I can never remember the names of Henry XIII’s wives (with the exception of the obvious Anne Boleyn) but I do remember their fates: divorced, beheaded, died, divorced, beheaded, survived. Not gonna lie, that helped me follow along with this book. The Dead Queens Club traces the historical skeleton of Henry XIII’s marital failures but sets it all in a small-town Indiana high school. Because why not. I’d read two Very Important Literature tomes of short stories back to back, I deserved an easy cheesy read.
Our narrator is Cleves (short for Cleveland), a high school senior nursing a long-standing crush on her best friend. Said best friend is Henry and king of the school – gorgeous, smart, athletic, popular, and more than a bit of a ladies man. He’s on girlfriend number four (five, if you count Cleves’ two-week stint) of the last two years and Cleves isn’t so sure about the fate of number two – you see, Anne Boleyn is dead, and while the popular theory is that it was self-inflicted, Cleves wants to know more. Especially now that Henry is dating her very best friend in the whole wide world.
Anyway, it’s a cheese read. Easy and fun and kills time while you’re waiting for your flight that’s now been delayed four hours and it’s after midnight and you really just want to be home. The Dead Queens Club may not be knocking down doors or winning awards, but there are much worse books out there for teenage girls. In the end the message is about finding yourself for who you are, not who you’re attached to, and the importance of trusting your gut. More of this, please.