Lehmkuhl has penned a surprisingly readable account of his experiences under America’s “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” (DADT) military policy.

The narrative is well-presented with simple, conversational prose. It helps that Lehmkuhl details most of his experiences in a dramatic way (showing, not telling) through dialogue and action. This brings his stories to life for the reader, and yields a book that is well-paced and well-structured.

He starts with his youth and adolescence, but the main thrust of Here’s What We’ll Say focuses on his time in the Air Force Academy as a gay man. The multilayered account reveals interesting facts not just about gay life there, but also simply about the world of a military academy. I have very little exposure to the military world, and I enjoyed learning about a strange and unfamiliar universe.

Lehmkuhl’s account sometimes veers into steamy. He doesn’t shy from writing about sexual experiences when appropriate. I found that information to add another layer of nuance, but I’m glad it doesn’t go over the top. This is not an erotic account of a string of sexual encounters in the military.

The author intersperses commentary and philosophical consideration amid his recounted experiences. Who knew Mr. Lehmkuhl has such depth? He writes about the implications and effects of homophobia in general and DADT in particular, and I found his arguments well-reasoned and well-spoken. Yes, of course, I’m biased to agree with him because I already believe DADT is homophobic, but it still says something that he’s able to marshal his arguments in a highly articulate and thoughtful manner.

Nevertheless, Here’s What We’ll Say suffers from some weaknesses.

First and foremost, Lehmkuhl includes a disclaimer at the beginning that some of the experiences he recounts, especially in the last few chapters, belong to other people. While I appreciate his reasoning for taking this approach, it damages the book’s internal validity and external usefulness. Specifically, it renders the book less reputable as a source document. How can I refer to it as a work of pure non-fiction when it’s been fictionalized, and there’s no way for me to tell what’s true and what’s not? I can’t help but think there’s another approach that would yield the same value while helping maintain a greater degree of journalistic integrity.

Additionally, the beginning (his youth and adolescence) goes on a little too long, while the end comes too fast. The finale glosses over many of Lehmkuhl’s more recent and better known accomplishments.

Lehmkuhl seems to have a reputation as an attention whore. This book does not support that assertion. In fact, I wish he had spent more time on his later adventures. Regardless of his relationship with the media, he’s enjoyed some fascinating experiences. I would have loved to hear more about his experiences with Chip; the television show The Amazing Race; and dealing with such a high level of visibility as an out, proud gay man in a committed partnership. And of course, I would have been interested in hearing more about his relationship with Lance Bass. But then, they were still encoupled when this book was published.

I scored high on the Gay Positivity Scale. Clearly, DADT is not gay-positive; but Here’s What We’ll Say is a work of (sort of) non-fiction exploring the issue. I can’t fault the book’s positivity because of a government policy. Rather, I admire Lehmkuhl’s self-confidence and empowered response. The book reveals a man who makes the best of living in a virulently anti-gay atmosphere, and that is very positive.

Overall Quality 3.0 / 5.0 (mildly recommended; on the good side of okay)
Gay Content 0.0 / 5.0

“The Princes in the Tower” by Alison Weir offers slightly above average entertainment value, but only just, and below average historical value.

A readable portrayal of the second half of the Wars of the Roses, beginning shortly before the reign of the much maligned Richard III and ending shortly after the his death and the seizure of the crown by Henry VII, founder of the Tudor dynasty. Weir has also written a fascinating and engrossing book about the first half of the Wars of the Roses called, appropriately enough, ‘The Wars of the Roses” (1995).

Unfortunately, “The Princes in the Tower” lacks quite the dramatic flair of that book. Nevertheless, her prose remains easily accessible to the lay person (probably her greatest strength as a history author), and she organizes her facts into a dramatic re-telling of the events, but the account tends to gloss over most of the players and frequently loses its momentum in dry quotations or arguments. From an entertainment standpoint, Weir offers a well-written and interesting read for history buffs but nevertheless succumbs occasionally to the dryness endemic to history texts.

Unfortunately, as a history, the book is not nearly as successful. I will give the author this much: she does a great job of culling and presenting the available facts, resources, and research. Her analysis of the information is clever, sensible, and thoughtful, and I learned much about this period of English history and the key players. But she undermines her own efforts by using the book as a platform to prove a point: that Richard III murdered the Princes in the Tower.

A little background. The first half of the Wars of the Roses ended when the House of York, in the person of Edward IV, seized and held onto the English throne. Unfortunately, Edward IV died young and unexpectedly, leaving a minor as his successor (Edward V). Meanwhile, the politicking of his scheming wife Elizabeth and his insecure sibling Richard, Duke of Gloucester, had created a zero-sum situation where one could only prosper if the other fell from power. Eventually, through careful strategy and judicious force (with a dash of brutality), Richard became Lord Protector and then King, and imprisoned the former King’s heir in the Tower of London, where he and his younger brother apparently died. But how? Did Richard murder them to secure his crown?

Weir knows the answer. Or thinks she does.

Honestly, she would have been better off writing a comprehensive volume of all the different theories and available facts in a truly objective fashion. She might have concluded with two or three chapters that spelled out her own theory, but otherwise left it to the reader to draw conclusions. Specifically, one theory states Richard III killed the princes. Another states that Henry VII did it. I would have appreciated more information about why some people conjecture Henry might have done it. Maybe the evidence is flimsy or unfounded, as Weir postulates. As it is, the reader pretty much just has to take her word for it.

Which leads us to the major flaw of her work. She makes many assumptions and then treats them like fact. Not only that, she builds further assumptions based on the assumptions she’s treating like fact, leading to a house-of-cards conclusion. It may well be that Richard III killed the Princes in the Tower, but Weir’s case for it is less than rock solid, and that undermines her claim that alternative theories fail to hold up to close scrutiny.

In fact, there’s probably insufficient surviving information for us ever to know the truth. Unless we find a secret manuscript written by Edward V on the night of his death where he says, “And I have intimations that King Richard plans to kill us. Wait! Oh no! Richard’s men are here to kill us! Aieeeee!” then the available information is simply inconclusive.

Overall, it’s an entertaining introduction to a tumultuous period of English history, but I suggest further reading before unilaterally accepting its arguments and conclusions.

Related Links:

Weir, Alison. “The Wars of the Roses” (1995)

Overall Quality 4.5 / 5.0 (highly recommended)
Gay Content 1.0 / 5.0 (a couple of mentions)

Weir understandably points out that the Wars of the Roses, a period of English civil strife between 1455 and 1487, can easily be separated into two phases. Her previous book, “The Princes in the Tower,” details the second phase of the conflict, wherein the House of Tudor struggled against the House of York. This volume serves as a prequel describing the first phase, York versus Lancaster.

The tale comprises scads of players and events, making for an extremely convoluted and complicated story. Weir does a great job, through easily readable prose written for a lay audience. Even so, there are so many names, places, dates, and events that it would require more than one reading for it to really sink in.

“The Wars of the Roses” begins with a section describing medieval England, and then traces the conflict from its origins in the unfortunate reign of Richard II (Edward III’s grandson). She continues through various monarchs: Henry IV, Henry V, Henry VI, and ultimately culminating with Edward IV’s final defeat of the House of Lancaster. She also offers a brief summary of the phase of the conflict that follows (with the reigns of Richard III and Henry VII).

The condensation of the civil war, even parsed into two phases, becomes a little misleading. For example, the rule of England goes back and forth repeatedly. Henry VI and Edward IV actually trade places a couple of times before Edward finally defeats Henry. Similarly, the power-mongering court factions who took advantage of the weak and easily led Henry VI also change. Even Edward IV, a much stronger personality than Henry, suffers from certain weaknesses unfortunately plied by power-grabbing noble families. In the book, this back-and-forth occurs every few pages. But for the people living through this time, it would have be months or even years (although sometimes just weeks) between changes.

Politics in England during this period was truly a zero-sum game, where one family gained power only at another’s expense. Hence rivalries developed (such as between the Nevilles and the Percies, two powerful families) and factions took root at court. Henry VI’s weakness of character opened the door for power struggles, but fundamentally the conflict began with a class of magnates (landed, high-ranking nobles) who craved power for power’s sake with complete disdain for each other and the common people. Henry VI’s marriage to the unscrupulous and scheming Margaret of Anjou simply exacerbated the problem because Margaret simply chose a faction and favored it.

I actually would have enjoyed just a bit more analysis about the political and social dynamics going on. For example, in the absence of a zero-sum game, factions have a harder time taking root, and often tend to take the form of providing different perspectives rather than seizing power. What is it about the conditions of life in England, and the circumstances of the English monarchy and nobility at that time, that contributed to the zero-sum game being not only existent but embraced by the various players? Are the political and popular dynamics of Lancastrian, Yorkist, and Tudor England categorically different from modern England or, by extension, the United States? Or maybe not…? I can see arguments both ways. Alas, such an analysis really exceeds the scope of Weir’s history, which is largely a dramatic retelling of the Wars of the Roses based on extensive primary and secondary sources.

I was intrigued to learn how much the magnates apparently considered popular opinion. It makes sense, in a way: they were constantly trying to raise armies, and of course it’s the common folk who make up the bulk of cannon fodder. The supposed “rich and powerful” were also constantly borrowing money to finance their campaigns. At the same time, it’s painfully obvious that the magnates regarded commoners with sheer disdain. Heck, they regarded EACH OTHER with contempt!

But then, it’s sometimes shocking how much medieval English culture diverges from our own. Consider the parentage of Henry VII: at the time of their marriage, his father Richard was 25 years old. His mother Margaret was only 12. She gave birth to Henry at age 13. I’ll leave the math to you. I won’t even mention the excessive interpersonal, interfamilial, and international violence of the age.

Hm. Maybe it’s not that dissimilar, after all.

The appendix provides several much needed genealogical tables. Unfortunately, the font is so small and unusual (it looks hand-written) that it borders on useless. Nevertheless, I found myself referring back to the genealogies multiple times throughout the reading to remember who was who.

I also would have appreciated some kind of glossary, index, or table matching names with titles. Many magnates could be referred to by first name, family name, title, and in some cases nickname. For the most part Weir did a good job of picking one name and sticking to it. For example, we have Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, also called the Kingmaker. For the most part, Weir refers to him consistently as Warwick. Other times she would vary, and it could be very difficult to follow, especially considering how many Edwards, Richards, and Henrys show up.

On the whole, if you are a fan of English history, I readily recommend this highly readable and engaging retelling of the Wars of the Roses. Far from a dry history textbook, it succeeds in its aim to bring these characters and events to life.

Note, I did include a score for Gay Content thanks to a couple of mentions in the book. For instance, Weir mentions that Richard II had a couple of male “favorites,” who may well have been lovers. I debated whether to score the book for its Gay Positivity, considering how little content there is, but I can still comment on the nature of those comments. Weir herself is non-judgmental in her mentions, but the (possibly) gay figures involved are not exactly role models, and things never worked out well for them. So I would score the Gay Positivity fairly low. In other words, if a reader were looking for a gay role model or hero out of history, they wouldn’t find it here.