Edward’s sexuality has been central to the mythos of his reign, with much ink spilt over the suggestion he was homosexual and, an equal amount of ilk spilt about his fraught relationship with his wife, Isabella of France. Kathryn Warner herself has dealt quite deftly with these questions in her previous work but Edward II: His Sexuality and Relationships allows her to dedicate an entire book to the subject.

I’ve been a fan of Kathryn Warner for a long time. I’ve read almost all of her books and followed her blog attentively, and had my own standards for history writing shaped by Warner’s work and her criticisms of other historians and historical fiction. This doesn’t mean I’ve always loved her books but, trust me, it means I find this review painful to write because Edward II: His Sexuality and Relationships is bad. It’s staggeringly bad.

If you’ve read Warner’s earlier work on Edward before or followed her blog, there’s little new here. The book is 155 pages long (excluding notes), and about 90 pages of this is given over to going into her perennial favourite topics: Edward was strong and handsome and definitely not an effeminate fop, Isabella was into Edward, Edward definitely fathered their children, Isabella would never have an affair with Roger Mortimer. Padding out the page time is Warner’s frequent and lengthy detours into calling out the various wrong ways that other historians, film directors and novelists have depicted Edward, Isabella and the other figures of his reign.

Again, this isn’t new. She’s lambasted other historians frequently in her previous work and her blog is full of entries calling out atrocious depictions of Edward and his reign. But it’s a generally a lot more focused than this and either a prelude to or interspaced with historical analysis. In her first chapter, supposedly about how historians have “downplayed” Edward’s relationships with other men by “nitpicking” the evidence until Edward is deemed “straight”, we have almost no historical analysis beyond a speedy debunking of the claim Isabella and Mortimer had an affair – a subject that Warner will later spend several chapters debunking and has little bearing on the chapter’s subject. The next chapter, dedicated to how Edward’s relationships women have been “downplayed” Edward’s relationships (largely by fiction writers depicting him as gay), fairs similarly. A lot of complaints about how historians and fiction has dealt with Edward’s sexuality but she barely keeps herself on topic and there is, once again, minimal historical analysis. There is no meaningful analysis of these narratives created by these depictions apart from the handful of times that Warner cites the work of Kit Heyman and Michael Evans. We’re just told it’s “wrong” and it’s bad because it “misrepresents” the historical Edward.

Sure, I agree with the points she’s making (for the most part) but it’s incredibly repetitive, unnecessary and nothing new. You’ll find the same complaints in her books and on her blog. It feels less like a historical exploration and analysis of Edward’s sexuality and relationships and more like a collection of rants. Alison Weir’s awful biography of Isabella is 20 years old at this point and has been superseded by Warner’s own biography of Isabella for nearly half that. Can we not move on? Why endlessly re-litigate how outrageously wrong and offensive Weir’s claims are?

Yet Warner’s criticisms get into weird areas, such as her criticism of Derek Jarman’s adaptation of Christopher Marlowe’s Edward II, which she lambasts for only including one of Edward and Isabella’s four children (this is true to the play, which is largely undiscussed) and depicting that one child as much too young, which means it therefore downplays Edward’s relationships with women and misrepresents the historical record. OK, it’s “historically inaccurate” – but looking at the DVD cover would tell you that. A brief skim of the Wikipedia article about the film will tell you that Jarman was not interested in producing an adaptation of an early modern play that was scrupulously accurate to Edward’s medieval life but in using anachronism to create connections between the queer pasts of Christopher Marlowe and Edward II and his queer present as a gay man. It is a film produced during the AIDS crisis that takes issue with Section 28, the law that prohibited the “promotion” of homosexuality. To complain that Jarman is “factually incorrect” to not correct Marlowe’s “error” and to depict Edward as a gay icon at a time when the gay community was under enormous threat feels like a petty critique born of ignorance and apathy.

Warner frequently appears hostile to the idea that Edward was gay. It is true that Edward was not a “gay martyr” as he has sometimes been depicted as but he has long been seen as a man who loved men – whether this reflects the reality of his life or not, which we do not and cannot know. It is clear that Warner does not believe he was exclusively attracted to men and yes, Edward would not have identified as gay because such ways of understanding and categorising sexuality did not exist during his lifetime. Yet Warner’s belief and interpretation of the evidence does not constitute a fact. Yes, Edward had a positive relationship with his wife in a marriage that produced four children – but so have plenty of closeted gay men. Yes, Edward had an illegitimate child – but plenty of gay men have had children in the process of figuring out their sexuality or coming out or from a desire to have children. This is not to argue that Edward must have been exclusively attracted to men but that determining how he felt sexual attraction is a lot more complicated than knowing that he had sex with women. It’s hard to escape the worrying feeling that Warner sees something reprehensible in depicting Edward as exclusively attracted to men.

There is an incoherence in these early chapters and it’s not aided by Warner very rarely referring to those she’s criticising by name, preferring instead to use phrases like “a historian in [year]” or “a novel published in [year]”. One wonders why she is so reluctant to name them. If she’s aiming to avoid giving them attention, why, then, name them in the end notes? Why discuss them at all if that’s the aim, especially with such vigour and vitriol and at such volume? Alarmingly, amongst those Warner criticises is a Goodreads user. I suppose this review might appear in her next book as proof that morons are still wrong about Edward II. I missed the “Stop The Goodreads Bullies” movement at the time, I can only hope I won’t be part of its revival.

After these 90 pages, we move on to some better material. Warner discusses the existence of Edward’s illegitimate son, Adam, and what this means about Edward’s sexuality – her discussion is interesting but her conclusions feel somewhat overinterpreted. Following that is what is probably the worst chapter in the book.

Warner dedicates a chapter to her claim that Edward hired a house for the purposes of having an illicit sexual relationship with a woman in. The basis for Warner’s argument is an entry in his accounts for this house where he “privately took his pleasure [fist p[ri]uement son deduyt]”. “Deduyt” or “deduit”, she argues, is to a reference to sexual intercourse and since medieval people saw sex acts as gendered, his partner can only have been a woman. But since this was done “privately”, it must have been a relationship that was especially illicit and scandalous.

There is so much wrong with this argument that every time I look at it, it gets more wrong. Yes, “deduit” can refer to sexual intercourse and other amatory endeavours but only sometimes. The Anglo-Norman dictionary Warner cites provides 16 definitions for “deduit” and sexual pleasure only accounts for four of them, where they are classed as euphemisms. Generally “deduit” means joy, pleasure or delight and has been used to refer to emotion produced from a whole range of experiences from listening to a pleasant tale or music or to taking part in a hunt to playing games to sexual intercourse. Warner does not bother to explain how she came to believe that “deduit” must mean sex in this case.

Let’s consider the context to see if that helps. We might begin by asking why Edward would have recorded a sexual assignation in his household accounts. Warner’s explanation was that his female partner was so scandalous (much more scandalous than any of his male partners) that it had to be kept a tight secret which necessitated the hiring of a house to carry out this especially illicit assignation. Yet one wonders if the relationship was so scandalous, why hire a house directly opposite the Tower of London where he and his partner could easily be spied coming and going (later, Warner discusses the individuals he met on journeying to and from this house) and why refer to this house in a way that explicitly and obviously reveals its purpose? Only one clerk might record the payments related to the house but a whole host of clerks would be reading the account books and seeing the payments for Edward’s Top Secret House For Really Scandalous Sex. The oddity of such a entry is also clear – as Warner herself indicates, no other sexual assignations are recorded in his household accounts. Clearly, this argument doesn’t hold up to scrutiny.

Warner also misleadingly leaves out that the definition she’s using is define “deduit” as “to have one’s pleasure of (a woman)” is one that uses prepositions, i.e “aver (with)” or “de (of)”. The phrase in the household accounts does not use prepositions to indicate Edward is having pleasure of or with someone at this house, nor does it indicate that there was anyone else present. Edward’s “pleasure” at the house was a solo activity at least as far the account entry is concerned.

Even weaker is Warner’s assertion that the phrase can only mean he was having sex with a woman. Yes, the Anglo-Norman dictionary only provides examples where “deduit” means “sex with a woman” but that is to be expected given the paucity of evidence around same-sex couples and the heavy stigmatisation they faced – the very “unspeakability” sodomy makes references to it hard to come by, as Warner herself earlier notes. Warner cites Ruth Mazo Karras’s argument that medieval sex roles were gendered as proof that “deduit” can only refer to a woman but that does not help her cause. Karras’s argument, simply put, was that the normative view of sex in the Middle Ages was it something that a man did to a woman (i.e. penetrating her vagina with his penis) and this is reflected in the language used to refer to sex. One of the examples given in the very passage Warner cites is a male prostitute who is gendered female when having sexual intercourse with male partners, suggesting that a man who was penetrated was seen to have taken on the female role. Furthermore, the twelfth century romance Eneas and the Ovide moralisé both use “deduit” (with a preposition!) to allude to intercourse between individuals of the same-sex. If “privately took his pleasure” does refer to sex (which is highly doubtful), it may only mean that Edward was playing the active, penetrating role rather than telling us anything about his partner. But then we left with the question of why that would be recorded in the household accounts.

In short, “deduit” does not always or automatically mean sex, nor does it exclusively mean sex with a woman, and Warner’s definition uses a preposition that the entry in Edward’s household accounts does not use. It is also rather dubious that Edward would record a top-secret sexual assignation in his household accounts. Warner could still be right that Edward’s Top Secret House For Really Scandalous Sex With Someone Who Is Definitely A Woman was exactly that. But my inclination is that the clerk used “deduit” to indicate a non-sexual pleasure was taking place, and that “p[ri]uement” was not used to suggest some highly illicit activity carried in deepest secrecy but Edward’s pleasure involved a retreat or escape from royal life, perhaps to enjoy activities that he liked such as hedging, ditching, fishing and swimming that Warner details so charmingly in the final chapters of this book.

The next chapter details the rumour that Edward had an affair with his niece, Eleanor de Clare. The evidence Warner puts forward in a cautious but obvious effort to convince her readers the affair took place is far from convincing. She would be on much safer ground arguing that Eleanor was an important figure in his life, one who should perhaps be considered a “quasi-queen” in the last years of his reign (similar to later women like Alice Perrers and Cecily Neville), rather than arguing for a sexual relationship.

The only real evidence Warner has is a single chronicle report from Flanders that reports it is rumoured that Edward and Eleanor were having an affair. Warner contends that the chronicler picked up this information from Isabella of France’s retinue when she was in Flanders, allying with William of Hainault, and that the chronicler only wrote it was rumoured to cover himself. This is entirely speculative and coming on the heels of Warner’s furious denial of Isabella’s affair with Roger Mortimer, the double standards at play are painfully clear. If the multiple chronicle reports about Isabella and Mortimer’s affair are to be dismissed because they only record “gossip” and “rumours” and are from English chroniclers too “obscurely” located to be trusted, why should the Flemish chronicler’s “rumour” be treated as fact? Why does Warner assume, if the chronicler picked up this rumour from Isabella’s camp, it must have been entirely truthful rather than a smear to denigrate Edward before Isabella’s invasion? The Flemish chronicler certainly did not meet Edward or Eleanor, much less had access to “webcam footage” of them.

The other evidence put forward is weaker. The late 14th century chronicler Henry Knighton, Warner tells us, referred to Eleanor as being treated like Edward’s queen. Warner is again misleading her reader. Knighton says only that Hugh Despenser’s wife was treated as though she was the queen of England during Isabella’s absence, not that she was treated as Edward’s queen as Warner asserts. He makes no connection between Eleanor and Edward. What remains is a collection of minor facts like Edward and Eleanor being ill at the same time, Eleanor sending Edward clothes and Edward showing concern for Eleanor during one of her pregnancies. Certainly, this shows they were close – but the idea that these are suggestive of a sexual relationship is laughable.

One can only come to the conclusion that Warner wants Edward to have had a grand love affair with his niece which is rather surprising since her entire career up until now has been concerned with salvaging Edward’s reputation. Indeed, she is still deeply concerned with his reputation, going as far as to compare fictional depictions of Edward as raping Isabella to false accusations of rape. It makes it all the more puzzling when she asserts in the conclusion that Edward had such a liking for incest, he ensured that his male lovers were married to his nieces so they were his nephews.

The remaining chapters deal with a poem depicts Edward as a “heterosexual courtly lover”, the myth he died from a hot spit inserted into his anus, the allegations of sodomy, before dealing with Edward’s relationship with his favourites, including those lesser-known favourites. These chapters are more interesting, featuring a more grounded, historical analysis of Edward’s life and relationship.

The final two chapters are the best in the book. They’re a refreshing break from the sordidness of incest and sex houses, allowing the reader to finally get a sense of who Edward may have been. The penultimate chapter deals with Edward’s love of rustic pursuits and unusual activities like the ditching, thatching and swimming, while the very last chapter deals with his relationships with his “common subjects”. These provide charming vignettes of the king in his off-hours and one starts to feel as though they might come to know Edward and find him rather amiable. Then the image cracks with Warner’s speculation that Edward granted a sailor a “large sum” of money “because he was loyally devoted to Rohese his wife” because he had propositioned this sailor only be rejected for this wife. Warner obviously thinks this is charming speculation but the sordidness seeps in despite her best intentions. On the next page, we find her blasting Weir’s equally sordid and baseless suggestion that Edward’s chamber servants were prostitutes but it’s hard to see much difference between a king hiring prostitutes and a king randomly propositioning sailors and then paying them off.

This is emblematic of a large flaw in this book. Warner holds the evidence to different standards depending on what she wants to be true. The evidence for Isabella and Mortimer’s affair is nitpicked into oblivion but when confronted with much weaker evidence for Edward and Eleanor’s affair that would be subject to same arguments, Warner massages the evidence to make it seem plausible. She complains about biographers making assertions without evidence as if they have discovered “Isabella’s long-lost diary” but makes assertions without evidence all the time herself, such as frequently claiming – without evidence or even a citation to her earlier work – that Isabella was too pious and conscious of her royal dignity to have an affair. At one point, Warner complains of authors who focus on the personal, forgetting the political aspects of their lives, but so does she: her Isabella is emotionally wrapped up in Edward and the political dimension of their relationship is ignored.

There are some good things in this book. I appreciated that Warner acknowledged that though Isabella, Mortimer etc. are largely considered to be “straight”, that these are assumptions and they might not have been. The work is generally solid when Warner focuses on historical analysis rather than her own speculation and her too-frequent complaints about how others have handled Edward. I only wish there was more of this.

I am, honestly, disappointed and saddened by this work. Warner is a historian I’ve admired for a long time, who helped shaped my standards for history writing, and this is so far from what I’ve come to expect from her.

Edward II is one of the few kings of England who it can be plausibly argued had attractions to and/or relationships with people of the same sex. However, there is controversy as to how far these went as well as how they affected his relationship with his queen, Isabella of France, who eventually deposed him in favor of their young son, Edward III. In Edward II: His Sexuality and Relationships, Kathryn Warner takes a detailed look at these questions and disposes effectively of some of the common - and often completely uncorroborated - narratives that “everyone knows.”

Most crucially, Warner makes two main points: 1) We know literally nothing directly about people’s actual behavior, or usually even their feelings about one another. 2) Our modern categories of gay, straight, bi, etc. would have had no meaning for medieval people.

She also examines two types of writers, historians/biographers and novelists, and how they look at the issues at hand. The first seem to take a very black and white view of things, either completely denying that Edward had any same-sex attractions - presumably his relationships with his favorites were based on emotional dependency, or that he had absolutely no interest in women. Reasonably, she asks why he could not have been attracted in different ways to both, especially given that he had at least one illegitimate son and Isabella became pregnant several times, when if she was actually repulsive to him, one or two should have been enough. Often, it seems as if the second type of biographers she looks at thought they were novelists, regurgitating well-known stories such as that Edward gave Isabella’s “bridal gifts” to his favorite of the time, Piers Gaveston, that there was antipathy between Isabella and Gaveston, and that the marriage was bad from the start, for which there seems to be little or no evidence. The actual novelists, although they have more leeway, fare little better in her estimation, and sometimes it’s difficult to tell the difference between them and some of the more wild assumptions of the so-called non-fiction writers.

Also, while there is at least some hesitation about Edward’s actual behavior, almost everyone, whether biographer or novelist, jumps to the immediate conclusion that Isabella and Roger Mortimer, her partner in deposing Edward and ruling England afterward until Edward III took the reins, had a mad, passionate love affair, again, with no evidence or contemporary corroboration. Of course, their relationship easily could have been more pragmatic, especially since Edward’s last favorite, Hugh Despenser the Younger, did apparently cause Isabella's marriage to go downhill and even made her fear for her safety, which seems to have provided enough motivation.

The thing that really surprised me in this very well-written and -argued book is how much even the most modern writers seem to be influenced by stereotypes of both women and LGBT people that we supposedly jettisoned decades ago. Despite his reputation at the time as a fit and physically strong man and his apparently respectful relationship with Isabella in the first part of their marriage, Edward (along with his favorites) tends to be portrayed - especially in fiction - using the worst possible stereotypes, as physically weedy, weak, and spiteful, as well as utterly repulsed by women. Even the fact that he did not consummate his marriage - with his 12-year-old bride - immediately is used as evidence that he “neglected” her, when in most people we would see that as a positive. No one needs to claim that he was a good king to admit that he, like all of us, was a complicated human being with good and bad points. Isabella, on the other hand, is shown by the novelists as either the vengeful, power-hungry “she-wolf,” (a phrase that was evidently never used to describe her in her lifetime) conniving to destroy her husband or, alternatively, totally under the spell of her lust for a stereotypically masculine and virile Mortimer.

Edward II: His Sexuality and Relationships provides a much-needed corrective to the very slanted view that many books - both fiction and non-fiction - give us of all of these characters, but particularly Edward and Isabella.

I received a copy of Edward II: His Sexuality and Relationships from the publisher via NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.

Thank you to NetGalley for an arc of this.

I enjoyed this very much, I loved how it debunked many of the myths or was at the very least honest as what we do and do not know about these people and their lives.
I think the order in which events and people where discussed could have been better as I would have preferred it if it had been chronological instead of kind of by topic. It made it a bit jumbled.

In this interesting historical book, Kathryn Warner explores Edward II of England’s ambiguous sexuality, his relationships with his wife Isabella of France and his favorite Piers Galveston, and the impacts that these relationships had on early fourteenth-century England and its politics. By exploring period notions of sex and sexuality and using these to analyze Edward II’s relationships, Warner chronicles the life of this unconventional English monarch in this fascinating biography. Warner’s expertise in the period and her familiarity with the Plantagenet dynasty shows in this book; the quality of analysis and historical detail really brings this book to life and emphasizes the points of analysis. By considering these points of analysis and using contemporary ideas of sexuality in this book, Warner suggests that Edward II was bisexual rather than gay and explores his complicated relationship with Isabella of France (who had her own notable affair with Roger Mortimer) to back up her theory. This fascinating history of sexuality and the challenges of LGBTQ+ identity (using the modern terminology) in medieval Europe is a fantastic addition to current literature about the Plantagenets and Edward II. A great history book about Edward II that theorizes about his sexuality, readers will enjoy Warner’s latest book about medieval England.

In Kathryn Warner's "Edward II: His Sexuality and Relationships," the infamous monarch gets the reconsideration it seems is his due after the way history has distorted and mangled his posthumous reputation. Warner treats Edward II, Isabella of France, and all of the other figures that surrounded them in life with the respect and kindness that, as Warner puts it herself, "real people with their own personalities, their own admirable and less admirable traits, and their own sexualities" deserve. Many other authors and historians don't offer the same humanity to historical subjects, so it was absolutely refreshing to read "Edward II" and experience the care that Warner takes in pointing out how modern-day biases shade our perceptions of medieval people -- often in harmful ways. Some of Warner's powerful and convincing arguments and analysis gets diluted in the overall structuring of the book itself: multiple sections repeat details or anecdotes that don't necessarily feel like they belonged under a specific chapter's "main idea." Regardless, Warner's depiction of Edward II is a valuable contribution to the study of the English king.

I thought this book would be a normal history book explaining the author's theories and evidence for them.
Instead, it's an epic blow by blow take down of authors and historians who believe that if a man in the past was interested in other men, it meant they didn't care about the women they married.
Kathryn Warner masterfully navigates contemporary evidence and the language to show that may not have been the case and debunks the sexist theories that Isabella must have had an affair with Roger Mortimer because her husband had male lovers, and that Edward's lovers turned him against her as well as his kingdom

Edward II has gripped the fascination of historians and individuals for centuries as to who he was. Was he a man who loved solely men or was he someone with an unapologetic view of love that anyone can love either gender indiscriminately? We may never know. In her book, Edward II: His Sexuality and Relationships, Kathryn Warner strips away the myths, rumours and Shakespearean retelling of him and tells the story of Edward II plainly without any bravado or leaning towards a singular narrative. I thoroughly enjoyed Warner's book as it broke down each aspect of Edward II's life (both personal and public). I highly recommend this to any history fan who wants to see the story of Edward II with less Shakespearean certainty and more ambiguity.

Thank you, NetGalley and Pen & Sword for sending me an ARC in exchange for my honest review.

Thanks to NetGalley, Kathryn Warner, and Pen & Sword for allowing me to read an advanced copy of Edward II: His Sexuality and Relationships in the return of an honest review. I received an advanced reader copy for free and I am leaving this review voluntarily.

Edward II is someone I have not studied before. My focus has mainly been on the Tudors dynasty. This book is very intriguing and informative. I am looking forward to learning more about him and Isabella in other works. This book is a great jumping off point.

Requested and received an eARC of Edward II: His Sexuality and Relationships by Kathryn Warner from Pen & Sword via NetGalley. I was super excited to see this title! I really enjoyed Warner’s Edward II: The Unconventional King which provided an in-depth look at the monarch’s controversial reign, so I had high expectations for this volume. I was not disappointed! In her introduction, Warner is clear about the nature of her work from the outset. She cites the tendency of some historians to underplay his same-sex relationships while also acknowledging the tendency of others to underplay his relationships with women. She isn’t seeking to make any solid claims about his sexuality based on modern understanding, but rather examining what we know and can reasonably infer about his relationships.

Warner tackles a lot in this volume. She addresses not only Edward II’s potential sexual relationships, but also his relationships with commoners and what we can assess about his real nature. She seeks to dismantle the typical Edward/Isabella narrative and interrogate the misconceptions that have become staples of their cultural depictions. She also poses the questions of why we force Isabella and Mortimer into this passionate, adulterous space despite the lack of direct evidence, but squabble over Edward II’s sexual preferences which can perhaps more easily be more easily argued? “It is as though same-sex relationships are to be dismissed unless they reach an almost impossibly high level of proof, whereas heterosexual relationships are held to very different standards.”

“Mortimer is invariably described as the queen’s ‘lover’, as though webcam footage of Isabella’s bedchamber exists and we therefore know beyond all possible doubt that the two had sex.”

Another great point raised about our unconventional king is how he is physically portrayed in pop-culture. He is often depicted as campy, vain, and effeminate, despite accounts to the contrary. This was a quick read that was packed to the brim with details, but didn’t feel overtaxing thanks largely to Warner’s compulsively readable writing-style. The author offers facts and straightforward criticism of the way we discuss and retell the stories of Edward II, but also does a terrific job of tackling our cultural misconceptions surrounding Isabella. Through careful analysis of fact versus fiction, we’re shown what a disservice we have done to a complicated and compelling woman, often with perceptions that are deeply rooted in misogynistic thought.

This nuanced exploration delves into the unconventional life of Edward II, the controversial English king sometimes celebrated as a gay icon for his relationships with men. Going beyond the shocking myth about his death, the book examines evidence supporting Edward’s bisexuality through his affairs with both men and women. It also reevaluates his marriage to Isabella of France, portraying its initial happiness—before the threats from Hugh Despenser and her alliance with Roger Mortimer led to tragedy.

This book refutes 700 years of misinformation to reveal what can truly be known about the marriage of Edward and Isabella, and the other people they may have loved. It’s a fascinating and much-needed correction that sweeps away ugly stereotypes to show the real human beings underneath. It’s a smart, insightful, compassionate, and enjoyable read that made me want to cheer.

Thanks, NetGalley, for the ARC I received. This is my honest and voluntary review.