How narratives defined a Queen and a Queen changed a narrative

My favorite shared snippets from yesterday were the masterful publicity videos of Her Majesty with James Bond (as only Daniel Craig can play him) and Paddington Bear. They provide glimpses to a sense of humor that seldom showed in the Queen’s formal public appearances. And they demonstrate fine storytelling.

Lest this all seem frivolous, there is serious history to be gleaned from all of this. If you don’t think women’s clothing teaches us anything, spend some time in the Smithsonian at the exhibit of First Ladies inaugural gowns. One of the most enlightening afternoons I’ve ever spent was at the International Museum of Bags and Purses in Amsterdam. And upon news of the Queen’s death, I revisited the essay by Poynter writing scholar Roy Peter Clark, who teaches the power of word placement in a pertinent line from Shakespeare: “The Queen, my lord, is dead.”

Language, constraints and changing times

For some reason, my first curiosity when hearing the news was about Charles and his wife Camilla. I admired Diana — who wouldn’t? She worked to draw attention to HIV-AIDS and the plight of children at risk from land mines, starvation, disease and all the other things we let children be at risk from. But that didn’t diminish my interest in Camilla, or the devotion she and Charles never abandoned. It always seemed to me that the three of them were trapped in constraints not of their making but those imposed by time and society. Those are, I think, part of the narratives that define — or confine — us.

My curiosity about Camilla had me digging through stories about changes in the rules governing the monarchy since King Edward VIII had to abdicate the throne to marry American divorcee Wallace Simpson. Those changes may have been begrudging but they were made, so when Charles became king, Camilla gained the courtesy title of Queen Consort. That had me looking up “consort,” a term that strikes me as entrenched as those royal hats. The primary definition refers to a spouse or companion, especially of a reigning monarch. The second: a frequent associate who is looked upon with disapproval. Camilla has worn both those narrative hats through the years, so I bow to what happiness she and the King can find. Say what you will, their love has tolerated and endured with the same steadfastness as the Crown. (I also had a bit of fun looking up “privy,” which can refer to the monarch’s sworn cabinet or to the loo. Interesting language, English.)

A final word, about opinions and narratives. My quick posts about royal titles and hats got one harsh push-back from a lawyer-friend who said “Who cares?” He described the monarchy as an “abomination & offensive to the rights of humanity grounded in the concept of fundamental equality.” My response: Unless we know history, we can’t change things. He acknowledged admiration for Elizabeth, but pushed back harder on the culture of monarchy: “The only interesting question about the entire phenomenon is to ask what its popular worship provides to the people who do so. In my opinion it reflects that there is a deep human need to idolize one’s moral and spiritual authority, and a historical track record of that almost always ending poorly.”

To which I simply said that we need only look in the mirror these days to see that reflected right here, in our proud-but-fragile democratic experiment.