Brian McKenzie
My fascination with the Tudor dynasty began in my early university days and for reasons I cannot fully explaing it has never really let me go. From Henry VII's victory over Richard III at Bosworth Field to the death of Elizabeth I, England was ruled by a strange and volatile family that dragged it kicking and screaming out of its violent, feudal backwardness and made it into an early modern imperialist nation state. I recall reading eagerly the course text (I cannot for the life of me remember the author but I can very vividly picture the book's cover; accursed aging!) and took copious notes during lectures. I got A's on my essays, and flatter myself that I impressed the professor with my depth of reading.
And it was in this reading that I first encountered Thomas Cromwell. History generally hasn't been kind to him, and in both history and literature he has been portrayed as the villain (more correctly, the villain) of the Tudor period due to his work on Henry VIII's behalf in disposing of Catherine of Aragon, securing the marriage to (and subsequent beheading of) Anne Boleyn, the dissolution of the monasteries, and, of course, the Protestant Reformation in England. As a high school English teacher I reinforced this perception of him through teaching the play A Man for All Seasons by Robert Bolt, which adds a few additional layers to his reputation: not only was he bad to Henry's assorted wives, but he was also a vindictive, jealous, petty bully who manipulated Henry into executing Sir Thomas More, one of the leading intellectuals of Europe and a man renowned for his faith. Bolt's play, and the subsequent 1966 movie adaptation starring Leo McKern as Cromwell, is probably the reason most people think of Cromwell so negatively, and its influence is clearly felt throughout the novel.
Mantel clearly set out to take advantage of the huge resurgence in interest in Tudor history that began in the 1990s with novels (Antonia Fraser, Phillippa Gregory), histories (Alison Weir, Peter Ackroyd, Tracy Borman) and even TV series (most notably The Tudors). But, she must have wondered, what's my angle? What would be a fresh, interesting perspective on this wildly erratic period of history? And her answer, of course, was to centre Cromwell and retell the story through his eyes. Is he really the bad guy history has made him out to be? What were his motivations? His desires? His objectives?
Mantel seeks to answer these questions and more as she provides Cromwell with an origin story that evokes pity and admiration. In her telling, Cromwell was the son of a violent, abusive blacksmith from the slums of Putney who left home at 15 and sold himself as a soldier to the French. Tough, smart, and highly adept at learning languages, he reinvented himself multiple times as an accountant, lawyer, merchant, businessman and banker all before he entered into the service of Thomas Wolsey, Archbishop of York. Under Wolsey he blossomed further to become first advisor, then privy councillor, then personal secretary to Henry VIII on the strength of a) his uncompromising willingness to speak truth to power and b) his effectiveness in disposing of Henry's problems. A nobleman getting out of line? Send Cromwell to have a little talk. Debts mounting and revenues faltering? Cromwell will balance the books again. Marriage inconvenient? Get Cromwell to draft some new laws. Hassles with the Pope? Cromwell will sever relations.
Cromwell here is a kind and loving husband and father who reads bedtime stories with his youngest daughter and crafts homemade angel wings for her to wear in the family's Christmas pageant. He graciously takes in the sons of prominent houses to train them in the law, business, accounting, mercantile trading, and (more subtly) espionage. He's glib and witty, bordering on insolent with his superiors (Norfolk: ‘I spoke to the king for you and he is also content. You will take his instructions in the Commons. And mine.' Cromwell: ‘Will they be the same, my lord?'). He adores Wolsey and demonstrates unwavering loyalty, telling an aggrieved Henry who's badmouthing him “I have never had anything from the cardinal other than kindness.” So he's courageous too, standing in the wind that Henry blows, and refusing to cower before him.
But recasting Cromwell as the (for want of a better term) tragic hero of the piece means seeing everyone else through his eyes. Henry VIII, long portrayed as blustering, bellicose and belligerent, is presented here as insecure, impulsive, immature and highly malleable, haunted by the ghost of his brother Arthur, who, had he lived, would have been king after Henry VII, keenly aware that he was never intended to rule. He's as horny as a teenager (and, apparently, about as effective), fragile, and clever with a prodigious capacity for compartmentalizing his life. Sir Thomas More is angry, bitter, vicious and cruel, almost gleefully torturing and burning Protestant heretics. He's also self-righteous, condescending, resentful and dismissive toward Cromwell who does his level best to protect More from himself and prevent his execution. Catherine of Aragon is whiny, sickly and vacillating, sometimes The Queen, sometimes the victim, sometimes the desperate petitioner for the King's mercy. Anne Boleyn (to whom he is deeply attracted along with her sister Mary) is manipulative and sly, sexually dominant (and, despite her claims of virginity, probably highly experienced), and ruthless. Wolsey is generous in spirit, slavishly devoted to Henry, and though corrupted by his wealth and years in office, immensely likeable. He teaches Cromwell statecraft, how to work the king, how to get around the nobles who swarm on Henry for favour like flies after honey and, most importantly, how to be true to himself.
What is most engaging about this novel is not the palace intrigues or political machinations: no, it's the way Mantel carefully structures each scene in such a way to make Cromwell emerge the winner. He seems to do everything exactly right, say everything exactly right, know everything exactly right, and, as a result, come up with exactly the right outcomes. Things we shrink from, like the execution of More, seem to emerge logically and naturally, certainly not the fault of Cromwell who did everything he could to save him. If More died, it was due to his own stubbornness and sinful desire to be a martyr. What else could a good and reasonable man like Cromwelll have done? If Catherine was set aside and Henry made supreme head of the church in England, was it not due to the intransigence of the Pope and the Spanish crown who held the gun to his head? Clearly they didn't understand the pressures, the threat of a return of civil war. What choice did they leave Henry? And those monasteries? Dens of iniquity (‘May I suggest to Your Majesty that, if you wish to see a parade of the seven deadly sins, you do not organise a masque at court but call without notice at a monastery?'). Break them up, confiscate their wealth for the good of the realm. The monks will actually be grateful.
It doesn't matter that (or if) this is revisionist history. It doesn't matter that this Cromwell is probably not any closer to the real one than Bolt's eye-rolling, moustachio twirler. What matters is that Mantel has a firm grasp on history, a good ear for dialogue, and a sharp sense of how to recast the ambiguous in certitude with a little clever characterization. Cromwell is her Macbeth, and we are, with this first part of the trilogy, witnessing his rise and catching mere glimpses of the flaws that will eventually (spoiler alert) result in his fall from grace and death. It's a hell of a ride, and worth every moment.
My fascination with the Tudor dynasty began in my early university days and for reasons I cannot fully explaing it has never really let me go. From Henry VII's victory over Richard III at Bosworth Field to the death of Elizabeth I, England was ruled by a strange and volatile family that dragged it kicking and screaming out of its violent, feudal backwardness and made it into an early modern imperialist nation state. I recall reading eagerly the course text (I cannot for the life of me remember the author but I can very vividly picture the book's cover; accursed aging!) and took copious notes during lectures. I got A's on my essays, and flatter myself that I impressed the professor with my depth of reading.
And it was in this reading that I first encountered Thomas Cromwell. History generally hasn't been kind to him, and in both history and literature he has been portrayed as the villain (more correctly, the villain) of the Tudor period due to his work on Henry VIII's behalf in disposing of Catherine of Aragon, securing the marriage to (and subsequent beheading of) Anne Boleyn, the dissolution of the monasteries, and, of course, the Protestant Reformation in England. As a high school English teacher I reinforced this perception of him through teaching the play A Man for All Seasons by Robert Bolt, which adds a few additional layers to his reputation: not only was he bad to Henry's assorted wives, but he was also a vindictive, jealous, petty bully who manipulated Henry into executing Sir Thomas More, one of the leading intellectuals of Europe and a man renowned for his faith. Bolt's play, and the subsequent 1966 movie adaptation starring Leo McKern as Cromwell, is probably the reason most people think of Cromwell so negatively, and its influence is clearly felt throughout the novel.
Mantel clearly set out to take advantage of the huge resurgence in interest in Tudor history that began in the 1990s with novels (Antonia Fraser, Phillippa Gregory), histories (Alison Weir, Peter Ackroyd, Tracy Borman) and even TV series (most notably The Tudors). But, she must have wondered, what's my angle? What would be a fresh, interesting perspective on this wildly erratic period of history? And her answer, of course, was to centre Cromwell and retell the story through his eyes. Is he really the bad guy history has made him out to be? What were his motivations? His desires? His objectives?
Mantel seeks to answer these questions and more as she provides Cromwell with an origin story that evokes pity and admiration. In her telling, Cromwell was the son of a violent, abusive blacksmith from the slums of Putney who left home at 15 and sold himself as a soldier to the French. Tough, smart, and highly adept at learning languages, he reinvented himself multiple times as an accountant, lawyer, merchant, businessman and banker all before he entered into the service of Thomas Wolsey, Archbishop of York. Under Wolsey he blossomed further to become first advisor, then privy councillor, then personal secretary to Henry VIII on the strength of a) his uncompromising willingness to speak truth to power and b) his effectiveness in disposing of Henry's problems. A nobleman getting out of line? Send Cromwell to have a little talk. Debts mounting and revenues faltering? Cromwell will balance the books again. Marriage inconvenient? Get Cromwell to draft some new laws. Hassles with the Pope? Cromwell will sever relations.
Cromwell here is a kind and loving husband and father who reads bedtime stories with his youngest daughter and crafts homemade angel wings for her to wear in the family's Christmas pageant. He graciously takes in the sons of prominent houses to train them in the law, business, accounting, mercantile trading, and (more subtly) espionage. He's glib and witty, bordering on insolent with his superiors (Norfolk: ‘I spoke to the king for you and he is also content. You will take his instructions in the Commons. And mine.' Cromwell: ‘Will they be the same, my lord?'). He adores Wolsey and demonstrates unwavering loyalty, telling an aggrieved Henry who's badmouthing him “I have never had anything from the cardinal other than kindness.” So he's courageous too, standing in the wind that Henry blows, and refusing to cower before him.
But recasting Cromwell as the (for want of a better term) tragic hero of the piece means seeing everyone else through his eyes. Henry VIII, long portrayed as blustering, bellicose and belligerent, is presented here as insecure, impulsive, immature and highly malleable, haunted by the ghost of his brother Arthur, who, had he lived, would have been king after Henry VII, keenly aware that he was never intended to rule. He's as horny as a teenager (and, apparently, about as effective), fragile, and clever with a prodigious capacity for compartmentalizing his life. Sir Thomas More is angry, bitter, vicious and cruel, almost gleefully torturing and burning Protestant heretics. He's also self-righteous, condescending, resentful and dismissive toward Cromwell who does his level best to protect More from himself and prevent his execution. Catherine of Aragon is whiny, sickly and vacillating, sometimes The Queen, sometimes the victim, sometimes the desperate petitioner for the King's mercy. Anne Boleyn (to whom he is deeply attracted along with her sister Mary) is manipulative and sly, sexually dominant (and, despite her claims of virginity, probably highly experienced), and ruthless. Wolsey is generous in spirit, slavishly devoted to Henry, and though corrupted by his wealth and years in office, immensely likeable. He teaches Cromwell statecraft, how to work the king, how to get around the nobles who swarm on Henry for favour like flies after honey and, most importantly, how to be true to himself.
What is most engaging about this novel is not the palace intrigues or political machinations: no, it's the way Mantel carefully structures each scene in such a way to make Cromwell emerge the winner. He seems to do everything exactly right, say everything exactly right, know everything exactly right, and, as a result, come up with exactly the right outcomes. Things we shrink from, like the execution of More, seem to emerge logically and naturally, certainly not the fault of Cromwell who did everything he could to save him. If More died, it was due to his own stubbornness and sinful desire to be a martyr. What else could a good and reasonable man like Cromwelll have done? If Catherine was set aside and Henry made supreme head of the church in England, was it not due to the intransigence of the Pope and the Spanish crown who held the gun to his head? Clearly they didn't understand the pressures, the threat of a return of civil war. What choice did they leave Henry? And those monasteries? Dens of iniquity (‘May I suggest to Your Majesty that, if you wish to see a parade of the seven deadly sins, you do not organise a masque at court but call without notice at a monastery?'). Break them up, confiscate their wealth for the good of the realm. The monks will actually be grateful.
It doesn't matter that (or if) this is revisionist history. It doesn't matter that this Cromwell is probably not any closer to the real one than Bolt's eye-rolling, moustachio twirler. What matters is that Mantel has a firm grasp on history, a good ear for dialogue, and a sharp sense of how to recast the ambiguous in certitude with a little clever characterization. Cromwell is her Macbeth, and we are, with this first part of the trilogy, witnessing his rise and catching mere glimpses of the flaws that will eventually (spoiler alert) result in his fall from grace and death. It's a hell of a ride, and worth every moment.