# The Forgotten King: James I and the Birth of Global Britain
For centuries, the Tudors have dominated popular history—Henry VIII and his six wives, Elizabeth I and her golden age. But now, the spotlight is finally shifting to the Stuarts, a dynasty just as fascinating, yet often overshadowed. Among the flood of new books marking the 400th anniversary of James I’s death, Anna Whitelock’s The Sun Rising: James I and the Dawn of a Global Britain stands out—not as another biography of the king’s scandalous personal life, but as a fresh look at how he shaped Britain’s place in the world.
This isn’t the James you might expect—the stuttering, awkward monarch mocked by history. Instead, Whitelock paints a portrait of a shrewd, ambitious ruler who saw Britain not just as a European power, but as a global one.
A King of Spin and Strategy
James I didn’t just inherit Elizabeth I’s throne in 1603—he inherited her problems. England was war-weary, financially strained, and still struggling with religious divisions. But where Elizabeth had been cautious, James was bold. He didn’t just want peace—he wanted influence.
Whitelock’s book is less about James the man and more about James the strategist. His reign wasn’t a haphazard collection of pet projects, but a carefully crafted vision: a Protestant Britain at the center of global trade, diplomacy, and empire.
Take, for example, his obsession with silk. James didn’t just want to import it—he wanted Britain to produce it. He encouraged mulberry tree plantations (though his choice of black mulberries over white doomed the silk industry before it began). He pushed for corn and fruit cultivation over the booming tobacco trade, believing in sustainability over quick profit. And he dreamed of a British foothold in Russia, nearly becoming its ruler in 1612 when desperate Muscovite nobles begged him to take their throne. (History might have looked very different if negotiations hadn’t been so slow.)
The World Beyond Europe
Elizabethan England had privateers like Drake and Raleigh, but James’ Britain was different—more structured, more ambitious. Whitelock introduces us to a cast of characters who helped shape this new era:
– Thomas Smythe, the merchant who turned the Virginia Company into a serious colonial venture.
– Matoaka (Pocahontas), the Powhatan princess who became a diplomatic sensation in London.
– John Saris, the rogue trader whose exploits in Japan nearly derailed Anglo-Japanese relations.
– Shah Abbas of Iran, with whom James exchanged lavish gifts and letters, hoping to forge an alliance against Catholic Europe.
This was a Britain looking outward, not just across the Channel, but across oceans.
The King Who Loved a Show
James understood the power of spectacle. In 1609, he staged a royal visit to London’s New Exchange—Britain’s answer to a stock exchange—where actors (some borrowed from Shakespeare’s company) performed a masque by Ben Jonson. A “shop boy” hawked exotic goods—Chinese silks, jewels, spices—while merchants whispered of a soon-to-be-discovered Northwest Passage that would make trade even easier.
This wasn’t just entertainment. It was propaganda. James wanted his subjects—and the world—to see Britain as a rising power.
The Man Behind the Myth
History hasn’t been kind to James. After his death, critics like Anthony Weldon painted him as a bumbling fool with “a tongue too large for his mouth.” But Whitelock’s James is sharp, eloquent, and deeply engaged in politics. He commissioned the King James Bible, not just as a religious text, but as a unifying force for Protestant Britain. He negotiated peace with Spain, ending decades of war. And he dreamed bigger than the Tudors ever had—of a Britain that wasn’t just surviving, but leading.
Was he perfect? Far from it. His policies weren’t always successful (silk production flopped, Russia slipped away). But his vision set the stage for Britain’s future empire.
Why James Matters Now
Whitelock’s book is a reminder that history isn’t fixed—it’s constantly being rewritten. The image of James as a weak, ineffective king is a later invention, shaped by anti-Stuart propaganda. The real James was a global thinker in an age of expansion, a king who saw Britain’s potential beyond Europe’s borders.
So next time you think of the Tudors, spare a thought for the Stuarts—and the king who dreamed of a British empire long before it existed.
The Sun Rising isn’t just a book about the past. It’s a challenge to see James I—and Britain’s history—in a new light.