IT will not be the greatest shock of 2023 thus far for National readers to find out that I shall not be ordering my advance copy of Spare.
I did slog my way through six hours of the Harry and Meghan Netflix confessional over the holidays, but I draw the royal line at parting with hard cash, even to take advantage of the 50% discount already on offer already for pre-orders.
The title of Harry’s epistle, like the book itself, is a double-edged sword. On the one hand, the name is quite apposite. It even provoked a full debate on Mumsnet as people discovered it refers to the nickname conferred on Harry by the rest of the “firm”. It was designed to rhyme with heir – get it, William the heir, Harry the spare!
No doubt the rest of his nearest and dearest did not fully realise when they were poking their harmless, if somewhat inane, pet-name fun that they were opening up Harry’s deep psychological wounds – and that brings us to the downside of the oh-so-clever title. It reeks of the self-pity which was the overwhelming message of the Netflix series. Harry, like his father before him, actually does believe that he has drawn the deuce in life’s pack of cards.
Never mind the wealth, the privilege, the beautiful partner, the stunning home, the Californian sun and the lovely children – Harry suffers from the delusion that his entire mortal span has been a long struggle against adversity, unfairness and iniquity.
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