Re-Reading Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel
Here I am, talking about Tudor England again.
I don’t reread books often. The quest for new stories has always been more alluring than retreading the same ground. But, now that I’ve returned to a book a mere five years after first experiencing it, I may have to rethink my “no repeat” tendency. Because man oh man, did I enjoy this.
Any chance I get to explore Tudor England is taken with great alacrity. It’s one of my top favorite periods in history and after my original reading of Wolf Hall, Thomas Cromwell became one of my top dudes.
This is not a simple book. Nor is it a book for those with no knowledge of this time period (you could read it, but you’d be floundering in a few chapters). It is for those who know what’s coming, for whom a caper through court is as understandable and navigable as the countless Thomases, Johns, Henrys, Annes, Marys and Catherines. If you haven’t been there before, how can you hope to survive and thrive?
That is what this story is about: survival and success. We first meet Cromwell when he is a small boy: beaten, battered, and at the mercy of his father. How can a man of low birth—the son of a blacksmith—rise to stand beside the king? What must life have thrown at him that could carve away the excess and leave only a lean, sharp man?
Wars, kitchens, banks, back alleys, cardinals and kings. The details of Cromwell’s true past are sketchy in places, so Mantel wove a new tapestry on which to exhibit his exploits and achievements: a man for all circumstances who does not shrink from what needs doing, a man who remembers everything, accomplishes anything, and has a presence that can’t be killed.
He can draft a contract, train a falcon, draw a map, stop a street fight, furnish a house and fix a jury.
“You are a man whose money is almost spent. I am a man who knows how you have spent it. You are a man who has borrowed all over Europe. I am a man who knows your creditors. One word from me, and your debts will be called in.”
“…lock Cromwell in a deep dungeon in the morning, and when you come back that night he’ll be sitting on a plush cushion eating larks’ tongues, and all the jailers will owe him money.”
“Cromwell,” Butts says, “I couldn’t kill you if I shot you through with canon. The sea would refuse you. A shipwreck would wash you up.”
Some might view this type of person as a villain, a dangerous man who will betray you on his way to the top. Perhaps that is true. But when confronted with Cromwell, and Boring, Predictable Lead No. 34, I’ll go with Cromwell every time. He draws me in, and delving into his mind with every passing chapter is twisting, complicated and just plain delightful. I didn’t fully appreciate him the first time around, but now I better understand not only his position but also the grief, trials, and machinations that color his actions.
But Cromwell isn’t the only one plotting at court. Thomas More makes several appearances. The two aren’t exactly friends—they exchange jabs and jeers—though they part with a tinge of regret over how things have ended. It’s interesting to see More in this adversarial light. I read A Man for All Seasons, in which More is the protagonist and moral center, and I liked him in it. Here, especially due to the audiobook narrator’s truly disdainful choice of voice, I really don’t like him. But that’s what this book does: it creates a version of history where it’s you and Cromwell against all his detractors.
Another prominent figure is Anne Boleyn. I’ve always liked her and I think history has been unfair to her. In here she’s still part conniving woman, but also a casualty of the bigger picture. Whether she went after Henry on her own or was pushed by her family, we’ll probably never know. But seeing this woman in action, even briefly, even when it’s fiction, is impressive. If she’d had a son, I imagine things would’ve gone quite differently for England.
And then there’s the wild card of Henry. “You could watch Henry every day for a decade and not see the same thing.” Was he a good king? (I mean, I’m American, so what makes a good king, exactly?) Was he capricious, vain, bold, and entirely consumed with what he wanted, without much regard for whether the road to achieving it was just and fair? That’s certainly how it looks.
Did he have an undeniable charm and love for living? So it would seem. For now, he is pleased with Cromwell and the small interactions the two have are just one more piece of intrigue in this giant, shifting maze.
Many other characters cross Cromwell’s path and I’ll admit I don’t have a firm grasp on all of them. The repetition of the six names doesn’t help. But Stephen Gardiner and the Duke of Norfolk stand out as foils to Cromwell. Christophe, the Frenchman Cromwell picks up as a servant, is also memorable. There are many other characters I could discuss (what of Wolsey?), but we’ll be here all day if I do.
The humor in this trilogy, both in the dialogue and description, is one of the highlights. It’s not overt, and it blends, often subtly, into the background. The people aren’t trying to be funny; they just are.
“Now, Thomas.” He looks up. “Do you have any Spanish?”
“A little. Military, you know. Rough.”
“You took service in the Spanish armies, I thought.”
“French.”
“Ah. Indeed. And no fraternizing?”
“Not past a point. I can insult people in Castilian.”
“I shall bear that in mind,” the cardinal says. “Your time may come.”
Mary is running toward him, her skirts lifted[…]
She stops abruptly. “Ah, it’s you!”
He wouldn’t have thought Mary knew him. She puts one hand against the paneling, catching her breath, and the other against his shoulder, as if he were just part of the wall. […] “My uncle Norfolk. He was roaring against you. I said to my sister, who is this terrible man, and she said—”
“He’s the one who looks like a wall?”
Says the duke, “Cromwell, why are you here? Listening to the talk of gentlemen?”
“My lord, when you shout, the beggars on the street can hear you. In Calais.”
“You see this councillor of mine? I warn you, never play any game with him. For he will not respect your ancestry. He has no coat of arms and no name, but he believes he is bred to win.”
One of the French lords says, “To lose gracefully is an art that every gentleman cultivates.”
“I hope to cultivate it too,” [Cromwell] says. “If you see an example I might follow, please point it out.”
“My lady wants a Bible!”
“Master Cromwell can recite the whole New Testament,” Wyatt says helpfully.
The girl looks agonized. “I think she wants it to swear on.”
“In that case I’m no use to her.”
“May I suggest to Your Majesty that, if you wish to see a parade of the seven deadly sins, you do not organize a masque at court but call without notice at a monastery?”
She looks him up and down. “I suppose you are Cromwell?” If a man spoke to you in that tone, you’d invite him to step outside and ask someone to hold your coat.
The child Elizabeth is wrapped tightly in layers, her fists hidden: just as well, she looks as if she would strike you. Ginger bristles poke from beneath her cap, and her eyes are vigilant; he has never seen an infant in the crib look so ready to take offense. Lady Bryan says, “Do you think she looks like the king?”
He hesitates, trying to be fair to both parties. “As much as a little maid ought.”
“Wake up,” he says, but in a whisper; when Christophe does not respond, he lays hands on him and rolls him up and down, as if he were the lid for a pie, till the boy wakes up, expostulating in gutter French.
Officially, [Cromwell] and the ambassador are barely on speaking terms. Unofficially, Chapuys sends him a vat of good olive oil. He retaliates with capons. The ambassador himself arrives, followed by a retainer carrying a parmesan cheese.
(I believe parmesan cheese was hot stuff back then.)
The writing fits so perfectly into that time; as I went through, checking all the passages I underlined, I found myself once more in the halls and streets of 16th century England. It feels effortless.
However…it can be hard to follow who’s talking when, and what is dialogue, and when is the “he” Cromwell, or someone else. Listening to the audiobook is a tremendous help because the narrator (Simon Slater) does a great job with the voices and it’s obvious when the words not in quotation marks are actually dialogue. If you’re going to read it, I recommend listening to it.
And then there are the events that take place. I know more about Tudor England than the average person, and can tag along with the big events and fill in gaps. Because there are gaps in this book. I think readers are kinda expected to know what’s coming next and why it’s important/interesting to see Cromwell’s interactions with Jane Seymour. There’s a list of characters and a family tree, but I bet most uninitiated readers will feel like they’ve been put out in the cold and told that out there, somewhere, is a coat they can wear. It’s a lot to take in and many potential readers will decline to continue.
And that’s fine. This is one book I would never randomly recommend to someone. You should be familiar with the players and the time, and be willing to use more brain power than your average historical fiction story requires.
For me, this is a nice break from regular books and a reminder that the familiar is sometimes where the best tales lie.
And some more quotes, ‘cause why not?
…Gregory and Rafe are jostling and pushing, insulting each other with culinary insults he has taught them: Sir, you are a fat Fleming, and spread butter on your bread. Sir, you are a Roman pauper, may your offspring eat snails.
[Cromwell] has filed away all the depositions from the Blackfriars hearings, which seem to have happened in another era.
“Angels defend us,” Gardiner says, “is there anything you don’t file?”
“If we keep on to the bottom of this chest I’ll find your father’s love letters to your mother.”
“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.”
“I picked up a snake once. In Italy.”
“Why did you do that?”
“For a bet.”
“Was it poisonous?”
“We didn’t know. That was the point of the bet.”
“Did it bite you?”
“Of course.”
“Why of course?”
“It wouldn’t be much of a story, would it? If I’d put it down unharmed, and away it slid?”
I’d like to thank for hosting the 2024 Slow Read of the Cromwell Trilogy.
Here are my reviews for book two and three.
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Wow. What a fantastic review! Makes me sorry I don't know more about Tudorness, but I sure enjoyed your take. Clearly you have an uncommon grasp of the era. I wonder if there's anyone alive today who will be worth remembering 500 years hence.