This is an odd book. If it were a good hundred pages shorter, its more enjoyable aspects would shine through brightly. Other reviewers have pointed out Wilson's attitude and language regarding Charles' mistresses, noting that it often seems misogynistic. This is a false impression: Wilson's scorn does not end with the mistresses, but extends to the English court, parliament, Catholics, Puritans, Anglicans, plotters, diplomats, Portuguese royalty, French royalty, advisors, and peasants. The subject he nary has a single good word to say of? Charles himself. Wilson is not sexist - his disgust at the sexist values of 17th c. Britain are plentiful - but rather simply a man who is faintly disgusted with the court and man of which he writes. Barbara Villiers suffers the worst condemnation of Charles' women - dozens upon dozens of pages too lengthy to repeat here, save one reference to a 'Signor Dildoe' - but "pretty, witty Nell" and Hortense Mancini seem to be written of with some affection and respect. Wilson's ultimate talent is in lambasting the loose morals, deep laziness, and casual cruelty of Charles II: when Charles is restored to the throne and free to pursue his love affairs (or should that be "romantic" affairs - Wilson makes a good case for Charles failing to feel actual love for anyone) the book comes into its own: but for the first hundred or so pages wherein Charles is bored in exile (and with nary but one mistress!) the book feels as much of a drag as the exile must have been.
I knew little of Charles II's court before reading this, but thought myself somewhat educated on his mistresses as I could reel off their names (and nicknames - Louise de Kérouaille, Duchess of Portsmouth was owner, courtesy of Nell, to 'squintabella' and 'the weeping willow') before reading this. Still, I had little appreciation for the intricacies of Charles' relation to them. Mancini, who I always assumed was a long-lasting love affair and rival, is really a brief liaison that temporarily distracts from weepy Louise. Catherine, the king's largely-ignored queen, goes from suffering her husband's mistresses in what she thought of as religious martyrdom (she had once wanted to run away to the convent) to ending up sat three abreast with Gwynn and Louise as the chaste quarter of a menage-a-quatre of sorts. The lusty and useless Charles, formerly so uncaring of his mistresses many affairs - ask Barbara - ends up a tired old bore, chasing Louise's last one-night-stand away from court. Did he care a jot for governance? Perhaps, at times. Could he ever be arsed to say no to anyone? Not at all. Did he lead his family to ruin for it? What happened to his successor(s) would suggest yes. But that is a tale for another time!