September 1667 finds London in the aftermath of catastrophe. The Dutch have just raided the Medway, burning English ships at Chatham in a humiliation that still reverberates through the court. Samuel Pepys, naval administrator by day and secret diary-keeper by night, records it all with the compulsive urgency of a man who knows he's witnessing history and suspects no one else will tell it straight. This volume captures him navigating political fallout, fretting over his failing eyesight, attending plays where actresses flutter their fans, and dissecting the labyrinthine romances of King Charles's mistresses with the breathless intensity of a modern tabloid columnist. Pepys is vain, anxious, often ridiculous, and absolutely indispensable. His diary isn't history from on high, it's history from inside a man who eats a bad dinner, worries about his wife suspecting his affairs, and accidentally sees the King himself looking flushed at a house party. Three centuries later, nobody has written a more honest sentence about what it feels like to live through interesting times.
