All Things Literary

I just finished Wolf Hall the other day and I had to ask myself why I had kept reading. There were over ninety characters. It was often hard to figure out who was doing the talking and who was doing the thinking. Small drama after small drama leaped out of nowhere. But the narrative was absolutely riveting, a smashing tour de force. Figuring out who was doing the talking and thinking became mysteries whose revelations commanded the reader’s attention. Ditto for the countless small dramas. Part of the draw had to be the wonderful descriptions of characters’ attitudes and feelings. Part of the draw also had to be the many wonderful insights couched in language that can only be described as pure poetry. Consider this example, for instance, from near the end: “He knows different now. It’s the living that turn and chase the dead. The long bones and skulls are tumbled from their shrouds, and words like stones thrust into their rattling mouths: we edit their writings, we rewrite their lives.” Drop the book and take whatever page opens and you will find similarly superb passages.

But still, over ninety characters! How could Mantel get away with that? Essential to allowing all of this to work was the drama of the forgone conclusion, whose power is so well suited to and illustrated by historical fiction – particularly historical fiction about the most prominent events. You don’t have to be a historian to know the basics about Henry VIII and his marital escapades. You don’t have to be an expert to recognize the names of the multitude of characters who course throughout the narrative. Every step of the way you’re wondering and learning how what you’re reading fits into the known history. The film equivalent of this would be something along the lines of The Longest Day . If you don’t believe me, you will learn how much Hilary Mantel pays homage to the drama of the forgone conclusion when you read the last line and understand the extent to which the title is only half metaphor.