Though history flatters the kings and warlords, emperors and conquerers, by remembering their names and standing in awe of their deeds, it has forgotten those men who ensured that these luminaries rose to their positions of prominence. History has forgotten the creatures who carried out their wills, brought about their plans and softened their rages. It has forgotten the servants who made sure that the pettiness of tyrants did not destroy the world they knew. For imagine, for a moment, the mind of a king, raised from birth to rule. Would he truly be fair and wise? Or would all his learning merely fall upon a mind already flush with entitlement and power, self-importance and majesty? Where is there any chance to experience that special kind of humility that brings out the best of us? There is none. And so wisdom and moderation must come from elsewhere. And this is a truth winningly captured by Hilary Mantel in this worthy second chapter in the life of a king's minder.
Few who knew Thomas Cromwell as a youth would have ever imagined that he would someday be the second most powerful man in the infamous reign of Henry VIII. Having spent his youth being knocked about by his father, only to fetch up in Italy with only a sharp mind to keep him above water, he would, with good fortune and keen ambition, rise in status and power until, with the death of Cardinal Wolsey, that staunch catholic who was executed on the orders of his king for failing to expeditiously arrange the monarch's divorce from Katherine of Aragon, become the private secretary to the king of England. From this most powerful desk, Cromwell was viewed as the voice of the king, acting with the full measure of his authority, constrained only by the knowledge that,t o overstep himself and displease his monarch, would bring an end as swift as his rise.
Having masterminded the creation of the Anglican church and the taking of the monasteries, Cromwell has cemented himself in the king's inner circle. But as the final years of the king's marriage to Anne Boleyn unfold, his position becomes tenuous. For as the king's inability to beget a male heir upon Anne Boleyn eats away at him, the fortunes of everyone around him are put in flux. Henry must have an heir, for himself and for the realm. And if Anne Boleyn, for all her legendary powers of beguilement, cannot deliver that to him, then someone else must. As fortunes at court shift and churn, Cromwell plays the great game with but three goals in mind, to preserve the reputation of the king, the health of the realm and the fortunes of his son Gregory, the only relation to whom he can bequeath all that he has made. Will his star be dragged down by Anne Boleyn as she has promised him, or will he survive this latest twist in the life of a king?
A worthy, if less luminous, successor to Wolf Hall, Bring Up The Bodies is excellent historical fiction. Ms. Mantel, one of the genre's most decorated figures, rejects the cheap romanticism espoused by many in the field, attempting, instead, to construct a realistic version of the events of Anne Boleyn's fall, as they might have transpired, while infusing the characters in her drama with intelligence, menace and selfishness. For it is this last quality that is so often missing in such chronicles, a substantial oversight given that most humans, then and now, are masters in its practice. Consequently, her players transcend their era to be universally recognizable as people who, though they've been stamped by their time, nonetheless harbor the same flaws of character that we do. This realism does wonders for the relatability of her work.
More than the boldness of portraying Henry as something of a child, and the sharpness of her characterization of Anne Boleyn as a cunning if limited queen, Ms. Mantel's star is unquestionably Cromwell. He has evolved splendidly across this duology, but not in the manner of most characters. For his was not a descent from innocence into cynicism and servitude. Instead, Cromwell becomes what most men must when placed in a precarious position of power and compelled, from that perch, to do the hard things. He surrenders as much of himself as he can to both the king and necessity, while maintaining, for himself, the very core of his being around which he can put up armor against the harshness of his duties. In this way, he does what he must do while preserving some measure of decency for himself, some love for Gregory and his dead wife and children, and some honor for England which he unswervingly serves. It is an exquisite portrait o a man looking necessity in the eye and making with a bargain whose sacrifice is an emotionally fulfilling life but whose gain is the capacity to do what must be done.
Bring Up The Bodies lacks the punch of Wolf Hall, but none of its the tone or class. Anyone who enjoyed the Man-booker-winning predecessor to this novel will certainly enjoy it as well, all while lamenting the end of a rewarding journey between author and character. (4/5 Stars)
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