The Blind Assassin is a bloated monster of a book.
To put it plainly: it was slow, dull and padded out. In my estimation this is a 400 page story wrapThe Blind Assassin is a bloated monster of a book.
To put it plainly: it was slow, dull and padded out. In my estimation this is a 400 page story wrapped-up in a 650 page package. There is so much material here that adds absolutely nothing to the story, themes or characters. It is full of pointless inane details that were excruciating to read through. It is loaded with unnecessary day to day things that did nothing but drag the book out. So much needed chopping away to make the novel more precise and readable.
Despite this though, there is still a good book here buried beneath the excessive prose.
"Last night I watched the weather channel, as is my habit. Elsewhere in the world there are floods: roiling brown water, bloated cows floating by, survivors huddled on rooftops. Thousands have drowned. Global warming is held accountable: people must stop burning things up, it is said. Gasoline, oil, whole forests. But they won’t stop. Greed and hunger lash them on, as usual."
There’s something powerful and exacting about a retrospective narrator, one who looks back and analyses all the mistakes that have been made over the course of a lifetime. Whilst this isn’t a book focused on climate change, it is a book about regret and coming to terms with the greed of human behaviour and this idea is captured perfectly with this passage. As Iris watches the devastating effects of war and greed, she realises that the people in her own life embody some of the worst traits known to man.
Unusually, this is a book where we have the ending right from the start. We know how its all going to finish and slowly, ever so slowly, Atwood begins to reveal how everything happened. This kept the novel moving forward, but at a snail pace. There are quite a few surprises along the way and a big reversal during the final few pages, which, for me, completely saved the book.
What else did I like?
The novel is undeniably very clever. There are stories within stories within stories and it’s the reason Atwood won the man book prize in 2000. It’s creative and intelligent. There is no other novel, to my knowledge, that is put together quite like this. It is told through retrospective narration, newspaper clippings and a novel Laura Chase (the narrator’s sister) has written. There’s a book within the book! It’s a great idea but if experience has taught me anything, the judges of the booker prize always place literary originality over literary quality. And that can be a great thing, but not always. This story had no momentum and it dragged and dragged and dragged and dragged.
I was so close to giving up on a couple of occasions, but I was determined to finish this because I know how great Atwood can be. And there were glimpses of her skill here, in a watered-down form. Don’t get me wrong, I think The Blind Assassin is a good book but the sad thing is, it truly could have been a great book had it been shorter and more to the point. I felt bored when I was reading, the same way you might feel bored when an octogenarian tells you a forty-five minute story that could have been wrapped up in ten. And that's the problem: this is simply too big for the amount of story it actually contained.
I liked the critique on capitalism. I liked how the villain of the novel (yes there is one and no names mentioned) was the walking embodiment of it, along with destructive consumerism and expansion. I liked how subtle the manipulation tactics used by various characters were, to the point where the narrator has no clue she was being played by multiple people at the time. When she got older, she learnt her mistakes, and that’s important. Most of all I liked the ending. I liked what was kept hidden until the final few pages.
“The best way of keeping a secret is to pretend there isn't one.”
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It is becoming increasingly hard to create original literature these days. The fundamental problem with modern art is that everything has been done beIt is becoming increasingly hard to create original literature these days. The fundamental problem with modern art is that everything has been done before. Writers, painters and musicians have to concoct something extraordinarily different to be new.
And George Saunders has done exactly that. There has never been a book quite like this before and that’s why it won the Man Booker Prize 2017. The judges for the last few years have been weighing literary originality over literary quality in my opinion.
In 1917 artist Marcel Duchamp placed an upside down urinal in a gallery and labelled it art. He called it the Fountain. Such a thing was a gesture of irony and a way of arguing against the established ideas of what art can be. It’s a monumental event in art history and it also echoes what writers such as Joyce, Woolf and T.S Eliot were trying in the literary world with their experimentation. My point is: do you consider a urinal a piece of art?
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Whilst Lincoln in the Bardo is not quite a urinal, it firmly establishes that newness does not always mean greatness.
Just because something is new it does not necessarily mean it is entertaining to read or accessible for the reading public. I suppose this is the difference between high-brow and low-brow books. Critically speaking, Saunders has written something rather special here, though is it actually enjoyable?
I liked parts of it. I like the way he played with language and structure. It was very good at evoking pain, though it was simply too long. I don’t consider Lincoln in the Bardo a bad book, though I do consider it terribly boring and repetitive. For me, I felt like I read the entire book after one hundred pages. I gained very little by continuing through to the end. No real momentum was gained and it seemed to loop in on itself with its disjointedness. I felt like I’d experienced it all very early on and the rest was just wasted words and time.
Not a book I recommend. I think it tried to hard to be different....more
On the surface Life of Pi is a funny little book, heart-warming and audacious, but dig a little deeper and you’ll see how complex the story actually iOn the surface Life of Pi is a funny little book, heart-warming and audacious, but dig a little deeper and you’ll see how complex the story actually is.
The magically real elements make the story doubt itself; they call into question the probability of these events actually happening because they are so ridiculously unrealistic. As Pi says to those that disbelieve him:
"I know what you want. You want a story that won't surprise you. That will confirm what you already know. That won't make you see higher or further or differently. You want a flat story. An immobile story. You want dry, yeastless factuality.”
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Such an assertion questions the truth of fiction. The details aren’t important. Change but a few of them and the journey Pi goes on remains the same. It does not matter if he was trapped on the boat with a bunch of zoo animals or people that reflected the animals in his life, the story remains the same: the truth is not changed. Belief is stretched to absolute breaking point and sometimes it needs to be with a story like this.
And such a thing harkens to the religious ideas Pi holds. He practices several religions believing they all serve the same purpose. This never wavers despite the violent and desperate times he eventually faces. And I really did appreciate this idea; it demonstrates unity in a world divided over matters of faith when it should not be. Again, are the details really that important? To a religious zealot such a thing boarders on blasphemy, though the harmony of such an idea speaks for itself in this book.
“If you stumble about believability, what are you living for? Love is hard to believe, ask any lover. Life is hard to believe, ask any scientist. God is hard to believe, ask any believer. What is your problem with hard to believe?”
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Although I disagree with many of the sentiments in this book, sentiments that may belong to Pi as our narrator and perhaps even to the author himself, I appreciated the degree of time taken to clarify them. The stance on religion was an interesting one with disbelief being compared to a lack of movement in one’s life (not something that I see as truth.)
Zoos are also described as places of wonderment for animals rich in safety and easy living, which can be true in some cases, though the horrors of bad commercial zoos and the cruelty and exploitation that go with them are completely ignored. For me, this is not a point that can be overlooked in such fiction or in life. To do so is somewhat naïve no matter the good intentions of Pi.
I did not love Life of Pi, I never could, though it is a book that made me think about the purposes of fiction and the power of stories, true or untrue....more
Midnight’s Children is an absolute masterful piece of writing.
It is entertaining, intelligent, informative, progressive and even funny: it is an aMidnight’s Children is an absolute masterful piece of writing.
It is entertaining, intelligent, informative, progressive and even funny: it is an astoundingly well balanced epic that captures the birth of a new independent nation. I hold it in such high regard.
The children are all fractured and divided; they are born into a new country that is yet to define itself in the wake of colonialism: it has no universal language, religion or culture. The children reflect this; they are spread out and unconnected to each other. As such Rushdie raises a critical question: does India even exist? These children are born on the night of India’s independence, but what exactly are they born into? The mass of land they occupy is yet to establish what it now is: it is something new, a place with an internal battle raging between modernisation and tradition. It’s not the India it was the day before, and it’s certainly not the India it was before the colonisers came.
“What's real and what's true aren't necessarily the same.”
Saleem, our narrator and protagonist, reflects this. He is a hybrid, born into two worlds. He has powers, powers that allow him to connect telepathically with the other children born into the new nation. They all have their own gifts and they all represent an infectious optimism, a powerful hope that things will start to get better. Their progress in the story, their successes and failures, reflect the development of the new India. As Saleem begins to fall apart, as he begins to lose himself, the optimism begins to shatter and things go terribly wrong: war approaches, death approaches.
Rushdie plays around with reality, warping it and twisting it to the point where its very nature becomes an allegory for the failings of society. The India he has created is both removed and part of the real world. He has used human terms, and human emotions, to personify a country. Through this he demonstrates how it can waver and falter and how it can fail and become a victim to its own passions. It’s an exceedingly clever device. Saleem is egotistical and unreliable, but his life is a physical manifestation of post-independent India. On a character level he actually thinks he is altering events, though he only ever mirrors it.
“Memory's truth, because memory has its own special kind. It selects, eliminates, alters, exaggerates, minimizes, glorifies, and vilifies also; but in the end it creates its own reality, its heterogeneous but usually coherent version of events; and no sane human being ever trusts someone else's version more than his own.”
All great literature should be subjective. All great literature should have a multitude of ramifications. If we go away with one single clean cut meaning or interpretation then the author has failed to some degree. Literature needs to make us think; it needs to make us question the world and our place within it. And Rushdie certainly does that. You may disagree with my reading. I think Midnight’s Children can be seen in a number of different ways, and I’d love to hear what other people thought it all meant.
There’s just so much going on in this book, I could literally write several essays on it. Rushdie draws heavily on Márquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude by recreating the long drawn out family saga told in the magical realist mode to represent reality in a more truthful way than standard story telling would allow; however, Rushdie transcends it in so many ways. I will be reading The Satanic Verses very soon I think, and I will definitely be writing on Rushdie for my university work.
This is clearly one of the most important novels written in the last fifty years. ...more
The Sellout is a fun novel full of humour and many moments of bitter irony. The tone is angry, full of frustration and seething with sarcasm, but it iThe Sellout is a fun novel full of humour and many moments of bitter irony. The tone is angry, full of frustration and seething with sarcasm, but it is also repetitive to a fault.
After around thirty pages I felt like I’d read everything this novel had to offer. It was abundantly clear that the remainder would be pretty much the same thing, an author satirising the realities of Black American life through using several clever and creative narrative devices. After a while it began to grow so very tiresome to the point of utter annoyingness. It lacked direction and a sense of purpose beyond what was established very early on. At times it even felt like a series of loosely connected rants and personal grievances in the form of chapters. It was a very taxing read.
The writing did begin with undeniable power and authority; it was compelling and convincing though as the narrative progressed it did not pick up any momentum but lingered on similar ideas and stayed very stationary. I found myself yawning at the forced comic moments as this narrator circulated around the same themes yet again. By the end of the book it was a relief to finish; it was a relief not to hear the voice of the narrator ever again. For me, the style in which it was told offset much of what the book did successfully do.
The Sellout won The Man Booker Prize in 2016 and despite my despondency with the book I can see why. It is a very timely piece, addressing many of the problem blacks face in a country that has supposedly moved on from its original sin of slavery. Segregation has ended, racism is officially at an all-time low, but the issues remain. Society does not change overnight, or, as it may seem, over many decades. More time is needed. Scratch but the surface, as Paul Beaty has done here, and you will see how not so far in the past some of these ideas are. It is still very much recent history.
This is undoubtedly highly intelligent writing, but the style, receptiveness and general lacklustre the narrator portrayed was not to my liking. The first hundred pages or so ought to have been followed by a story of growth of some sort or, at the very least, an explanation or perhaps a suggestion why there wasn’t one from a narrator who at times appeared to be moving in a new direction but never seemed to fully commit beyond the first few steps he took. Perhaps I lacked the patience for this one. Perhaps my Englishness meant that some of the subtle nuances within the writing were wasted on me from a cultural standpoint. Whatever the reason, I can see why this book won but I don’t necessarily like it personally. This is pretty much sums up my response to the winner of the 2015 Man Booker as well. The Sellout, like A Brief History of Seven Killings, is a creative piece rich in originality, but not one I can engage with....more
I’ve been reading this book for an entire year, and it’s not been easy. At times I wanted to pull my hair out and scream, at times I wanted to throw tI’ve been reading this book for an entire year, and it’s not been easy. At times I wanted to pull my hair out and scream, at times I wanted to throw the thing at the wall and be done with it, but I persisted. I made myself get to the end, and whilst I can say that I didn’t entirely enjoy the experience, I do appreciate James’ narrative style.
His deft manipulation of language is clearly the success of his storytelling. The way he writes reflects his characters. This may sound like a simple idea, though in reality it is one of the hardest to pull off. The narrative reflects the feel of the characters on a macro and micro scale. He writes in a different style for each one, and it’s superb: he brings their essence alive, who they are and what they sound like. It’s a great technique, one that must be extraordinarily hard to master. This is, no doubt, the reason he won the man booker prize in 2015.
That being said though, I found the entire thing very difficult to actually read:
“anything you want to know about Kingston’s green versus orange war, everything you ever need to know about the rudeboy-cum-gunman is not in Bob Marley’s lyrics or in Peter Tosh’s but in Marty Robbins’s “Big Iron.” He’s”
You what?
Some passages were terribly strong in their dialects. More so than this. I love individualistic artistic expression; it’s what makes literature so grand. I think it’s wonderful that this has been written like this, but, still, that doesn’t make the process easier for me, personally, to read. Perhaps I’m the wrong reader. Perhaps my own experience deemed that certain parts of the narrative were almost incomprehensible to me. Either way this was a struggle even if the experience was interesting. This isn’t a novel that comes easily recommended. ...more
This book wasn’t a casual read for me. This is deeply personal to my own beliefs. I’m a vegan. This book sung a song that I heard in my marrow; it madThis book wasn’t a casual read for me. This is deeply personal to my own beliefs. I’m a vegan. This book sung a song that I heard in my marrow; it made me realise so much.
As a vegan I’ve experienced some of the things that I witnessed here. I can relate to it. I’ve lived it. I’ve been called a heretic. I’ve lost friends over it, and experienced much social awkwardness just for my lifestyle choice. I’m not pushy with my beliefs. Sometimes all it takes is a mention of the word “vegetarian” to be received with utter hostility or blankness. This review isn’t about the ethics involved with the diet. That’s not important to this story. What’s important is how people can react to someone different to themselves. The vegetarian in here acts as a metaphor for individual life choices.
“I was convinced that there was more going on here than a simple case of vegetarianism.”
For “the vegetarian,” being different to the world leads to social isolation and feelings of utter despair. Her husband is utterly useless in every regard. He is the sort of man who simply doesn’t deserve a wife. This no equal partnership, but the wife living to serve the man’s needs. It’s all about finding the right people, the accepting people in society. And this comes far too late and in far too a meek form to have any lasting effect on her: it came when she was already lost. The self-destructive behaviour isn’t testimony to a vegetarian diet. I speak from experience, these can be very healthy. It’s an act of rebellion against a society that refused to be warm to someone who didn’t conform.
“the sight of her lying there utterly without resistance, yet armored by the power of her own renunciation, was so intense as to bring tears to his eyes.”
But, this is only the premise of the novel. It’s also about sexual desire, the unwavering power of lust and sheer emotional enthralment. However, it’s not about the body as an object of sexual desire; it’s not about the attractiveness, or the unattractiveness, of the female or male form; that’s just meat: it’s about the power of the individual: it’s about the power of an idealistic free spirit. And this is what drew me to the book. The lust in here is freedom. It is the ability to make one’s own life choice and live in harmony with the rest of the world. Labels don’t matter. Restrictions don’t matter. What matters is the freedom to be who you are and what you are. Whether or not this is a vegetarian, homosexual, transgender, a Buddhist Monk or a Christian isn’t overly important. What matters is choice. The vegetarian in here serves as a metaphor, a rallying cry, for a more accepting world. It’s a brutal reminder of the narrowmindedness that infects this planet towards those that fall through the cracks of society.
Some readers may see the exploration of mental illness, though what I see is mental illness born of sheer social isolation and spiritual depravation. If a person belongs nowhere, and those that are supposed to be closest to her ignore her, then only maladaptive thinking can occur. Only detrimental cognitive functioning will be born. What “the Vegetarian” needed in here was someone to understand her individuality and to respect it. Instead the coldness she receives sends her own a downward spiral of delusional fantasy, very poetic fantasy.
This is a book like no other.
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So Ishiguro has won the noble prize for literature 2017. This quote from the yeasterday's guardian article says it all to me:
The British author Kazuo So Ishiguro has won the noble prize for literature 2017. This quote from the yeasterday's guardian article says it all to me:
The British author Kazuo Ishiguro said he was both honoured and “taken completely by surprise” after he was named this year’s winner of the 2017 Nobel prize in literature, even initially wondering if the announcement was a case of “fake news”.
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“Part of me feels like an imposter and part of me feels bad that I’ve got this before other living writers,” said Ishiguro. “Haruki Murakami, Salman Rushdie, Margaret Atwood, Cormac McCarthy, all of them immediately came into my head and I just thought wow, this is a bit of a cheek for me to have been given this before them.
Ishiguro is good, and this book is very good. It totally deserved the man booker prize, but did Ishiguro really deserve the noble prize for literature? Food for thought.
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This was phenomenal. Ishiguro has such a developed way of exploring consciousness, the power of repression, self-serving denial and the destructive consequences of regret.
The narrator of this is a stiffly rigid and rather dry old butler. He has given everything over to his profession; he has left little room for his own personality to develop. The character(s) he emulates are a mere representation of his employer’s needs; he behaves in a way that he thinks they wish him to: he creates a persona to suit each one. So, there is very little left of the individual left on the surface. He is simply is professional butler modelled round his current employers own characteristics. What he so desperately needed was an awakening: he so desperately needed to come out of himself and remember exactly who he is under the false layers of pomp and sophisticated etiquette. But, that would be impossible in its entirety.
It takes Stevenson a long time even remember who he is. He goes on a journey of remembrances, and through this he eventually sees the parallels between his own fate and that of his father’s; he realises that he, too, is getting too old for his job. But, he must delve even deeper into the past to fully remember himself. He must see deeper into the regretful decisions he has made, though he can never fully acknowledge such regret because to do so would be to destroy himself, rendering an entire life meaningless, worthless and wasted. He has spent his entire professional life behind a mask. He has no real friends, and his relationship with his farther is strained, to say the least. There are a few moments when the veil slips; however, they are not really visible to other characters. I think at times, this has gone so far that, Stevenson actually forgets who he is. The mask takes over and controls his behaviour; there is little room for sentiment or friendship: it pushes people away with its austere act of singular professionalism.
“Do you realize, Mr Stevens, how much it would have meant to me if you had though to share your feeling last year? You knew how upset I was when the girls were dismissed. Do you realize how much it would have helped me? Why, Mr Stevens, why, why, why do you always have to pretend?”
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Unfortunately for Stevens he continues to wear this mask. It’s led to all of these bad feelings, and a life of servitude. Indeed, he becomes like his farther. He is stuck in this perpetual state. His brief holiday sends all his memories crashing back; he sees the different paths he could have taken had he been more open to his own desires. There are degrees of regret within his story, but he cannot full let go; he cannot fully admit that he wishes he had lived his own life. He has gone too far to simply change his ways. If he changed now, his life would have been a waste. He must continue on this road, one that will not allow him to enjoy the remains of his days.
This is a sad novel; it depicts a character that is so unbelievably stubborn that he prevents himself from receiving any regeneration or redemption. He cannot change, and this is his doom. He is frustrating and stoic. He is a nonchalant man who simply refuses to acknowledge his own feelings. As a character he is superbly written, but on an individual level I found him somewhat pitiable. This is part of the wonder of the story, though. Stevens is his role; he will never transgress it. I just felt so sorry for him because he really has had a wasted life; yes, he has had a successful career; yes, he has met some prestigious political figures and foreign dignitaries; yes, he believes he is accomplished and successful, but, at the route of things, he is undeniably woeful and lonely. These are simply the excuses he tells himself. He has missed out on friendship and love: he has only experienced solitude and isolation.
In this, Ishiguro delivers an awe inspiringly powerful statement in regards to the dangers of a life of pretending. This was moving, compelling and excellent. This won’t be the last Ishiguro novel I read. I’m literally amazed at how good this book was.
Mantel is such an excellent writer; her prose is eloquent and artistic, beautiful even.. Few writers have such skill. She uses every grammatical tool Mantel is such an excellent writer; her prose is eloquent and artistic, beautiful even.. Few writers have such skill. She uses every grammatical tool at her disposal to give her novel a strong individual sense of stylistic flair. And that’s just the surface level of her sentences; she also uses metaphor and constant allusions to take it to another level entirely.
For example, my favourite passage in the book:
“He looks around at his guests. All are prepared. A Latin grace; English would be his choice, but he will suit his company. Who cross themselves ostentatiously, in papist style. Who look at him, expectant. He shouts for the waiters. The doors burst open. Sweating men heave the platters to the table. It seems the meat is fresh, in fact not slaughtered yet. It is just a minor breach of etiquette. The company must sit and salivate. The Boleyns are laid at his hand to be carved.”
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This is so much stronger that its predecessor Wolf Hall. There is a stronger narrative drive and Cromwell has more momentum and enthusiasm for achieving his ambitions. He is also getting used to his power and his influence, testing them to see how far they can reach. A risky game, but we all know what came of it in the end. He is a very intelligent man, able to root out evidence for the king when there is none to be found. The Boleyn family, though politically smart, were vastly out matched by the cunning of Cromwell. When the king wanted them out, Cromwell didn’t have to work too hard to achieve it.
Mantel has improved on her style so much here. Wolf Hall was exceptionally good, but it did have many flaws. It was a hard book to read. My main problem with it was trying to discern who the “he” in question within the writing. For example Cromwell was referred to “he” whist talking to another “he” about a pair of “he’s” they were feared were scheming against them. Uncomfortable stuff, though she seems to have listened to the criticism her first book received and the result is a much stronger piece of writing.
So what’s it all about?
Boredom. Boredom and anger. Henry VIII’s new wife Ann Boleyn has failed to give him a son, such a terrible thing. The entire situation is ridiculously ironic considering the one child she did give him, the future Elizabeth I, would become a much better monarch than he could ever be. The fat fool didn’t need a son! But his silly little masculine ego demanded one. Sure you could talk about the politics involved in having a male offspring, but, again, just look at what Elizabeth did by herself. She had no direct heir. When she died she gave the throne to the King of Scotland. Enough said.
Cromwell has a large task on his hands, but he was more than capable of carving up the Boleyns. The only real complication was he had to do it within the limitations of the law. The king can’t be above his own mandates, and he has to be able to justify his brutal actions even if the entire world new he was full of rubbish and would bend the system to his own ends and act all innocent about it. Then blame his councillors’ years later for his own decisions. Cromwell, naturally, goes to work. But his day of reckoning draws very near.
I can’t wait to read the final book in this series. It’s obvious how it will all end: the chopping block. It will be interesting to see how Mantel handles the fall of Cromwell. I also wonder if she will win the man booker prize again. I think she’s great, but I don’t think she deserves it again. The prize is for innovating, high quality writing. But her writing is no longer innovative. It’s a regurgitation of what she has already done (not a bad thing) but I don’t think she should win the prize multiple times for doing the same things. Still, I'm excited for the third book.
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Hilary Mantel sure knows how to write; her prose is eloquent and sophisticated. Stylistically speaking, she is very distinctive. Very few writers wielHilary Mantel sure knows how to write; her prose is eloquent and sophisticated. Stylistically speaking, she is very distinctive. Very few writers wield grammar the way she does; she uses every means of punctuation at her disposal to achieve real effectual writing. At some points her writing is simply beautiful, but there are also some real difficulties associated with it.
This is a hard novel to read. It chronicles the life of Thomas Cromwell, and the narrative is focalised through him. However, at times it did become incredibly confusing. Mantel uses the third person, and repeatedly uses the pronoun “he.” But, who is the “he” in question? During one long piece of dialogue it became difficult to realise who was speaking. Both the Duke of Norfolk and Thomas were having a pretty in depth discussion about politics and so forth, both were referred to as “he” frequently. This may sound unusual, but if you‘ve read this book you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about.
This meant that in order to understand this novel, and perhaps even enjoy it, it demands your full attention. This is no light reading. The narrative is rich in depth and complexity. I had a few problems with some passages, so I read them again and got the gist of things. But, I really do think this would put many readers off. This requires an attentive and patient person. Also, a solid grasp on the history is vital. Mantel does not hand you the facts; she tells you Cromwell’s life story, but the rest is up to you. If you can get over these obstacles, as I did, then what develops is a fantastic portrayal of Tudor England, and Thomas Cromwell’s life. Trust me; this book’s worth sticking with.
Cold, cold Cromwell
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So, if you’ve made it this far into my review, you’ll want to hear about the positives. Cromwell is an incredibly interesting historical figure, and Mantel’s portrayal of him is superb. She has evoked the essence of a self-made man who gained the ear of the King, through nothing but his own personal merits, which eventually lead to his sovereign’s complete trust. However, Cromwell is also very emotionless. He’s driven with ambition, to fulfil all that he can with his intellect, but he shuts out the rest of his life in the process. He loses a lot of family, but he gets over it very, very quickly. What he experiences would have broken most people.
By portraying such a thing, Mantel demonstrates Cromwell’s resolve. This gives him the heartlessness to succeed in the backstabbing world of Tudor politics; it gives him the nonchalance to betray and to use people as he climbs the social ladder. But, what goes around comes around, if you know anything about history, you’ll know what fate the wheel has for Cromwell. Cromwell’s relationship with Wolsey is an apt foreshadowing. I’m digressing here, my point is that Cromwell isn’t a very nice man; he isn’t heroic or likable, only resourceful and cold. He had to be to survive and become more than he once was; he had to be to gain the ear of the King, and to point him in the direction of Wolf Hall.
"The trouble with England, he thinks, is that it's so poor in gesture. We shall have to develop a hand signal for ‘Back off, our prince is fucking this man's daughter.’ He is surprised that the Italians have not done it. Though perhaps they have, and he just never caught on."
>Final thoughts- This is a great read, but it does require a great deal of focus. I love Mantel’s style of writing, and having already read the second book, I know the problems are worked out of it a bit. But, for this book, my enjoyment was hindered by having to re-read certain passages where the writing was at its extremist. The wonder of this work resides in its historical detail, its characterisation and its creative way of making the mundane details of life seem marvellous.
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Sean Barrs
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