Memoir Review: “Spare,” by Prince Harry

Many will read Prince Harry’s memoir to find out for themselves what it’s like to belong to the British royal family. I was caught by the first few paragraphs—it was an entry into a dazzling, yet somber world. My first thought: This memoir is a gem of good writing! So I bought the memoir’s Kindle version and settled into a chair with sheer happiness as I began my favorite activity: reading.

Prince Harry (and his ghostwriter) easily transported me into a 12-year-old child’s mind as I ate an imagined meal with Harry and his brother “Willy” in the “Dinner Dungeon.” I found myself agreeing as Harry tells himself, “What hell, being an adult.” He captures the elusive feel of memory, when you’re not quite sure whether you are remembering events yourself, or only stories told over and over to you about your childhood.

The British press are out of line, mocking a 13-year-old Harry on the front page a little more than a year after Diana’s death. Harry is in for some hard knocks. He (or his ghostwriter) displays subtle erudition by quoting the 17th Century English philosopher Thomas Hobbes (life can be “nasty, brutish and short”), holding up that image to mirror teenage Harry’s life.

Harry also displays self-insight when he writes that Africa, teeming with life, represented what he yearned for. Despite the outward glamor of his existence, Harry feels deadened inside, not only by his mother’s death, but by the rules, restrictions and emotional coldness of the adults around him.

As I read the book, I understood why the young prince detested the press. He was a normal, rowdy 17-year-old male, smoking weed with his mates. The next thing he knows, he’s on the front pages again—this time being described as a habitual drug user, off to rehab no less. A bit later, he’s unfairly accused by the press of cheating on a test. Yet he’s unable to correct these twisted stories, impotent to rectify or defend himself. How frustrating!

This unfair situation continues into Harry’s adult life. While the press has a heyday shaming him and blowing things out of proportion, Harry admits his faults. He tries to redeem himself through long talks with his father Charles and a rabbi, concerning the Nazi costume he donned for a party.

The reader watches Harry gradually mature into a brave and honorable military man who flies an Apache helicopter. As with any war, the sequences about Afghanistan horrified and repulsed me. While I agree that often Harry probably gives readers TMI, his hilarious comments about his frostbitten male appendage made me laugh. I grew to appreciate his descriptions of his squadron’s and his own mental wounds and existential questions.

Like any one of us, Harry is an imperfect human being. Realizing during a therapy session that he is addicted to the press—obsessed with reading the tabloids and raging about their dishonesty—doesn’t change him or his behavior.

The sad, perhaps inevitable family squabbles follow, as Harry meets Meghan, falls in love, and marries her despite the reservations of his brother and other royals. I understood and sympathized why Harry and Meghan decided to sue when the tabloids printed Meghan’s personal letter to her father, without permission. I admired Harry’s drive to protect his wife and children. He stands up for them, fights for them, even when he has to rail against the royal institution that brought him into this world.

My favorite parts of the memoir are when Harry delves into the spiritual. His mysterious conversation with a medium and his and Meghan’s visit to Diana’s grave touched me. In my favorite scene, Harry experiences a mystical oneness with the world. He comes upon a herd of elephants while in a boat on the Okavango River near Kingfisher Island during a storm. A sudden understanding of his life’s purpose to “shine a light” still doesn’t prevent him from continuing to struggle with working out who he is.

This memoir has depth. It not only made me laugh, but also made me shed a few tears, and reconsider my opinions. I’m glad Harry set the record straight. It’s a common reason why people write a memoir. Nevertheless, in my mind, I can still hear the late Queen’s astute observation that “Recollections may vary.”