Hilary Mantel's sequel to the incredible Wolf Hall is called Bring up the Bodies, and it continues the terse and sparse storytelling around Henry VIII's dissolving marriages (the second one, this time). The novel continues to be told in a non-chronological, extremely limited third person, and almost every detail of characterization and tone must be interpolated by the reader, or understood from the reactions of other characters in each scene.
I loved this book.
I love Thomas Cromwell (Mantel's version) more than ever, but of course the portrayal is shamelessly Cromwell-positive: he is even-handed, polite, deferential to women, pro-education (for all!) and anti-magical thinking. He understands systems of finance and government, and understands systems of personal interaction with an incredible finesse, especially given how quiet and withdrawn he is; it is surprising to hear other characters shout at him about his overbearing nature, his ceaseless talking, since the world --- as understood from inside his head --- doesn't really contain him at all; he is a silent blank at the center of the book, and the incredible balancing act of spinning plates and juggling fire and turning lead to gold are taking place around a quiet eye of the storm, an absence which has more weighty presence than the king himself.
I recommend this book, though I enjoyed Wolf Hall more and you should (obviously) start there. I also recommend the audiobook versions, as I read this book (and Wolf Hall) several times each, then also listened to them. Simon Slater's narration of Wolf Hall is particularly effective; he does the accents, he does subtle intonations, he adds a sarcastic but mild depth to the book which really enhances it. (Although, having re-listened and re-read several times, I can say that there are 2 scenes where he mixes up which voice goes with which speaker; this is understandable, since the dialog happens without attribution, and everyone is "him" anyway.) Simon Vance's Bring Up the Bodies is also very good, although his version of Cromwell's inner monologue is a bit more spiteful in tone. Still, both are good.
This book highlights some interesting features of a monarchy; forgive me if, having grown up with no monarch, these are obvious. Firstly, it seems astonishing that we still have monarchs today, and that their personal connections and personalities and day-to-day comportment still influence national politics (e.g. "What kind of King will Charles III be?"), since the monarch is no longer directing the entire government out of their own brain. It also seems frankly incredible that any monarch ever ran a country without being supremely literate, but there I think I am only betraying my own hyper-literate upbringing in a world where the written word is widely used and understood. Huzzah for reading and writing, which enabled you to comprehend this sentence!
Thus endeth my sparse and idiosyncratic review of Bring Up the Bodies.
This post's theme word is calumniate (v tr), "to make false statements about someone maliciously." Is it possible to self-calumniate, like self-incriminating?
Monday, December 1, 2014
Monday, November 24, 2014
Wolf Hall
Hilary Mantel's fictional take on the life of Thomas Cromwell, Wolf Hall, is a novel unlike any other I have ever read. It is told in a limited third person, and intersperses the normal progression of events in the timeline with jumps backwards and forwards, sometimes Cromwell's memories resonating with a current scene, sometimes... no clear connection, just a jump in time. Certain phrases or emotions or thoughts echo across the book, in a way which is eerie and also entrancing. And an incredible show of authorial finesse and expertise. I stand in awe of Mantel, and I am in the queue to borrow her other works from the library.
Wolf Hall perfectly captures the feeling of living life in the first person. This is difficult to explain, but let's take it as granted that I, and probably also you the reader, are living a life in the first person, by which I mean that your viewpoint is limited to your actual viewpoint, you only hear what your body's ears can hear, you only see what your body's eyes can see, you only imagine what your brain can imagine, you only go where your body goes. Your experience of life is intimately personal, and intimately first-personal. I am always "I" to myself.
Mantel's limited third-person is a precisely wielded scalpel which removes all of the extraneous details cluttering up usual novels --- the descriptions of scenery, or clothes, or weather. What is left is very much like a diary, personal notes meant only for the first-person: simply the most important details. And often Cromwell's lines and actions are left out, undescribed (because of course the first-person experience has no need to describe its owns actions), and so only his interlocutors speak. Only they move, only they react, only they have clothes and emotions. This makes Cromwell come across as cold and reserved, although sometimes his interlocutors' speech makes it clear he has told a joke, or made a threatening gesture, or moved his face in some way that conveyed information. But we the readers must piece this together, we are not told.
This perfectly captures the feeling of being a first-person mover and shaker in a story --- simply making decisions, saying words, doing things that go unremarked... and somehow it is always surprising to hear how others have assembled them into the description of a character. Cromwell is occasionally described back to himself, and the likeness is always surprising and never the same. To some people he appears cruel, to others, kind; to some people he appears haughty and powerful, to others humble, lovable, human. His attributes run the full gamut of descriptors, and the book somehow manages to sketch his character in absences, by delineating his outlines and the reactions he invokes. It's an incredible piece of writing.
As a side note, I realize that this is a fictionalized account of history. At some points it is clear that Mantel's Cromwell is recast in a particularly friendly light, given modern politics. He actively works against violence and abuse; he treats women as equals of men; he opposes serfdom and values people for their intelligence and merit, not their pedigrees. He is unerringly loyal and clever. All these things make him a hero figure, make me love him even more than I did for his beautiful portrayal by James Frain in The Tudors. But they're probably not historically accurate. But still, I love this version of Thomas Cromwell.
This post's theme word is yob, "a rude, rowdy youth." Mantel's Cromwell grows from a yob to the most powerful politician in England.
Wolf Hall perfectly captures the feeling of living life in the first person. This is difficult to explain, but let's take it as granted that I, and probably also you the reader, are living a life in the first person, by which I mean that your viewpoint is limited to your actual viewpoint, you only hear what your body's ears can hear, you only see what your body's eyes can see, you only imagine what your brain can imagine, you only go where your body goes. Your experience of life is intimately personal, and intimately first-personal. I am always "I" to myself.
Mantel's limited third-person is a precisely wielded scalpel which removes all of the extraneous details cluttering up usual novels --- the descriptions of scenery, or clothes, or weather. What is left is very much like a diary, personal notes meant only for the first-person: simply the most important details. And often Cromwell's lines and actions are left out, undescribed (because of course the first-person experience has no need to describe its owns actions), and so only his interlocutors speak. Only they move, only they react, only they have clothes and emotions. This makes Cromwell come across as cold and reserved, although sometimes his interlocutors' speech makes it clear he has told a joke, or made a threatening gesture, or moved his face in some way that conveyed information. But we the readers must piece this together, we are not told.
This perfectly captures the feeling of being a first-person mover and shaker in a story --- simply making decisions, saying words, doing things that go unremarked... and somehow it is always surprising to hear how others have assembled them into the description of a character. Cromwell is occasionally described back to himself, and the likeness is always surprising and never the same. To some people he appears cruel, to others, kind; to some people he appears haughty and powerful, to others humble, lovable, human. His attributes run the full gamut of descriptors, and the book somehow manages to sketch his character in absences, by delineating his outlines and the reactions he invokes. It's an incredible piece of writing.
As a side note, I realize that this is a fictionalized account of history. At some points it is clear that Mantel's Cromwell is recast in a particularly friendly light, given modern politics. He actively works against violence and abuse; he treats women as equals of men; he opposes serfdom and values people for their intelligence and merit, not their pedigrees. He is unerringly loyal and clever. All these things make him a hero figure, make me love him even more than I did for his beautiful portrayal by James Frain in The Tudors. But they're probably not historically accurate. But still, I love this version of Thomas Cromwell.
This post's theme word is yob, "a rude, rowdy youth." Mantel's Cromwell grows from a yob to the most powerful politician in England.
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