Review Commentary: The Mirror and the Light by Hilary Mantel

All good things must end. Again.

Behold! My blinding artistic talent.

This review was originally published back in August of 2020. It was one of my favorite books of that year and I haven’t read this review since then. So now that I just finished re-reading this book, let’s see what younger me had to say. New thoughts are in bold.

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Mild SPOILERS for 480 year old history…always important to let your readers know these things, even if the spoilers are ancient history.

If Tudor England weren’t already one of my favorite times in history, this trilogy would’ve made it so. I’m not sure that’s true. It’s because I’d already found Tudor books that were easier to read that I even dove into this trilogy. It heightened the love I had, but I doubt it would’ve started a strong foundation. No matter how heinous the acts of those men, it’s always a source of enjoyment for me. I’m not weird. Honest. And this trilogy is top cream…dog…stuff. Whatever. Let’s talk about it. Such a way with words…I say, as if I don’t still write like that.

During his final four years Cromwell encounters death, treason, betrayal, miscalculations, schemes, and good ol’ court politics. I knew where it was all headed, so for about half the book I was upset with the impending finale. That finale dumped another ton of bricks on me. If I hadn’t known the outcome already, I’d have been shocked. Once you hit a certain point and see the remaining pages, AND know it’s the last book, it’s not that shocking, but I take my point. I know it’s dumb to be angry over the treatment of a guy who’s been dead for almost five hundred years, that’s not dumb, it’s empathetic, but over the course of this trilogy I’ve grown to care deeply for Cromwell. That shows just how good a writer Mantel is. Reading this trilogy really does feel like I’m looking back through time and watching the real events unfold. It’s unsettling in the best way possible.

What can I say about Cromwell? He’s not a pure villain; he’s a man in a nigh impossible situation surrounded by backstabbers, opportunists, and capricious courtiers and kings. He’s brimming with intelligence, acumen, competence, and loyalty to those who deserve it. He was rewarded for his work in spite of his lowly background. He is flawed—as everyone is—but never did it appear as if he grasped greedily for power just for the sake of having power. Yes, he was the second most powerful man in England, but he knew that without Henry’s protection he’d have nothing. I’m not saying everything he did was above board, but he’s no worse than his contemporaries. I mean, that’s a pretty good assessment. He’s one of those guys I wish I could talk to, or just listen to. I like characters who have that spark of slightly nefarious wisdom—someone who’d make you smarter just by being near him and who’d be a terrific friend, and yet a terror when unleashed on those who cut across you.

Since there were about five names to choose from back then, it does get a bit confusing keeping all the people and their titles apart, but I mostly managed it. I couldn’t describe a perfect image of everyone, and yet they all feel alive. The sign of an insanely talented writer is the ability to capture the past and present it as if it were firsthand knowledge. Yep. Again, it feels and sounds natural to follow these characters and I could keep them apart even better this time.

I really appreciate that the women aren’t modern. None of them are trying to be on the Privy Council or lead armies, negotiations, or the Church. Instead, they manipulate from the shadows and desperately hope to have male babies. This limited but important lifestyle was made starker by the book Lionhearts which I was simultaneously reading. That book is set almost four hundred years earlier and yet all the women are modern feminists and it’s so annoying. Going between these books showed me the chasm between research and writing chops versus little research and cheaper chops. Oh boy. That Lionhearts book made me so freakin’ angry. It gives dirt a bad reputation. I don’t have the review on Substack, but maybe I should bring it back; it’s a pretty good rant. *Update* I brought it back.

As a Tudor fan, I like being in on the fates of minor characters like Katherine Howard, Katherine Latimer and Culpeper. The Author’s Note also provides that history, but it’s funner if you already know. Speaking of the Note, there’s some fascinating, and sad, information about the key players’ fates.

I do wonder what would’ve happened had Cromwell lived another fifteen, twenty years. Apparently he wanted the Bible translated into English and nearly succeeded. I imagine that having an English Bible sixty-some years sooner would’ve altered history. He also brought in lots of money, which was gone less than a decade after his death. Plus there were wars, deaths, and Bloody Mary’s excessive executions. Who knows what he would’ve accomplished or prevented if given more time. Seeing how things could’ve turned out differently is a random superpower I’d like to have. And the more I think about it, the more I wish I could see that alternate version of history where we had the Bible much sooner. The King Henry Bible. What a thought.

I love the subtle humor. Whether it’s the passive-aggressive attitude toward poets, Cromwell’s delivery of a one-liner, or some description, I cracked more than one smile. Humor, where it’s least expected but effortlessly included, is one of the great charms of storytelling. This trilogy adds bits of wit to perfection.

A line of Wyatt’s comes to him: For I am weak, and clean without defence. In Wyatt’s verse there is a tussle in every line. In the verse of Lord Thomas, there is no contest at all, just a smooth surrender to idiocy.

The rebels have no cannon, but London’s walls are ornamental these days, you could knock them down with a dirty look.

The duke stamps his feet, pushes back his chair, hauls his napkin loose from his person. Gardiner has opulent linen and it looks as if he is fighting his way out of a tent.

Young men, and Riche is young enough, do not understand that to this very day, nothing in this kingdom counts so much as how your forefathers behaved on the field at Bosworth. [This has become an inside joke in my family. We’re all like, “That’s all well and good, but how did your ancestors behave at Bosworth?”]

I also love the casual observations that occur during the bigger conversations. While eating dinner, Cromwell wonders why God created pike. As he talks politics with his men, they’re commenting on the people outside the window trying to catch a cat. These things show that there is life outside this plot and they increase the humanity and believability of everything. The dialogue isn’t there solely to relay information vital to the plot’s progress or character growth; it’s there to paint people in every light. There’s a part in book one when Cromwell tells this boy dressed as a citrus to give his greetings to his father. It’s an everyday interaction, has no bearing on the plot, and is just really nice to witness.

I have to mention that “he, Cromwell” is one of my favorite quirks of this trilogy. I think it started in the second book because a criticism of the first book is that it’s hard to tell who’s talking when. I think it’s a great way to delineate Cromwell’s dialogue. And the nickname “Crumb” is adorable.

As much as I love the book, the writing style is sometimes a touch too lyrical and longwinded for my taste and there are many decorative paragraphs that I don’t think add anything: All souls must make the passage, Dante tells us. They flock on the riverbank to wait their turn: the mild, the defenceless, crossing in the weak light. Such whimsy padded the page count beyond necessity and, for me, prevented a truly killer ending. Yes…? I think some paragraphs are not exactly necessary, but I did appreciate it more and I took the time to re-read certain passages to really let them settle in my mind. Certain types of books lend themselves to the lyrical style and this one teeters on the edge. Also I don’t like the foreign phrases throughout that are given no translation. This is annoying in any book, but again, I didn’t notice it this time.

As for the title, it is talked about in the book:

“What should I [Cromwell] want with the Emperor, were he emperor of all the world? Your Majesty is the only prince. The mirror and the light of other kings.”

If Henry is the mirror, he [Cromwell] is the pale actor who sheds no lustre of his own, but spins in a reflected light. If the light moves he is gone. [That’s one of my favorite quotes from the whole trilogy.]

Niccolò Machiavelli is mentioned a few times and I hope it’s a precursor to a set of books focusing on him. I was crushed when I learned of Mantel’s death and that we’ll never get more of her work.

This trilogy is not for those hoping for an easy introduction into the Tudor time. This is obviously true for any book, but I feel like this trilogy would make my theoretical list of “this really isn’t for everyone.” However, it is a rewarding experience if you do read it. But if you have a passing knowledge of events, I would recommend getting the audiobook for at least the first one. The book includes character lists and family trees so it might be handy to have it available, though the narrator does a very good job with all the voices.

This was one of my most anticipated books and it did not disappoint. Wish I could say the same for other stories being put out today. Because this time period and he, Cromwell, means so much to me, I will certainly return to this trilogy in the future. And I did! I would like to extend my thanks again to

Simon Haisell

for his excellent work in hosting the read-along for this trilogy! And he’s hosting the read-along again this year, so if you’d like, you can join it.

I have to say though, this wasn’t a bad review. Sometimes when I go back to my older stuff I shake my head, fix a couple typos, and think of a dozen other ways I should’ve gotten my point across. But by the time I got to this book, I had sorta found solid footing, so it’s nice to see that I can start looking back on things and not roll my eyes.

I imagine that sometime down the line, I will once more tread the floors of Austin Friars and reminisce with Crumb on his time in Italy, but for now, this is my departure from Tudor England.

‘Within a year the king will be fighting the Scots, or the French, or likely both, and he will bankrupt us. None of you can manage matters as I can. And the king will quarrel with you all, and you with each other. A year from now, if you sacrifice me, you will have neither honest coin nor honest minister.’

‘Treason is only a crime in those who owe loyalty.’

There is a limit to how much awe a man can feign.

‘A child’s loss is grievous, sir; it is as if we drag their corpses with us, all our days. But it is best to lay down your sorrow in some safe and consecrated place, and then walk on, looking to better times.’

Treason can be construed from any scrap of paper, if the will is there. A syllable will do it. The power is in the hands of the reader, not the writer.

But the law is not an instrument to find out truth. It is there to create a fiction that will help us move past atrocious acts and face our future. It seems there is no mercy in this world, but a kind of haphazard justice: men pay for crimes, but not necessarily their own.

Now the pages of the book of his life are turning faster and faster.

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Here are my reviews for book one and two of this trilogy.

This is the second review commentary I’ve done. The other was for Wuthering Heights.

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