Wolf Hall – Book Review
Hilary Mantel, Wolf Hall (London: Fourth Estate, 2009)
The term ‘historical novel’ covers a broad range of writing. If it is not actually an oxymoron, it nevertheless contains a certain amount of tension between fidelity to the historical context on the one hand, and the demands of pure fiction on the other. This tension leaves open the possibility for varying degrees of truthfulness in both historiographical and fictional narratives (as previously discussed in this blog).
Mantel resolves this potential problem by opting for character, dialogue, and atmosphere, rather than plot. Character, because her story is told entirely from the perspective of Thomas Cromwell; dialogue, in a variety of registers from the familiar to the formal (and occasionally in smatterings of French, German, Spanish, Latin, and Italian – as befits the context); and from atmospheric intrigues at court to light-hearted situations at home. The tone of these scenes varies from the cynical to the comical, and from the heart-warming to the gut-wrenching.
Given the nature of her subject, Henry VIII and his ‘great matter’, the plot is involved and always changing. Yet due to its relative familiarity and recent treatment on the stage, screen, and page (not least in the HBO television series ‘The Tudors’), it holds few surprises. The more familiar the reader is with the English Reformation, the more characters, quotations, and allusions he or she will recognise. Mantel’s hints and Cromwell’s premonitions grow clearer and more blatant as the tale progresses. The book ends, deftly but predictibly, with a chapter entitled ‘To Wolf Hall’.
So it is character that carries this novel, and Mantel has chosen an interesting and unusual one. Her account of Cromwell is analysed very capably in Colin Burrow’s article, ‘How to Twist a Knife’ (London Review of Books, Vol. 31 No. 8 (30 April 2009), pp. 3-5). Burrow suggests that Wolf Hall is ‘less a historical novel than an alternative history novel. It constructs a story about the inner life of Cromwell which runs in parallel to scenes and pictures that we thought we knew’.
And so it does. Cromwell comes across as a well-rounded character with desires, ambitions, memories, and a conscience. He is capable of political ruthlessness, but also of compassion. Mantel offers imaginative insights into the inner workings of the mind of a powerful man, whether of the sixteenth or of the twenty-first century. The only criticism I would raise is that Cromwell’s cynicism – especially about religious questions – occasionally seems closer to the twenty-first than to the sixteenth century. The greatest pitfall in both history and historical fiction is anachronism.
Filed under Books, English, History, Narrative | Comment (0)Treasured – A Secret Journey: Theatre Review
As a finished piece of work, ‘Treasured – A Secret Journey’ (performed at MAC, Birmingham 9-27 June 2010) is dramaturgically convincing. Having previously seen ‘Treasured’ (The Other Way Works, 2006), from which the current performance has been developed, I particularly appreciated the introduction of a narrative thread to accompany the jewellery which nevertheless remains the real star of this show.
In its new form, the show has come to be structured around the promise of a story. The audience member happens upon an isolated yurt on a stormy evening and is welcomed in. Tea is made, and one is invited to choose a story.
Already at this point the theme of choice comes as a shock. To choose one story is to reject another (although there is nothing to stop you from going around again, if you enjoy the first one). But to choose is also to embrace a limitation and to celebrate a thing in its particularity.
Whichever piece of jewellery and corresponding story one chooses, one still gets to see the other pieces. And this is both frustrating and exciting, because it heightens one expectations for the piece one has chosen. Next, the audience member is led through an enactment of their chosen story. Each of these has been specially written for the show, and while each has its own ‘feel’, there are commonalities.
Depending on the story one has chosen – and without wanting to give too much away – the audience member experiences another choice, but this time it is not their own. Standing in the place of a girl or a young man, whichever is the main protagonist in the chosen story, the audience member witnesses a moment of decision and its consequences. The decisions enacted all seem to have a moral, although in one case this is darkly ambiguous. The effect is to see desire and temptation ‘in slow motion’, as it were, and from the outside. This is both troubling and cathartic. It helps that one is encouraged to linger and reread ones story again at the end of the performance.
Alongside the narrative core of the show are powerful nonverbal elements. At one point one is mesmerised by a flower opening, or by the sound of distant thunder. One runs in pursuit, or is chased, hunted down. This is exhilarating. Lighting, set, and soundscape work together to create a magical atmosphere, while the cast use touch, voice, tone, and movement gently and persuasively. The effect of the whole experience is to make one feel immensely privileged – treasured.
Filed under Arts, Birmingham, Narrative, Theatre | Comment (0)How Myths are Made – Book Review
Aurelio Ramos Cabellero, ‘The Spanish Civil War in Contemporary Spanish Fiction: Soldados de Salamina, Los Girasoles Ciegos, and La Mula’ (unpublished MPhil thesis, University of Birmingham, 2009) – Book Review
‘Each author creates meaning in a unique way’. So concludes the author of this thesis, drawing together two themes (the creation of meaning and the unique/particular/individual) that run throughout his analysis of three recent works of fiction relating to the Spanish Civil War.
On the subject of meaning and its creation, this thesis shows a great deal of sensitivity to the processes, and in particular the literary techniques, by which history and other stories are constructed.
With relation to ‘the individual and the particular’ (as the author phrases it in one plance), these three works are shown to focus their attention on the effects of the war in one location, or one moment in time. This is the case, for example, with the single incident investigated by the narrator/protagonist of Soldiers of Salamis, Javier Cercas. This character shares his name with the author of the novel, without necessarily being the same person – as is rightly pointed out in this thesis.
The upshot of this is that the reader’s understanding of the Civil War becomes nuanced. Things that may once have seemed certain no longer are. The Republicans are no longer totally good. The Right is no longer totally wrong. There are good and bad people on both sides, their humanity redeemed and gently mocked at the same time. Meanwhile the horrors of war in general are exposed. The authors of these three texts are sceptical of totalising narratives.
Paradoxically, these authors create new myths even as they deconstruct others. Tentatively and self-consciously, the author of Soldados de Salamina gives us a new hero figure. Yet his very reluctance to do so is itself an effective narrative technique. There is no way out of this trap.
In the works discussed, as in Ramos Caballero’s analysis of them (in which he quotes Ricoeur to good effect – see blog entry for 26 January 2010), the boundaries between history and fiction begin to blur. We are firmly in the realm of critiques of narrative such as Mark Day also offers.
Filed under Books, Europe, Narrative | Comment (0)