The way I felt about this book was perhaps much like Henry VIII felt about one of his doomed wives. At first I was entranced, captivated, under a spell of sorts - I couldn't put the book down. However, about halfway through the honeymoon was over (so to speak), and I began to be annoyed at the little things... This was perhaps not the match made in heaven that I thought it was. Perhaps I had been led atray. By the end there was nothing but the most urgent desire to be done with it - let it die already, I'm finished, I want to move on, perhaps even a feeling of violence existed towards the book - I even already had my next reading choice picked out (dare I say that, like Henry, I too could not wait until one "marriage" was over before I was dallying elsewhere?)... Yet after it was all over and I had moved on, I still found myself looking back with fond memories and a feeling of love that I had thought lost by the end of the book...

I think you get the point. George's novel is a masterpiece of history, certainly. She has captured ALL of Henry VIII's life in her 932 page tome. And perhaps that's the problem - right along with the interesting came the dull, the mundane, the repetitive... There is always an interesting thing to consider when reading historical fiction - how much history and how much fiction? I appreciate what George has done, certainly, but for me it's always the fiction part I love, whereas George is more history I think. Give me intrigue, give me drama, give me passion, and anger, and love, and hate. Give me all of that even if it isn't all exactly as it should have been. I think I prefer Philippa Gregory, even with her bastardized history, as opposed to Margaret George with her flawless accounting.

And if you think this review is long, consider the fact that the book took me over a WEEK to read! For those of you who know me, that in and of itself is a sad commentary on it's compelling nature. I would recommend this novel only to the most dedicated historical fiction and Tudor history buffs.