By Margaret Drabble
ISBN-10: 0151011060
ISBN-13: 9780151011063
Barbara Halliwell, on a furnish at Oxford, gets an unforeseen package-a memoir via a Korean crown princess, written greater than 2 hundred years in the past. A hugely acceptable reward for her drawing close journey to Seoul. yet from whom?The tale she avidly reads at the aircraft seems to be considered one of nice intrigue in addition to tragedy. The Crown Princess Hyegyong recounts in outstanding element the methods of the Korean courtroom and confesses the family members dramas that left her childless and her husband useless through his personal hand. probably it's the lack of a toddler that resonates so deeply with Barbara . . . yet she has little time to consider such issues, she has simply arrived in Korea.She meets a undeniable Dr. Oo, and to her shock and pleasure he deals to lead her to a couple of the haunts of the crown princess. As she explores the interior sanctums and the royal courts, Barbara starts off to consider a robust affinity for every little thing with regards to the princess and her mysterious life.After a quick, severe, and ill-fated love affair, she returns to London. Is she ensnared by means of the occasions of the prior week, of the previous 2 hundred years, or will she choose up her existence the place she left it? A superbly informed and ingeniously developed novel, this is often Margaret Drabble at her most sensible. (20040815)
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Additional info for The Red Queen
Example text
He was a child when we played these games of beheadings. He had not yet earned his title. He had not yet become the Prince of Mournful Thoughts, the Prince of the Coffin. I have no name, and I have many names. I am a nameless woman. My true name is unknown to history. I am famous, but nameless. And I was never a queen in my lifetime, red or otherwise. I became a queen after my death. So much happens after death. Sado told me once that he had thought my genitals would look like the udder of a cow, with four teats and four nipples.
Looking at these images through my envoy’s modern eyes brought back to me many memories of formal court life, and of the more intimate scene of my defloration. My father-in-law would not have liked the sight of the red blood on the pale sheets of the nuptial bed, although the shedding of this blood signified the conception of an heir. King Yŏngjo was fastidious and asthmatic, and at times he vacillated. But despite these weaknesses he had a strong will, and, unlike his son and his grandson, he lived to a venerable age.
He had not yet earned his title. He had not yet become the Prince of Mournful Thoughts, the Prince of the Coffin. I have no name, and I have many names. I am a nameless woman. My true name is unknown to history. I am famous, but nameless. And I was never a queen in my lifetime, red or otherwise. I became a queen after my death. So much happens after death. Sado told me once that he had thought my genitals would look like the udder of a cow, with four teats and four nipples. He was relieved by their neat simplicity, when he stole these covert, excited glances at them.