Hilary Mantel
Historical fiction isn’t my first choice of reading material. It’s so hard to
tell where fact leaves off and fiction begins that I fear my weak grasp of the
past will become even more confused. So it was rather reluctantly that I picked
up Wolf Hall a couple of years ago. It was much talked-about, having won the Man
Booker prize in 2009. And you know how it goes: you pick up a book quite
prepared to dismiss it, but something draws you in and before long you’re
hooked. It’s easy to see why it has become, apparently, the best-selling Booker
prize-winner of all time.
What first draws one in to Wolf Hall, and continues on in Bring Up The Bodies–also
a Man Booker winner–is Mantel’s masterful writing. The descriptions are vivid
and a story-line develops immediately. Also, a quirk of style that is at first
confusing and slightly annoying quickly becomes intriguing: regardless of the
subject of the sentence, the use of “he” or “him” always refers to Thomas
Cromwell, a sixteenth-century statesman so renowned that even I know something
about him. A privileged pronoun for a privileged character, just not the
typical “royal we.” Henry VIII and his queens, step aside.
Like the Saint by Charteris, Bond by Fleming,
and Robin Hood—all English, interestingly enough—Cromwell by Mantel is a
captivating hero. So much so that I have recalibrated my assessment of
historical fiction. After the intrigue of Wolf Hall, I looked forward to
Bring Up The Bodies and found it even more of a page-turner. In fact, I wondered all
through Wolf Hall why that location—the estate of John Seymour, notorious for having
“tupped” his daughter-in-law—had been chosen as the title. Other than a few
mentions of Old John’s nefarious activity, the estate does not figure in the
book. Again, Mantel is highly skilled, keeping up the intrigue and revealing
the reason on the final page. Those who know their history will consider it a
promise of things to come. Bring
Up The Bodies fulfills that promise.
Through both books our hero Cromwell steadily
gains in wealth and influence, having made his way independently from very
humble beginnings. He can speak many languages, each revealed in an intriguing
way as he thwarts opponents who think they can safely communicate their secret
plots or insults simply by speaking Latin, Greek, French, or Italian. He is an
exceptional player at chess, able to set up a board as it was months
previously, and at every physical contest he attempts. He can tell the weight
of a sheep by sight and knows his textiles, glass, and anything else considered
a luxury item. He is widely travelled for the times, having served in the
Italian army and spent time in London, other European cities, and the
Netherlands. Oh, and he robs from the rich and gives to the poor. At least the
nobility think he robs them as he reforms legal, financial, and political
systems in ways that are not in keeping with their accustomed sense of
privilege. And many of the down-trodden find shelter in Cromwell’s household or
receive benefits that lift them out of penury. Hoards wait outside his gates
and are seldom disappointed.
Cromwell’s intelligence, his attention to
detail, and his oratorical skills make him a formidable opponent—just what
Henry VIII needs on his side as he attempts to fulfill his whims. In both
books, life at court is revealed in all its complexity and extravagance. Life
outside the court is revealed in all its complexity and hardship.
Wolf Hall alludes to Cromwell’s childhood through memories and rumours while
covering his life around age forty, when his beloved mentor, Cardinal Wolsey,
falls from favour and Henry ends his marriage to Katherine of Aragon and
marries Anne Boleyn. Bring
Up The Bodies resumes the narrative with hardly a pause and
takes us to the end of Anne’s reign, which comes about with surprising
rapidity. It’s a gripping read as Mantel powerfully evokes the inner life of so
many characters, Anne included. And as the title indicates, there are quite a
few characters who don’t make it to book three of the promised trilogy.
Cromwell wields incredible power, in spite of
the resentment and hatred of the nobility who surround Henry and attempt to
thwart him (always Cromwell, remember)—when they are not plotting how to take
advantage of the spoils he amasses around him. In fact, Cromwell’s power is
hard for others to oppose. His rational, strategic thinking, backed up with
knowledge on how to leverage money and balance books, is rare for the times. It
struck me time and again throughout the novel how often money and strategy were
linked.
How accurate is Mantel on these economic
matters? Although it will make the hair rise on some of my colleagues who don’t
like Niall Ferguson’s politics with its “money is the root of all progress”
thinking, I turned to his new book, The Ascent of Money, for some clues and was not
disappointed. Not surprisingly, I guess, Mantel is an excellent researcher,
building a fine base of facts for her exceptionally colourful creativity.
Ferguson asserts that behind every historical
phenomenon there is a financial secret. The Dutch Republic prevailed over the
Hapsburg Empire by creating the first modern stock exchange, which turns out to
have been more important than having the world’s biggest silver mine. The
Renaissance boom in art and architecture relied on Italian bankers making
fortunes by applying Oriental mathematics to money. Over 150 years the Medici
transformed themselves from gangsters (five of whom were sentenced to death for
their crimes) to being synonymous with the Florentine state. They understood
leveraging and diversification, all lessons Cromwell learns as a student of
commerce, banking, and human affairs during his time, less than one hundred
years later, in Italy and the Netherlands.
Cromwell brings these skills to the newly
developing role of middle man in his efforts to wield power for Henry. A vivid
example unfolds as Henry breaks with the Pope and installs himself as head of a
new Church of England. In Wolf
Hall, the purpose is to annul his marriage with Katherine
and pave the way for Anne to become queen. But in Bring Up The Bodies,
Cromwell is eyeing the assets of the church. In thinking about how to pay for
England, he is sure of his answer:
“Monks, that parasite class of men, are going to provide.” He instructs his
merry band on how to value the rents and holdings of the church so that the
“king as head of the church” can take back what he owns if it pleases him to do
so.
Has Robin Hood gone over to the dark side? Incredibly
interesting—to me at least—is the struggle that comes through as Mantel tries
to decide what to make of Cromwell. As early as page seven of Bring Up The Bodies,
while describing a portrait of Cromwell being painted by the famous Hans
Holbein, the narrator says he (Cromwell, remember) “comes into his hall to find
versions of himself in various stages of becoming: a tentative outline, partly
inked in. Where to begin with Cromwell?”
I suppose some ambivalence is understandable
when a character is as powerful and adroit at strategy as Cromwell is seen to
be. Imagine working for the King, anticipating his needs but waiting to fulfill
them until he expresses them, having to help him with those expressions
perhaps, so that the royal motives are seen in a favourable light. Like when
Henry’s dreams turn to Jane Seymour: Cromwell decides there is no harm if he
helps “ease the king’s way to her,” but he will also advise the Seymour family.
He has “better business sense” and it’s important that he “not let Jane sell
herself cheap.” After all, the king can’t have a cheap woman, and Cromwell
needs her family as allies. So he instructs Jane on what gifts she can receive:
“jewellery yes, money no.” And “until the deal is done,” she is not to take off
so much as her gloves in Henry’s presence. Cromwell is no special confidante of
the Seymours; but none of them doubt his expertise at strategy. Cromwell muses
on a book he could write, “The Book Called Henry: how to read him, how to serve
him, how best to preserve him.”
At another time Cromwell reflects on
Machiavelli’s new book and decides he could do better. Given some of the drama
of the story, one doesn’t doubt it. A story is told of Cromwell berating the
jury at the trial of Thomas More and threatening to lock them up without dinner
until they unanimously convict More. Following which he stood outside the door
with a hatchet. When asked about this rumour, Cromwell denies ever having a
hatchet. Most chilling of all is the revenge he exacts on the people who showed
their scorn for the dead Cardinal Wolsey in a play by creating an effigy of him
as a wounded bear and dragging it out, one person on each paw, chanting
derisive epithets. Now as the bodies are brought up, Cromwell thinks, George
Boleyn, right forepaw. And so on, one by one, until all are dealt with.
Mantel actually confirms her ambivalence about
her hero in yet another colourful and promising final line, this time in her
Author’s Note. She says Cromwell “remains sleek, plump and densely
inaccessible, like a choice plum in a Christmas pie; but I hope to continue my
efforts to dig him out.”
Perhaps I will watch for the promised third
volume of the trilogy, called The
Mirror and the Light, although I know enough history to regret the
ending of the story for such an attractive hero. Maybe Mantel’s fiction is not
such a bad way to learn history.
- Reg Sauvages
Reginald Sauvages, PhD, is the nom de plume of
a local bibliophile (read: bookworm) who goes on building bookshelves and
buying paperbacks for the beach so sand doesn’t ruin favourite clothbound
books, even while owning an e-reader.
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