Moehringer, whose own memoir, “ The Tender Bar,” I adored before it was even a glimmer in Ben Affleck’s eye, and who helped the tennis star Andre Agassi’s autobiography, “Open,” transcend the locker room. Still, I expected to enjoy “Spare,” given that it was written with the help of the talented author J.R. (Maybe this is part of the grand plan, to drive away inquiring minds by boring them to bits?) With “Harry & Meghan,” the gauzy Netflix series preceding this book, he and the Duchess now might well be overexposed.
1 spot on cushioned chairs opposite Oprah and Anderson Cooper. In the prince’s full-throated renunciation of fame and royalty with all its punishing invasions of privacy, he has only become more famous, if not more regal, trading his proximity to the throne for the No. Reading “Spare,” though, one kind of wants to snatch the remote control from his hands and press into them a copy of Joseph Heller’s “Catch-22.” Not because of Harry’s military endeavors (unlike Yossarian, he seems to have felt sane only in active combat) but because of the seemingly inescapable paradox of his situation. He prefers to sink into TV comedies like “Family Guy,” where he admires Stewie, the unnervingly mature baby, and “Friends,” where he identifies with the tortured Chandler Bing. “Lonely prince, obsessed with dead parent, watches remaining parent fall in love with dead parent’s usurper…?” Harry writes. Shakespeare’s “Hamlet,” though, hit a little too close to home. Prince Harry, the Duke of Sussex and Man About Montecito, isn’t one for book learning, he reminds readers of his new memoir, “Spare.” And yet its pages are dappled with literary references, from John Steinbeck (“He kept it tight,” the prince writes admiringly of “Of Mice and Men”) to William Faulkner, whose line from “Requiem for a Nun” about the past never being dead, nor even past, he discovers on to Wordsworth and other poets.
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