In 1951, English novelist Josephine Tey (+1952) wrote a short novel called The Daughter of Time, an odd title, apparently based on an obscure proverb she quotes at the beginning of the novel: “Truth is the daughter of time.”

The NY Times called this novel “the best mystery story of the twentieth century.” Now, that’s pretty high praise, but I have to say that it’s a good thing the novel is short; I couldn’t put it down until I finished it. Here’s the gist: Detective Carradine is laid up in a London hospital bed with a broken leg, and he’s bored to death. I can’t recall the plot detail that introduced his “investigation,” which, to relieve the tedium, he pursued like a bloodhound with the aid of a friend who brought him source material over the duration of the investigation, one source requiring another until the “mystery” of Richard III was solved.. It’s a fictionalized framework to present non-fictional historical research.

Richard III has been regarded as a classical monster, primarily because that’s how he’s portrayed by our beloved Shakespeare—whose source was St. Thomas More, but, as it turns out, St. Thomas More’s source was a Tudor lie which the innocent and credulous saint believed—and which the less credulous fictional detective, Carradine, proves to be false from his hospital bed. The perpetuation of that lie was the serious business of the Tudor family. The novel is fiction; its sources are not. It’s a fascinating example of the theory (to which I myself subscribe) that the natural home of truth is in myth—or “fiction.”

I never heard of the Society of Richard III, until the other day when the poor king’s body was found in Leicester, but I’d bet they’ve heard of Josephine Tey and her novel. Its sources, if verified, make Richard III the most falsely maligned figure in English history. It also re-writes that history in ways that defy imagination. It wouldn’t be surprising; no one is better than the English at revising their history to suit their political ends.

Richard III was the last of the Plantagenet kings. At least as interesting (to me) was the news that his only living descendant (not sure I got this last bit right), proved by DNA testing, is a Canadian carpenter. So—there’s a man going around Canada nailing boards together who’s the true king of England.