys steely determination to avoid history repeating itself, whatever the cost. His partner loyalty and resolve to chart a new path for his young family shine through.
While Spare focuses on Prince Harry’s personal struggles, he also offers glimpses into his philanthropic works and commitment to service. He writes movingly of his time in Africa, where he finds inspiration in aid workers helping vulnerable communities. Harry speaks with humility about striving to make a difference on meaningful causes like mental health, conservation, and supporting veterans. His social awareness provides balance to Spare’s heavier, introspective passages.
Harry’s memoir has an undeniably introspective, self-focused slant that some may critique as self-pitying or indulgent. He can come across as resentful of royal duties and some may argue he places undue blame on press scrutiny over personal missteps. However, Spare generally succeeds as a nuanced self-portrait of the painfully human prince behind the media caricatures.
With raw emotional honesty, Harry compellingly recounts his ongoing battles with childhood trauma, the loss of his mother, and struggles with his royal destiny. While certain revelations may be deemed offensive, potentially straining family relationships, the memoir marks a decisive step towards Harry telling his own imperfect but authentic story. With heartfelt candor and flashes of humor, Spare renders the flawed yet well-intentioned prince remarkably relatable.