I was surprised when my digital library copy of Spare, the memoir by the Duke of Sussex, whom Americans, perhaps incorrectly, call Prince Harry, arrived within two weeks of my hold request. As a Crown fan I was curious enough to try it, despite risking opprobrium from the Scottish country dance community, or at least the Brits therein.

It turned out to be a supercharged version of my life as a Whole Body team member: Listening to someone you don’t know describe his most intimate experiences, revealing rich amateur couch-diagnosis fodder–and I don’t even have to come up with a recommendation! This is not an expose´, rather a cry for help. I devoured it.

When Diana was killed, Harry was 12. He never saw the body, so he thought she was just hiding for five or even seven years. His brother had the same idea separately–they grew apart rather than bonding after this event–but gave it up sooner, concluding that she would have found a way to contact them sooner. Left with only non-hugging adults in his family giving him buck-up style comfort, he fell into predictable depression, marked by scholastic underachievement and substance abuse.

Some spark kept him searching for succor and he found three primary sources: the military, Botswana, and charity work. He had several military tours in which he served with distinction, but each was cut short by his notoriety, which made him a target that endangered his unit, and/or Palace demands. In Botswana he made some lifelong friends, one nearly a mother-replacement, and found peace and spiritual connection in the wildness of the land. His charity work embraced both, focusing on disabled veterans and various overlooked needs of African people and animals.

The bane of his life was, and is, the things that killed his mother: Paparazzi. He calls them paps. Their level of intrusiveness is staggering, because the payoff for getting a photo of a royal, or even a friend of a royal, is staggering. The royals themselves can avoid this by staying inside their secure palaces, but all friends and especially love interests are pestered continuously, sometimes even after ending the relationship. One of Meaghan’s dogs went insane from people surrounded her house day and night, ringing the bell and knocking on windows. A previous girlfriend killed herself, years after eschewing the relationship. All of Harry’s serious girlfriends before his wife left him due to paps, and Meaghan briefly contemplated suicide due to the stress.

As a royal, straying outside the bubble means enduring constant harassment, often at very close quarters. Think about riding your bike to the grocery store, or walking along the beach, or eating at a public restaurant. Those are the sort of things royals can never do without either security or disguise, and paps are specialists at breaching the latter. Late for an early date with Meaghan due to traffic, Harry is frustrated when she asks him to just walk the last few blocks. If he did that he might “start a riot,” plus his bodyguards would have to get out and try to protect him in an uncontrolled environment, a big ask.

I am going to stop buying those big lottery tickets, and to enjoy what I hope will be lifelong public anonymity.

More shocking than the constant clamor of the paps was the political infighting among the royal staffs. There are at least four major groups, supporting QEII, Charles and Camilla, “Willy” and Kate, and Harry, later together with Meaghan. Representing the Spare to the Heir, Harry’s staff is smallest and least powerful. Each of these groups views the others as rivals for positive public opinion and media coverage, and some staff members as well as at least one principal (Camilla) were infamous for leaking negative information about rivals to the paps. We have seen some of this in The Crown, for example when Charles is angry with Diana for making Camilla look less compassionate by comparison when Diana hugs a child AIDS-sufferer in NYC, and also when C&C hire an agent to build their brand so she can become his wife and later his queen, an obviously successful campaign that led to a permanent position.

One example from the book. Meaghan is required to wear a tiara at her wedding, and she is planning to wear Diana’s, when QEII unexpectedly summons them and offers M. a choice of five tiaras of hers. All agree that one of those is perfect for M. QEII reminds the couple to have the tiara sent over soon since there is quite a bit of prep getting it to work with the veil and the hairdo, and refers them to her assistant Angela. Harry proceeds to contact Angela multiple times, always respectfully, asking for the tiara to be sent over, but gets no response. As the wedding approaches they are about to revert to the first plan when A. abruptly arrives with the tiara and paperwork to sign. After the wedding, A. leaks a story to the press about how M. demanded one of the queen’s tiaras, then harassed her about sending it over immediately.

The tiny grain of truth in this otherwise preposterous rendition renders it impossible to officially refute, according to The Palace. This sort of thing happens repeatedly, and get very ugly when the stories turn to racism. Honestly, I never watched Suits, and the pictures of Meaghan I have seen did not scream African-American to me, but her mom is, and it appears that quite a few Brits, not just the Bring-Back-Boris fans, are horrifyingly concerned about the darkening of the royal lineage. Unclear how the royal family themselves feel, although none of them made any serious effort to quell the ugliness.

Having written this, I read Meaghan’s Wikipedia page for contrast, and that it provided. Many of the same events of her life since 2017 were described therein without drama, and I imagine the Duke’s page would be similar. Is this book a fever dream? While I was reading it, I felt Harry was standing before me, revealing details I would not share with my best friend if in his position. It’s hard to resist someone so compelling and vulnerable who is pouring out his heart, but I can sense that this immediacy will fade. Truth is elusive.