
Wolf Hall
Reviews

postmodern prose to accompany baroque subject matter — i read little bits of this before bed every night for months, like savoring a chocolate truffle.

I cannot get behind historical fiction when it has to do with the 1500s. Unbelievably boring and hard to follow with the amount of characters in this book.

Machinations and manipulation in King Henry VIII's court take center stage in this surprisingly original take on one of the West's most told tales. Focusing on the rise, and alluded to fall, of Thomas Cromwell, the sweeping novel reintroduces famous characters like Thomas More, Anne Boleyn and Cardinal Wolsey, in a new light. Told from the removed perspective of Cromwell, where it seems the protagonist doesn't even know himself at times, the reader moves forward and sometime backward through the tumultuous nascent days of the English Reformation where loyalty, faith, family and reason are both sacred and dispensable. Epic in scale and page numbers, Mantel moves deliberately in the first leg of the tribology.

A remarkable achievement, both that it was written and that I managed to stumble my way through it.

This is like reading a PBS drama, which is great when you're in the mood for it.

Some books, and particularly this one, Wolf Hall fall into the category of a Relief Book or more specifically a "what a relief it is to be done with that damn book." Truthfully, as day by day dragged by seemingly no closer to the end, Anne and Henry not wed, my reading goals slipping away from me in What? January and when suddenly it seemed as if the last page would soon appear, a great burden lifted from my very essence. And so, how does one judge a book which was such a great burden to read, which was such a relief to finish? While one could argue, quite easily in fact for a one, two or at the most three star, by pointing out the tediousness of it, the small useless conversations about garden, the continual noting of fabric, its type, its color, how it was made, the abundance of characters, who seem to add so little to the story except to bungle the mind of the reader. There is another side of it however, the frequent visits to Austin Friar's, Cromwell's home, one gains the sense of his changing life, his children growing, new additions to his household, his adding gardens, and buildings to his estate, his growing wealth, of the time that this is taking, its slow progression as if the very tedium is the point. And then there is he , so confusing for so many and really what could possibly be the point of this endless confusion and misuse of the English language? Why really? To drive home the point that it is really about him. Not Henry the VIII or Thomas More of Utopia fame or the pope or any Duke, Lord or Sir, but the self-made blacksmith's son, Thomas Cromwell. And what does he have to say for himself this, inconsolable Master Cromwell: the unknowable, the inconstruable, the probably indefeasible Master Cromwell? “And look, Gregory, it’s all very well planning what you will do in six months, what you will do in a year, but it’s no good at all if you don’t have a plan for tomorrow.” "but you need not emulate her in having the wit of a sheep.” He smiles. “Sheep are maligned in that way. Shepherds say they can recognize each other. They answer to their names. They make friends for life.” “No ruler in the history of the world has ever been able to afford a war. They’re not affordable things. No prince ever says, ‘This is my budget, so this is the kind of war I can have.’ You enter into one and it uses up all the money you’ve got, and then it breaks you and bankrupts you.” "That was the key, of course, the key that would unlock profit. People are always the key, and if you can look them in the face you can be pretty sure if they’re honest and up to the job." So, I find that Wolf Hall is a very good character study set in the vital love story of Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn, which has been told again and again. Cromwell emerges for me as a sympathetic and intriguing character and even if there is a certain tediousness to the story, I couldn't toss the book aside and continued reading.

Pretentious and self-absorbed shite.

This is the book I needed right now, an epic historical fiction that makes clear to me why I fell in love with the genre in the first place. The whys and hows that lurk behind the whats of history take center stage, and what was once a jumble of dusty facts and names becomes a vivid human drama. I'm smitten, captivated, swept off my feet by this book. Note: as others have mentioned, the author uses "he" almost exclusively to mean Thomas Cromwell, even if the preceding sentences make it seem otherwise. Here's an imaginary example: 'The king was displeased. He got up and walked over to the window.' In this example the "he" refers to Cromwell, not the king. It takes a handful of pages to get used to it, and then it's just second nature.

Great historical fiction read.

Considering the setting, I expected to like this a lot more than I did. The main sticking point for me was the use of present tense, it just didn't work for me. It did manage to elicit some sympathy for Cromwell and Wolsey though which I think is somewhat remarkable.

You know how you listen to a joke and it completely flies over your head? You have a keen distinction of what it comprises off and you know to some extent that the content is of value but it just doesn’t seem as funny as everyone else is hyping it up to be?
This is was me with the book. Mantel is a distinguished writer and though I can see her talent in writing and giving 2D historical characters soul and depth, I found the book simply…boring.
Nothing gripped me as much as I tried to; sometimes you contend with yourself that a book is not for you.
Do I recommend? Only if you love historical fiction, I wouldn’t recommend it for the average reader or occasional one.

Simply the best book I ever read and surely no better narrator on earth than Ben Miles. Just finished my third time around and it’s only getting better. Struck this time by how extremely funny it is. The Duke of Norfolk is a total masterpiece. I MISS IT ALREADY.

it was excellent, but I must admit I couldn’t help but picture Ray Donovan/Liev Schreiber as Thomas Cromwell the whole time. also I listened to the audiobook, and I think the narration cleared up most of the “he” issues. #fixer

Engrossing, a great charitable reconstruction of a terrible age. Besides the subtle portrayal of the latent Reformation revolution, there's also a far more important upheaval: the rise of brilliant laymen and potent commoners (e.g. More and Cromwell), that is, the beginning of the end of feudalism. Never been very interested in the Tudors. Henry is fickle and narcissistic even compared to other early Modern monarchs, and Anne is a boring climber. He appeared to set off a revolution for no better reason than he was too sexist to accept a female heir. Mantel shows how Henry, Anne and Katherine are a microcosm of their time - Mother Church vs the nationalism-Protestantism complex, and England slowly tearing itself away from former to latter. The first Brexit. It's an imperfect model - Henry still burns un-Catholic books and men, and Luther and Tyndale don't support the shady divorce (against their own interests). A mixture of lust, opportunism, influence from competent rebels (Cromwell, Cranmer)? Most characters are portrayed as pragmatic and modern, prayer aside. They know most relics are bogus, that the "medicine" of the day is hazardous, that the Church's decisions are deeply contingent and political, and they mock the superstitious lord who believes in ghosts. This is probably going too far, but it makes for great fiction. The treatment of More vs Cromwell is the reverse of that in A Man for All Seasons: here Cromwell is a rational, catholic, and empathetic gent, while More is a scary authoritarian fundamentalist, closer to a Daesh jihadi than Rowan Williams. [Cromwell] can’t imagine himself reading [the Bible] to his household; he is not, like Thomas More, some sort of failed priest, a frustrated preacher. He never sees More, a star in another firmament, who acknowledges him with a grim nod - without wanting to ask him, what’s wrong with you? Or what’s wrong with me? Why does everything you know, and everything you have learnt, confirm you in what you have believed before? Whereas in my case, what I grew up with, and what I thought I believed, is chipped away, a little and a little, a fragment then a piece and then a piece more. With every month that passes, the corners are knocked off the certainties of this world: and the next world too. Mantel has a funny way of letting her grammar show that Cromwell is The Man - she'll use "he" to mark him, even when this breaks the normal "pronouns refer to the most recent subject of that gender" convention. This is disorienting, but I appreciate the effect. I was recently baffled by this sentence, from a contemporary American evangelical: "I was baptised Catholic before I became a Christian." The violence of the Reformation and Counter-Reformation is the nastiest evidence of the power and horror of the narcissism of small differences. I liked the book recommendations, the 16th Century equivalents of discussions on here. It is so hard to know, from 500 years away, what's worth reading. Though I suppose the real C16th dross is dead, all out of print, unarchived, unextant. For instance: Castiglione says that everything that can be understood by men can be understood by women, that their apprehension is the same, their faculties, no doubt their loves and hates. This bit was funny: When the last treason act was made, no one could circulate their words in a printed book or bill, because printed books were not thought of. He feels a moment of jealousy towards the dead, to those who served kings in slower times than these; now a days the products of some bought or poisoned brain can be disseminated through Europe in a month. He's talking about a time with ~0.1% annual growth, starting from very little; where new books per year was still in the three digits; where new actual insights per year was probably lower, where it takes an entire month and ~thousands of pounds for one troll to even partially foul a discussion.

Thomas Cromwell, and the world he inhabits - 16th Century England, will always linger with me now. The prose is fantastic, as if Hilary Mantel's pen is filled with not ink, but rosewater. The rise of one man in Henry VIII's court is fantastically written, though some parts seem a little technical to the average reader.(diocese? etc.) Still, a great book that transports one to the rich (and poor) world of 1530s England.

In Thomas Cromwell, Mantel has poured all her creativity, wit, political acumen and that deep, rather complex concoction that makes readers fall in love with characters they read about. Wolf Hall, set in the tumultuous 16th century England, is the story of Cromwell's famous climb up the ladder to the cushions of King Henry VIII's court, where his whispers, sly businesses and addictive personality made him one of the shrewdest ministers in Europe’s history. Mantell's writing, rich with humour and glorious one-liners, makes even the Tudor's matrimonial trauma for an immensely entertaining read..

“Wolf Hall” (2009) de Hillary Mantel, à semelhança de “Guerra e Paz” (1868) de Leo Tolstói, apresenta-se como ficção histórica, no sentido em que oferece primazia à criação de um mundo-história ficcional construído sobre alicerces de factos reais. O cenário escolhido por Mantel é o do reinado de Henry VIII, que ficou conhecido, além do divórcio com Catarina e o casamento à revelia do Papa com Anne Boleyn, por impor a Reforma Protestante em Inglaterra, terminando com a subjugação da coroa britânica a Roma no século XVI. Iniciada na Alemanha por Lutero, a Reforma encontraria em Inglaterra dois rivais: Thomas More contra, Thomas Cromwell a favor. Mantel resolveu criar o mundo de “Wolf Hall” a partir dos olhos da pessoa mais mal-amada pelos ingleses, Thomas Cromwell, a partir do que produziu uma obra de grande relevo estético e interesse histórico. Este livro é apenas o primeiro volume de uma trilogia, mas podemos ver nele, desde já, uma forma de escrita única assim como uma representação bastante audaz da pessoa de Thomas Cromwell. [Ler com imagens, formatação e links no Blog https://virtual-illusion.blogspot.com... ] Thomas More e Thomas Cromwell, ambos pintados por Hans Holbein A Forma Escrita Começando pela escrita, esta é não-linear, seguindo Joyce, Woolf ou Faulkner, mas não é fluxo de consciência, é algo que podemos aproximar mais de Lobo Antunes, no sentido em que o desenvolvimento narrativo se faz por cenas, aparentemente desligadas, que vão ganhando forma apenas à medida que vamos avançando e interligando as várias cenas, como peças de puzzle, permitindo-nos reconstruir, mentalmente, e compreender o que nos está a ser apresentado. Seria suficiente para elevar o patamar de exigência à leitura, mas Mantel introduz ainda variações no verbo da narração e no ponto de vista. Uma narrativa é uma história que aconteceu, é passado, mais ainda quando falamos de há 500 anos atrás, no entanto Mantel narra tudo no tempo presente. Não diz “ele fazia” ou “atravessaram o rio”, mas antes diz “ele faz” ou “estão a atravessar”. A isto junta o facto de na grande maioria das vezes em que se quer referir a Thomas Cromwell, que serve o nosso ponto de vista, se lhe referir apenas como “Ele”, o que com múltiplos personagens em cena baralha qualquer leitor, a não ser que tenha sempre em mente que o “Ele” é, em 95% das vezes, Thomas Cromwell. Diria assim que mais do que a não-linearidade, é a ação sempre no presente e a menção ao protagonista, quase encriptada, como “ele” que tornam a leitura laboriosa. Mas por outro lado, é também essa forma verbal e a constante referência a “ele” que cria uma forma de contar única que confere ao texto um maior poder imersivo. Por um lado, o presente cola-nos ao momento da leitura, e prende a nossa atenção perante algo que está a acontecer ali e agora, enquanto o “ele” cria a sensação de estar sempre presente, ao pé de nós. Claro que para o aumento de imersão, ou de engajamento, contribui a dificuldade da leitura e isso é algo que a própria não-linearidade procura fazer. Os vários estudos que têm sido realizados dão conta de maior memorização e atenção das pessoas ao que é dito quando o texto é mais difícil de ler ou de compreender. A razão prende-se com a necessidade de despender mais energia na descodificação o que acaba por tornar o momento mais envolvente e ao mesmo tempo mais fácil de registar. O Olhar de Thomas Cromwell É inevitável começar por ligar a profissão de Cromwell com a inicial de Mantel, ambos advogados, uma profissão ligada à litigação, ao lidar com as palavras e os múltiplos sentidos dados pelas pessoas, algo que fica bem presente no seguinte excerto: “When you are writing laws you are testing words to find their utmost power. Like spells, they have to make things happen in the real world, and like spells, they only work if people believe in them.” Mas mais importante do que isso é o facto de Thomas Cromwell ter nascido como um pobre e desconhecido e desde essa condição ter chegado, sozinho, ao cargo mais poderoso do país. Um verdadeiro “self-made man”, um hino à meritocracia. Cromwell aprendeu muito, enquanto jovem, percorrendo metade da Europa. Tornou-se advogado, contabilista, poliglota e era dono de uma memória invejável, como se resume a determinada altura: “It is said he knows by heart the entire New Testament in Latin, and so as a servant of the cardinal is apt – ready with a text if abbots flounder. His speech is low and rapid, his manner assured; he is at home in courtroom or waterfront, bishop's palace or inn yard. He can draft a contract, train a falcon, draw a map, stop a street fight, furnish a house and fix a jury. He will quote you a nice point in the old authors, from Plato to Plautus and back again. He knows new poetry, and can say it in Italian. He works all hours, first up and last to bed.” Cromwell foi um polimata, um renascentista, alguém extremamente dotado com múltiplas competências, só assim se explica que tenha conseguido elevar-se numa hierarquia na qual o sangue tudo determinava. Se não tinhas brasão de família, não existias, simplesmente era impossível ser-se considerado para o que quer que fosse. No entanto Cromwell conseguiu tornar-se no homem mais temido de toda a Inglaterra. A sua capacidade para persuadir os outros a fazerem o que pretendia era infindável, e não se fazia de meras palavras, mas de um conjunto de estratégias de comunicação, verbais e não verbais assim como de silêncios, ações e inações. Cromwell era aquele que tudo observava, compreendia, calculava e exprimia. A sua visão do mundo era como a de um jogador de xadrez, sempre em jogo. “One of the things I’m really exploring is the universal question of what’s luck? What’s fate? Does anybody make their own luck? How far can you write your own story? And he’s someone whose whole career ought not to be possible. But at some point in early middle age, he just grabs the pen and starts writing it.” [The Guardian] Este modo de estar é o que explica a forma de escrita adotada por Hillary Mantel. A não-linearidade e o tempo presente, não são meras decorações estéticas, a forma reflete a personalidade de Cromwell, alguém que era quase impossível de descodificar, alguém que estava sempre presente quando era preciso, alguém que nunca era o centro, mas era sempre “ele” que estava lá para o que fosse necessário. A memória e o conhecimento imensamente detalhado de todos e tudo, tornou-o numa peça central, primeiro para o cardeal Wolsey, e depois para o rei Henry VIII, era ele quem lhes valia, sendo muito mais do que um braço direito. Como disse Mantel em entrevista: "I am interested in the fact that in this era, kingship is coming into its full glory, in England and elsewhere; kings are insisting on their godlike status, their divine appointment. But who really has the power? Increasingly, it’s not the man with the sceptre, it’s the man with the money bags.” [Mantel em entrevista à Historical Novel Society] Por outro lado, a personalidade e a ação de Cromwell, tal como trabalhada por Mantel, abre tudo um novo mundo de perspectivas, mostrando uma Inglaterra a caminho do Humanismo, veja-se mais este excerto da entrevista: “When we look at what connects that age with this, I am interested in Cromwell’s radicalism; in the tentative beginnings of the notion that the state might take a hand in creating employment, that the economic casualties of the system deserved practical help; that poverty has human causes and is preventable, rather than being a fate ordained by God. I am disturbed to think that we might be going backward in this regard, back to stigma and fatalism and complacency.” [Mantel em entrevista à Historical Novel Society] A Rivalidade entre More e Cromwell Se não bastasse o trabalho realizado por Mantel sobre Cromwell, o outro ponto historicamente inovador relaciona-se com a apresentação de Thomas More que é quem nos serve o climax deste primeiro volume. More, é relembrado como o contrário de Cromwell, também advogado, mas um grande académico, respeitado por toda a universidade Europeia. Dono de uma dignidade irrevogável, morreu como Sir, tendo sido canonizado em 1935, sendo hoje referenciado como Santo. Para o público em geral, o filme de 1966, "A Man for All Seasons, dá conta da enormidade da sua pessoa. Contudo, o interessante da abordagem de Mantel é quase virar a leitura de ambos os Thomas, ao contrário. Mantel dá conta de atos terríveis cometidos por More, de verdadeira inquisição, com a defesa e aplicação de tortura e fogueiras de hereges para todos os que decidissem abraçar a Reforma protestante. No fundo, a grande questão desta obra está longe de ser o divórcio e a concubina, mas é antes a Igreja, Inglaterra e o humanismo. A humanização da vida pública que deixa para trás os misticismos religiosos. Repare-se como Mantel dá conta das acusações a Cromwell de que ele teria destruído os mosteiros ingleses: "‘If you ask me about the monks, I speak from experience, not prejudice, and though I have no doubt that some foundations are well governed, my experience has been of waste and corruption. May I suggest to Your Majesty that, if you wish to see a parade of the seven deadly sins, you do not organise a masque at court but call without notice at a monastery? I have seen monks who live like great lords, on the offerings of poor people who would rather buy a blessing than buy bread, and that is not Christian conduct. Nor do I take the monasteries to be the repositories of learning some believe they are. Was Grocyn a monk, or Colet, or Linacre, or any of our great scholars? They were university men. The monks take in children and use them as servants, they don't even teach them dog Latin. I don't grudge them some bodily comforts. It cannot always be Lent. What I cannot stomach is hypocrisy, fraud, idleness – their worn-out relics, their threadbare worship, and their lack of invention. When did anything good last come from a monastery? They do not invent, they only repeat, and what they repeat is corrupt. For hundreds of years the monks have held the pen, and what they have written is what we take to be our history, but I do not believe it really is. I believe they have suppressed the history they don't like, and written one that is favourable to Rome.’" A questão que move Cromwell não é teológica, saber se Deus existe ou não, se o Papa está investido de poderes divinos ou não. Cromwell não foi um académico, era advogado e contabilista. Mais, ele era um self-made man, alguém vindo do nada, ciente do que esse nada representava. O que o movia era conseguir obter mais e melhor, mas não apenas para si. Cromwell ajuda imensas pessoas, financeiramente e de muitas outras formas. Cromwell traz para casa crianças que perderam os pais, ou que se encontram abandonadas, mulheres perdidas, dá-lhes um teto, não para as explorar, mas para as fazer florescer, como diz a certa altura: “You learn nothing about men by snubbing them and crushing their pride. You must ask them what it is they can do in this world, that they alone can do.” Cromwell fez isto porque apreendeu o mundo que habitava como ninguém, compreendeu que o mundo era muito mais do que aquilo que a Igreja queria vender, ou que a cor do sangue corrente nas veias de cada era igual para todos. Cromwell elevou-se ao compreender que aquilo que fazia mexer o mundo era algo muito mais direto e efetivo do que o sangue ou a espiritualidade, como faz neste excerto: “‘They are my tenants, it is their duty to fight.’ But my lord, they need supply, they need provision, they need arms, they need walls and forts in good repair. If you cannot ensure these things you are worse than useless. The king will take your title away, and your land, and your castles, and give them to someone who will do the job you cannot.’ ‘He will not. He respects all ancient titles. All ancient rights.’ ‘Then let's say I will. Let's say I will rip your life apart. Me and my banker friends. How can he explain that to him?’ The world is not run from where he thinks. Not from his border fortresses, not even from Whitehall. The world is run from Antwerp, from Florence, from places he has never imagined; from Lisbon, from where the ships with sails of silk drift west and are burned up in the sun. Not from castle walls, but from counting houses, not by the call of the bugle but by the click of the abacus, not by the grate and click of the mechanism of the gun but by the scrape of the pen on the page of the promissory note that pays for the gun and the gunsmith and the powder and shot.” Claro que toda esta visão magnânima de Cromwell faz levantar muitas dúvidas, e alguns estudiosos referem mesmo que comporta falsidade. Numa entrevista ao The Guardian, John Guy, um dos mais reputados historiadores da época dos Tudor, ataca Mantel, aceitando as suas qualidades como escritora mas desprezando a visão histórica por si apresentada. Para John Guy, Mantel deixou-se levar por relatos sem credibilidade, de pessoas que tinham interesses, e não diziam a verdade, mas apenas o que lhes interessava. Por outro lado, se ouvirmos outros académicos, como Diarmaid MacCulloch, vamos perceber o quão certa Mantel pode estar. Na verdade, Mantel não é historiadora, nem se assume enquanto tal, mas se existe algo que este seu livro demonstra é o modo como a monarquia e o Estado funcionavam, a política sem si, o quanto era decidido jogadas assentes na mentira, bluff e corrupção, e o quanto tudo isso faz parecer tudo uma grande ilusão, com o sentido da verdade a esfumanr-se. Sendo a leitura laboriosa, deixo algumas ligações que ajudarão a preparar a mesma: . The World of Wolf Hall, A reading guide to Hilary Mantel’s Wolf Hall and Bring Up the Bodies, 2020 . A Man for All Seasons, 1966 . The Other Boleyn Girl, livro de Philippa Gregory 2001 ou filme 2008 com Natalie Portman e Scarlett Johansson. . Thomas Cromwell, Thomas More e Henry VIII . Reforma protestante . A BBC fez uma série (2015) a partir do livro, pode valer a pena ver no final. Nota: texto usado no original, em inglês, por facilidade de transcrição. Lido na versão portuguesa, da Editora Civilização. Publicado no blog com imagens, formatação e links: https://virtual-illusion.blogspot.com...

The story follows Thomas Cromwell, who was the Secretary of State in Tudor England under the reign of Henry VIII. The novel covers his involvement in helping Henry divorce Katherine of Aragon and marry Anne Boleyn after Cardinal Wolsey (Cromwell's mentor) fails to secure an annulment. This novel is well researched and therefore extremely historically accurate. As far as I know, all the characters were real people at the time and what the author does is fill in the gaps. The book is surprisingly easy to follow as it is written mostly in dialogue although it took me a while to realise when the author used "he" she mainly meant Cromwell himself unless otherwise specified. It does feel a bit sacrilegious that I ranked this novel 4 stars and worse written novels 3 which is only just under and when this is a much better and highly praised and awarded novel. Still, I mainly didn't rate it 5 stars because I wasn't engaged consistently and didn't enjoy it as much as I expected to.

I wrote about this on medium: https://medium.com/springboard-though... “Why are we so attached to the severities of the past? Why are we so proud of having endured our fathers and our mothers, the fireless days and the meatless days, the cold winters and the sharp tongues? It’s not as if we had a choice.” England in the 1520s is a heartbeat from disaster. If the king dies without a male heir, the country could be destroyed by civil war. Henry VIII wants to annul his marriage of twenty years and marry Anne Boleyn. The pope and most of Europe opposes him. Into this impasse steps Thomas Cromwell: a wholly original man, a charmer and a bully, both idealist and opportunist, astute in reading people, and implacable in his ambition. But Henry is volatile: one day tender, one day murderous. Cromwell helps him break the opposition, but what will be the price of his triumph? Wolf Hall is loved by many. Good reasons for that litter the opinions of various critics all over the world. I am not here to disparage them. I can say, ‘I liked Wolf Hall’ to anyone who asked and it would not be a lie. I may not have the same fanatical twinkle in my eyes that they do, though. Let me start by saying I am a complete layman when it comes to all history. I entered Wolf Hall knowing very little about this history, in particular. The Tudors have never even been on my radar. Thomas Cromwell was a name that rang no bells in my mind. This ended up being of service to me in an unusual way…while also exposing some assumptions ingrained in the fiction. I think Wolf Hall is very accessible if you already know about this time period. It feels like someone has sidled up to you while you’ve already been consuming historical fiction set in this time period and they’ve whispered to you that this thing you’ve been reading? It’s fine. You’ve seen the castles and pedigree, and perhaps even heard a rumor or two. But this, my friend, is the tea. Strengths of Wolf Hall, in no particular order: incredible dialogue. Dialogue that will make you reread it. You’ll laugh out loud and your mouth will make an O when an insult is landed just right — often the delivery is timed perfectly with the end of a section or chapter. The quality of writing is great throughout. The drama and characterizations are buttressed by the historical accuracy of the major plot events. The slights and the torrid affairs that are hinted at in history are given more than a nod here. Its foundation is character drama and context around the sometimes phantasmagoric real-life, actual events. You’d think this was made up. But the larger plot points are for real. And that’s wild. “…what’s wrong with you? Or what’s wrong with me? Why does everything you know, and everything you’ve learned, confirm you in what you believed before? Whereas in my case, what I grew up with, and what I thought I believed, is chipped away a little and a little, a fragment then a piece and then a piece more. With every month that passes, the corners are knocked off the certainties of this world: and the next world too. Show me where it says, in the Bible, ‘Purgatory’. Show me where it says relics, monks, nuns. Show me where it says ‘Pope’.” The cast, especially royalty, sometimes resemble untamed feral creatures rather than people. I, a foreigner to history and historical fiction, for the most part, was expecting to get a comprehensive picture of these lives. What was the fashion? What are the trappings of the period? What did a typical house look like? What do these old English castles look like in their prime; how were they decorated? Is this where pottery barn comes from? Or, if not all that, hit me with a sense of the general aesthetic for the time. Wolf Hall is 650 pages long and has no time to give you these kinds of details. It is, to its credit and its hindrance, mostly dialogue. I feel comfortable saying it is not a descriptive piece of literature at all. It may be the least descriptive thing I have ever read. (Or that I kept reading, anyway.) This always caused my mind to wander. I cast about for details about where these people were. What were they wearing? How do they look? Why is it that there is almost no scene-setting throughout? Being pulled out of fiction is not a positive thing for me. Eventually, I was pulled me back in. Auto-pilot time over. My mind naturally adapted to these incessant wandering by conjuring up the look of the thing derived from the actions and dialogue. It ended up being a surrealist brush that lacked in specific detail but was very rich in color and texture. Reading became a fever dream. Cromwell prowled the corridors silently, robes never giving away his many, many intrusions. black forms with the look of vampires — clothed only in black, of course — came to Cromwell at night and whispered secrets stemming from their pressed ears to frail wooden doors, always greedy for the unheard. They tailed targets across grain fields and streams and into church confessionals. He, Cromwell (Ha!), and the king were the only ones with nuanced facial expressions. Curiously though, the king was clearly an asshole, yet scenes with him always had authenticity and golden sort-of weight to them. Flying out from his face and his hands, there was an almost comical amount of light about his person. The servants of royalty darted about with fear and hatred but always with deft, furtive movements as they lowered grapes into mouths and brought wine and water. These servants had flouncy robes, striped with odd colors, usually two-tone. Always stripes, never other shapes. Why? Who knows. The court was a dark fantasy pastiche with abstract colors; abstract, blurred faces that stared endlessly. People on the streets were ragged and bowlegged, denied dyes, and were either in decline currently, from the sweating disease, or else sweaty in general, because they worried they’d get it soon. Merry at breakfast, dead by dinner. Those cast in a minor role were dropping like flies. Reading Wolf Hall was an interesting experience. If you can’t tell by now, I have no idea what this time period looked like. I was not kidding. I think it’s fair to say you are expected to know some things about The Tudors and their time period. I have since looked up this era and boy, let me tell you, the things these people put on and flouted are worth describing. I do not think this assumption of knowing the trappings of the period is a bad one for fiction to have. Even historical fiction. Especially when observing the success of Wolf Hall! But for those showing up wishing to be let into a room with many, exquisitely painted pieces that embody the time period, I do think there will be some disappointment. Look out for vampire whisper network servants. Those things are everywhere. “He turns to the painting. “I fear Mark was right.” “Who is Mark?” “A silly little boy who runs after George Boleyn. I once heard him say I looked like a murderer.” Gregory says, “Did you not know?”

I've never been interested in English history before WWII. Always thought it was boring. Of course I'd heard about Henry VIII and his multiple wives but beyond that superficiality...meh. Then I happened to catch a mini-series named 'Wolf Hall' on PBS. Mind, I'd heard of the book (who hadn't?), but hadn't read it, had no interest really. The mini-series however was very good...and being me I decided I needed to read the book. The television series, as I said, was very good but the book...the book was spectacular. Hilary Mantel's style (present tense) brought an immediacy, an intimacy to the reading experience. Thomas Cromwell has emerged for me as a fully realized, frankly scary character and I was mesmerized, fascinate. I loved every minute of it. On to the sequel, 'Bringing Up the Bodies'! Highly recommended.

A concise summary of this hefty novel according to Kwan Ann: Cromwell was the original small angry person until he Matured™. This was so fun and I am glad that this book came with her recommendation. It is amazing how Mantel blends fact and fiction, takes recorded accounts and spins them effortlessly into a spellbinding tapestry of a story that it is virtually impossible to see the stitches, to know where imagination begins and a written-down, historian's account of things end. (And I am sensing that it is also her point that one never knows what is true fact, and perhaps there is nothing to true facts, when they only skim the surface of things.) Anyone who has read a couple of Tudor history books will know the events, but Mantel's narrative distinguishes itself by the little pique observations, the sparks that evoke life and makes one think this is more than that is a document, dead words on pages, this is also a record of tiny gestures that suggest the highest pleasure and the deepest sorrow that can ever happen to mortal beings. Her characters have life in the little eccentricities (the probable and impossible in fiction that could've been fact by no large stretch of the imagination): the deliberate and unrelenting currents of Cromwell's thought, Anne Boleyn, with a mind coiled like a serpent about to strike, and the rather comical moment of the King 'yelping' in protest at her accusations of having had a child by her sister.

Had a real hard time keeping track of conversations, given the excessive use of pronouns. Got used to it eventually and started enjoying the book, so I'll read the next one.

Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel is a historic novel based around the life of Thomas Cromwell. It shows Cromwell's rise in power in the royal court, the formation of the Anglican Church, and Anne Boleyn's rise to the Queen of England. I'll start with the negative aspects of the book, which there are few of. These things did not bother me, but I'm just putting them out there so people who are considering reading the book will be aware of them. First of all, this book is quite dense and slow paced so if you're looking for a quick read this will definitely not be for you. Also, this book is better suited for people who have some background knowledge of 16th century Europe because it doesn't really give you explanations of every little conflict going on outside of England. For example, there are a lot of references to the Protestant Reformation and Martin Luther and if you don't know what those things are it won't be explained to you and you will probably be very confused. Again, these aren't really 'cons' but things I think future readers should be aware of. Lastly, it can be confusing as Mantel never uses Thomas Cromwell's name in the narrative, only the pronoun 'he'. So if there's a scene involving Cromwell and another man you might be confused. It didn't bother me after the first couple of pages but I've read others saying it hindered their reading experience so I thought I'd mention it. Okay, now I'll mention what I LOVED about this book. :-) First of all, this book is written so beautifully!!!!!!!!!! The writing style was magnificent I can't wait to read more from this author! Secondly, she writes characters so well. They were all so well rounded and, unlike other historical novels I've read, the characters had their strong points AND their flaws not just one or the other. I really appreciated the way she made them seem like real people (I know they are real people but you know what I mean) and I cared about almost every one of them and what happened to them. As I said before, this book is slow paced but it worked so well for me, I was never bored and I was okay with taking longer than usual to finish it because the writing was so enjoyable and I didn't want to put it down. I gave this book 5/5 stars because it's the best historical novel I've ever read and you can tell Hilary Mantel has a great understanding of these historic figures and it shows in the novel. This book reminded me of why I love history so much and made me want to learn even more about Tudor England and I'm so excited to read the sequel. I'd recommend this to anyone who loves English history and doesn't mind long, slow paced novels.

Worth slogging through the mire of unexplained historical references and peculiar, but deliberate stylistic choices to unravel a masterfully constructed plot bedecked in sumptuous, beautiful language. This book wasn't easy to get through; I found myself stopping and starting at intervals, but it hits its stride well into the opening third of the novel and I found myself going through a hundred pages in one sitting. It maybe helps that I read most of this book on a plane, where I find that I'm able to concentrate more, with fewer distractions, and I do think that this is the kind of book that demands your focus and requires you to actively think about what is happening and what is being said, and the many layers underneath the surface. Cromwell is such a fascinating character and the intimate, almost claustrophobic point of view informs us of his motivations, his grappling principles, and the humanity he holds onto despite a mean life of ruthlessness and manipulation. An extremely compelling protagonist, even if you don't agree with his actions. Will probably pick up the sequel.
Highlights

The warm weather has brought sweating sickness to London, and the city is emptying. A few have gone down already and many more are imagining they have it, complaining of headaches and pains in their limbs. The gossip in the shops is all about pills and infusions, and friars in the streets are doing a lucrative trade in holy medals. This plague came to us in the year 1485, with the armies that brought us the first Henry Tudor. Now every few years it fills the graveyards. It kills in a day. Merry at breakfast, they say: dead by noon.

He, Cromwell admires Katherine: he likes to see her moving about the royal palaces, as wide as she is high, stitched into gowns so bristling with gemstones that they look as if they are designed less for beauty than to withstand blows from a sword. Her auburn hair is faded and streaked with grey, tucked back under her gable hood like the modest wings of a city sparrow.

The cardinal bows his head, frowns at a paper on his desk; he is allowing time for the difficult moment to pass, and when he speaks again his tone is measured and easy, like a man telling anecdotes after supper.

He Thomas, also Tomos, Tommaso and Thomaes Cromwell, withdraws his past selves into his present body and edges back to where he was before. His single shadow slides against the wall, a visitor not sure of his welcome. Which of these Thomases saw the blow coming? There are moments when a memory moves right through you. You shy, you duck, you run; or else the past takes your fist and actuates it, without the intervention of will. Suppose you have a knife in your fist? That's how murder happens.

Laughing, the cardinal pushes back his chair, and his shadow rises with him. Firelit, it leaps. His arm darts out, his reach is long, his hand is like the hand of God.
But when God closes his hand, his subject is across the room, back to the wall.
The cardinal gives ground. His shadow wavers. It wavers and comes to rest. He is still. The wall records the movement of his breath. His head inclines. In a halo of light he seems to pause, to examine his handful of nothing. He splays his fingers, his giant firelit hand. He places it flat on his desk. It vanishes, melted into the cloth of damask. He sits down again. His head is bowed; his face, half-dark.

'I will send some people, he says, 'to sort out the kitchens. They will be Italian. It will be violent at first, but then after three weeks it will work.'

Christ, he thinks, by my age I ought to know. You don't get on by being original. You don't get on by being bright. You dont get on by being strong. You get on by being a subtle crook; somehow he thinks that's what Norris is, and he feels an irrational dislike taking root, and he tries to dismiss it, because he prefers his dislikes rational, but after all, these circumstances are extreme, the cardinal in the mud, the humiliating tussle to get him back in the saddle, the talking, talking on the barge, and worse, the talking, talking on his knees, as if Wolsey's unravelling, in a great unweaving of scarlet thread that might lead you back into a scarlet labyrinth, with a dying monster at its heart.

'But what I would do for him! Cross the Channel as lightly as a man might step across a stream of piss in the street.' The cardinal shakes his head. 'Waking and sleeping, on horseback or at my beads ... twenty years...'

The multitude, Cavendish says, 'is always desirous of a change. They never see a great man set up but they must pull him down-for the novelty of the thing.'

He left old Wykys by the fireside - it is surprising how international is the language of old men, swapping tips on salves for aches, commiserating with petty wretchednesses and discussing the whims and demands of their wives. The youngest brother would translate, as usual: straight-faced, even when the terms became anatomical.

His Testament is in octavo, nasty cheap paper: on the title page, where the printer's colophon and address should be, the words 'PRINTED IN UTOPIA'. He hopes Thomas More has seen one of these. He is tempted to show him, just to see his face.