Earl Spencer's Diana memoir reopens royal wounds nearly 30 years after her death

Nearly three decades after Princess Diana died in a Paris car crash, her brother has written a memoir that has forced the Royal Family to issue an unusually sharp rebuttal—a sign of how raw these wounds remain. Earl Spencer's book, Swan Song: Diana, My Sister, published this week, contains allegations about King Charles's behavior in the immediate aftermath of her death. The palace's response, though wrapped in courtier-like language, amounted to a direct denial of Spencer's account of a conversation between the two men.

The specific allegation centers on what Spencer says Charles told him after Diana's death: "We'll forget her soon enough." Spencer also claims the then Prince sounded "giddily elated" and like a "lottery winner" when discussing the news. Buckingham Palace pushed back by suggesting that grief can distort memory and cloud judgment in ways others do not recognize. The palace did not simply say the conversation never happened; it suggested that Spencer's recollection may be unreliable, a subtle but pointed distinction.

What makes this moment significant is that it reopens a wound that defined the Royal Family's standing in 1997. When Diana died that August, the institution faced a genuine crisis of public confidence. The Queen and her family appeared distant and unmoved while millions of people laid flowers at the palace gates and grieved openly. The strength of public feeling shocked the royals themselves. At Diana's funeral in Westminster Abbey, when Earl Spencer delivered his famous eulogy, the crowd outside the abbey—listening on speakers—began to applaud so loudly that the sound penetrated the stone walls and spread inside, where Charles and the rest of the family sat listening. It was, by accounts of those present, an extraordinary and uncomfortable moment. The late Queen eventually addressed the nation in a televised speech, acknowledging the difficulty of expressing grief and validating the public's sense of loss. That intervention, aided by Prime Minister Tony Blair's modernizing influence, helped stabilize the monarchy's reputation.

But the trauma of Diana's death has never fully receded from the royal story. Her sons, Prince William and Prince Harry, were forced to walk behind her coffin—a decision that haunted them both. Harry later wrote in his own memoir, Spare, that Earl Spencer had objected to this, calling it barbaric. The absence of their mother became a defining presence in both brothers' lives, shaping their relationships with the institution and with each other. Harry's broader accusation—that the monarchy prioritized itself over the happiness of individuals—has become central to the rift between him and William, and to his decision to step back from royal duties.

Spencer's new book dredges up these old disputes and adds new detail to them. In interviews this weekend, including with the BBC, Spencer has doubled down on his allegations, insisting that his account of Charles's words is precise and that he was "hyper alert" to what was being said. He has framed the memoir as a necessary corrective to decades of misinformation about his sister and the events surrounding her death. The upcoming 30th anniversary of her death next year, he suggested, prompted him to set the record straight rather than continue reading other people's versions of events.

What complicates the picture is that memory itself is genuinely unreliable, especially around traumatic events. Psychotherapists note that conversations conducted over the phone, without visual cues or body language, can be interpreted very differently by different people. Grief can produce unexpected responses, including a condition known as "bereavement mania," where someone may seem inappropriately euphoric after a loss. A YouGov poll published this week found the public deeply divided: 31 percent believe Spencer's allegations, 36 percent suspect they are not true, and 33 percent say they do not know.

Royal commentators and historians are split on the book's significance. Some view it as a necessary testimony from someone with a front-row seat to royal life. Others call it tawdry to resurrect these claims so long after the fact. What seems clear is that the book threatens to undo three decades of careful work to rehabilitate Charles and Camilla's public image. The 30th anniversary of Diana's death, combined with Spencer's memoir and the global attention it has generated, risks pulling the monarchy back into the difficult terrain of 1997—a moment when the institution looked out of touch and the public's affection for it hung in the balance.