John Miller’s The Stuarts offers a compelling and reflective exploration of a dynasty often overshadowed by the Tudors, delivering a formal yet accessible account of their triumphs and failures from James I to Anne. As someone fascinated by the Stuarts’ political maneuvering and the Jacobite cause, I found Miller’s revisionist approach refreshing, challenging Whig history’s triumphalism and highlighting the dynasty’s underrated contributions—uniting England, Scotland, and Ireland, fostering arts and sciences, and laying colonial foundations—while candidly addressing their lack of charisma, political skill (except for William III), and chronic financial woes. But Miller gives the Stuarts their due for uniting three kingdoms, patronizing the arts and sciences, and laying the foundations for overseas empire (12 out of 13 American colonies under their reign).
Unlike Peter Ackroyd’s Rebellion, which weaves a slower, literary narrative focused on the early Stuarts and the Civil War, Miller’s monarch-by-monarch structure moves briskly, packing in facts that sometimes jump across contexts but suit readers like me who prefer analysis over storytelling. Each chapter, dedicated to a single ruler, grounds the dynasty’s arc in their personal and political struggles. James I’s delicate balancing of three kingdoms and religious tensions sets the stage, while Charles I’s tragic failures contrast sharply with James II’s farcical speedrun—a nod to Marx’s quip about history repeating as farce. Cromwell, given his own chapter, emerges as an improbably effective but unsustainable republican dictator, his New Model Army a fierce yet uncontrollable force that reshaped governance. William III’s stands out as the rare Stuart with shrewd political acumen, navigating the Glorious Revolution and European wars with strategic finesse, though his unpopularity as an absentee foreigner king with no heir weakened his domestic legacy.
Miller’s treatment of Queen Anne, the last Stuart monarch, stands out. Portrayed as a shy, ailing woman who ruled with Tory conviction, Anne’s firm Anglicanism and attempts to bridge the Tory-Whig divide mark her as the last genuinely Tory queen of unbroken lineage. Her veto of the Scottish Militia Bill and use of the Queen’s Touch reflect lingering Stuart traditions, even as her childlessness handed the crown to the Hanoverians via Sophia, Electress of Hanover. Miller’s brief nod to Sophia connects the Stuarts’ continental legacy, a thread I’m eager to explore further in Daughters of the Winter Queen.
A central theme is the Tories’ struggle to reconcile royalism with the Glorious Revolution, choosing the Church of England over hereditary loyalty—a shift from throne to altar that redefined Toryism as an aristocratic, religious commitment. This choice sidelined the Jacobite cause, which lingered in Scotland and Ireland, fueled by resentment against Hanoverian rule. Miller’s sympathetic take on Catholic and Irish suffering under Cromwell and beyond challenges Whig narratives, adding depth to James II’s doomed push for Catholic toleration, which alienated Anglicans without winning dissenters.
I can’t help but speculate: had James II renounced his Catholic establishment, rallied Celtic forces, and secured committed French support, a restored Stuart monarchy with Catholic heirs might have unified the kingdoms, prioritizing religious toleration and internal administration over colonial or continental rivalries. While Miller shows James’s psychological collapse and Louis XIV’s half-hearted aid doomed this, the vision lingers as a compelling what-if, especially as he was set up by his brother with the strongest monarchy since Charles’ personal rule, but like his brother doubled down on alienation of his natural Tory support base to chase dissenters he simulataneously distrusted.
Another key insight is how heavy taxation and standing armies, born of Stuart-era conflicts, laid the groundwork for popular government. The Long Parliament’s taxes, far exceeding Charles I’s hated ship money, and the New Model Army’s battlefield prowess centralized state power, creating a strong state but a weak monarchy by Anne’s time. This presages Napoleon’s Grande Armée and modern democracies’ fiscal demands, showing the Stuarts’ unintended role in shaping modern governance.
While Ackroyd’s Rebellion lingers on personal dramas, Miller’s broader scope, including William, Mary, and Anne, offers a fuller dynastic portrait. His formal tone and dense facts made The Stuarts a faster, more engaging read for me than Ackroyd’s denser narrative. Though the book’s back-and-forth style can feel cluttered, it rewards readers who value big-picture analysis over literary flair. For anyone intrigued by the Stuarts’ complex legacy, their political missteps, or the roots of modern Britain, Miller’s work is a must-read, offering a balanced yet provocative reassessment of a dynasty that shaped more than it’s often credited for.