"That Woman" was the epithet by which the royal family and many other critics referred to Wallis Simpson, famous as the twice-divorced woman that led King Edward VII of Great Britain to abdicate the throne. Surely, it suggests the condescension and utter derision that these folks meant to convey. But, in itself, it is a bit more significant. What kind of woman does "that woman" suggest?

It makes a nice title for Anne Sebba's biography. She traces Wallis' progression from a lively, somewhat scandalous youth, to an inexplicable obsession of the Prince of Wales, to the fierce and embittered Duchess of Windsor in exile.

The story as it is told tends to follow a tiresome string of letters, memorandums and diary entries, all detailing a fickle drama down to the absurd. It is a history of many writers, each with personal handicaps, misgivings and preferences.

The problem seems to become apparent toward the end, long after the King's abdication on tenth of December, 1936, where this drama reveals itself to be the threat of ruination to a long-standing, lithic institution, the unraveling of a family and the dissolution of a couple.

As the author states near the conclusion:

 

"...we cannot, by any rational means, explain why a middle-aged, married woman with large hands and a mole on her chin convinced a troubled, boyish prince to believe that his life could have no meaning unless lived alongside her, novelists and playwrights, actors and historians need to dig into their imagination in order to explain it."

 

This illustrates at least two issues that have made this, perhaps unwittingly, a narrative of the 20th century that has claimed the obsessions of so many thoughtful bystanders.

First, it is suggestive of our values, and this is central to the story of Wallis as it is told in this biography. We see a woman from afar, she has, generally speaking, a masculine figure. Her face is not so attractive. Her personality seems rather coarse and unrefined. Why would the King of England, a man bred for fortitude and preeminence, want this woman so badly as to surrender his splendid life, his luxury, and his glory for her?

We can't understand these things, so we observe, then draw conclusions, create theories. But we've made our presumptive errors. This woman may be so coarse by our standards; what is it to be coarse? Is it so bad? Is it better, then, to be abraded to such a fine and one-dimensional thing, like the face of a cube? We may see ourselves along of train of logic, but what is it really other than the rationalized conceptions of our imaginations?

Imagination is, in fact, the second issue, and a real danger as revealed in this narrative. The author provides through diary entries and other subjective sources a look into the widely diverse opinions of Wallis Simpson. Of course, many in British high society were rather critical of this common American woman, yet there were some who praised her for her charm and liveliness.

Even those who offered facts on Wallis: to what extent were they a part of the plot, with their own motives and tastes to consider? Perhaps most important, what of the press? It is perhaps the serpentine politics and base ambitions of many newspapers and reporters that were the primary assailants upon the reputation and mental stability of the Duke and Duchess of Windsor.

The negative media attention shamed the couple before an international audience, a shame reflected wherever they were to turn for refuge. And for what? Most likely, to indulge the public imagination and taste for the sensational--to sell more copies, at the couple's expense. This historical account of Wallis' life is to some extent a work of the imagination, for a history so muddled and enigmatic necessitates interpretation on the part of the historiographer, and though we trust it as objective truth, what facts could there be that are lacking in the author's research?

That said, let it be known that the author puts forth an impressive work of scholarship. It is considerate and as thorough as one can imagine such a story to be, victim as it is to the subterfuges and rigid motivations of the British royal institution, as well as all those with a stake in its reputation.

Biographies and any sort of historical narrative are tremendous tasks, removing as they do the crutch of imaginative ingenuity from the writer's grasp. Biographies, in particular, invariably raises the question: What makes this person's life so important that I ought to read it?

Not an easy question to answer, but it isn't the person's life in itself, nor their achievements or recognitions that does it. It is the tribute that they exact from society, and the debt that they are owed thereby. The story of the Duchess is not important because she drew a King down from the throne, or because she found herself embroiled in a tedious social conflict with an entire institution, but because she made herself prey to a vindictive society, she exposed herself to a vicious press, and she embodied a flamboyance and effrontery that provoked both outrage and fascination.

As shown symbolically in the last chapters of the biography, this all drove her to despair, then consumed her.

 

Reach Miles Winston here.