Yea! For once I actually agree with the Booker jury selection. This is an extraordinary book.
We all carry in our heads a certain view of Tudor EnglandYea! For once I actually agree with the Booker jury selection. This is an extraordinary book.
We all carry in our heads a certain view of Tudor England, and of the events that happened in the time span of this book (1528-1536). Before reading "Wolf Hall", my mental picture of this particularly tumultuous period was, I suspect, largely an amalgamation of different films and television miniseries, together with whatever I had retained from high school history (I had, perhaps fortunately, never been exposed to the vulgar charms of "The Tudors"). In particular, there was the lingering legacy of "A Man For All Seasons", and the inherent Irish antipathy to the name Cromwell. There was a tendency to think of this, one of the most important decades in English history, in cartoon terms: Thomas More as the universally loved hero-martyr, Thomas Cromwell his vile, conniving nemesis, Henry VIII an appetite-driven caricature.
Hilary Mantel's account of the period in question is brilliant, subtle, and so utterly convincing that one is forced to jettison that cartoon version of events. Her decision to present the story from Cromwell's point of view is an inspired choice. The changes that rocked England in the 1530s were seismic, and were fundamental in shaping the country's subsequent history. Mantel reminds us that, though the will of the king may have been a key driver of change, its actual implementation was hugely complicated, defying any reductionist identification of good guys and bad guys. Her rehabilitation of Cromwell as someone of great intelligence, drive, subtlety, pragmatism, and enormous political skill is entirely convincing. Only someone with this combination of talents could have managed to accomplish as much as he did. Thomas More fares less well in Mantel's account; the halo awarded by Bolt in "A Man For All Seasons" doesn't hold up under her scrutiny.
The writing is terrific, though her occasional lapses into contemporary business speak are jarring (fortunately, these are rare). One would be hard put to pick a more tumultuous, or decisive, decade in English history. The characters are driven, complex, subtle, larger than life. It all makes for fascinating reading. One longs for the sequel, and the inevitable TV miniseries. I hope they do justice to this extraordinary book. ...more
This is another one for the "What were they thinking?!?" shelf. Doubly so, in fact. It's not just another lapse by the Booker selection committee, whoThis is another one for the "What were they thinking?!?" shelf. Doubly so, in fact. It's not just another lapse by the Booker selection committee, whose judgements we already know to take with a large grain of salt. But to be let down so abominably by Dame Iris, someone we know is capable of writing interestingly, though sometimes at the expense of prolixity. Regrettably, in "The Sea, The Sea" we see her giving free rein to her multiple vices, with little of the compensatory acuity that is there in some of her earlier books.
Poor writing choices all around. Or at least none that favors the hapless reader. So we are treated to the first person narrative of a monomaniacal narcissist. One who is delusional (sea-serpents haunt him when he swims) and who seems intent on tormenting us with the weird details of every bizarre meal he fixes for himself in his crumbling 'squalid to a degree only an English person would tolerate' surroundings. This kind of thing:
"Felt a little depressed but was cheered up by supper: spaghetti with a little butter and dried basil. (Basil is of course the king of herbs.) Then spring cabbage cooked slowly with dill. Boiled onions served with bran, herbs, soya oil and tomatoes, with one egg beaten in. With these a slice or two of cold tinned corned beef. (Meat is really just an excuse for eating vegetables.) I drank a bottle of retsina in honour of the undeserving rope."
i don't know about you, but a few paragraphs of this kind of drivel brings me to the end of my rope. Even if I could forgive Dame Iris and her editors for the astonishingly boring catalog of the dietary whims of a narcissist, those parenthetical comments ("basil is of course ...) are quite simply unpardonable.
Forty pages in. Not another character in sight? Righty-ho, then! Time to bale. Or bail.
In the words of a more talented reviewer than I: "This is not a book to be put aside lightly. It should be thrust aside with great force. "
In some hideous corner of the library of the damned, a doomed subcommittee is being forced to weigh the question: "The sea, The sea" represents a more shameless crime against innocent readers than "The infinities"; discuss.
Iris, Iris, Iris.... How the mighty are fallen....more
In its favor, this was compulsively readable, enjoyable in its way, and pretty amusing. The clever plot probably doesn't hold up under any kind of carIn its favor, this was compulsively readable, enjoyable in its way, and pretty amusing. The clever plot probably doesn't hold up under any kind of careful scrutiny, though McEwan's writing is skillful enough to paper over some of the more glaring improbabilities.
Booker prizeworthy? I'm not so sure. But then the Booker jury is more or less famous for making odd choices.
I give it three solid stars, but no more. And I think the Dutch have a right to be pissed off about McEwan's imagined denouement.
It's hard to say much more without veering into spoiler territory. An amusing trifle, skillfully executed. A bagatelle. But if you are looking for great literature, move along folks. Nothing to see here....more
"Moon Tiger", for which the author won the Booker prize, is a book that I could admire, but not like. The main protagonist, Claudia Hampton, an accomp"Moon Tiger", for which the author won the Booker prize, is a book that I could admire, but not like. The main protagonist, Claudia Hampton, an accomplished historian, lies dying in a London hospital bed and looks back upon her life. The resulting series of first-person flashbacks, interspersed with third-person accounts of the same episodes, coalesce into a tightly constructed kaleidoscopic view of Claudia's life which is impressive for the skill with which it is achieved, but ultimately left me unmoved.
My fundamental problem with the book is that Claudia is such a self-satisfied narcissist that the reader ultimately tires of the recital of her various accomplishments and the smug superiority with which lesser characters in her history (her unfortunate sister-in-law, her disappointingly conventional daughter) are dismissed. Lively is no fool, and attempts to mitigate Claudia's unrelenting smugness with a brief episode of vulnerability and genuine emotion during a doomed World War II romance with a British tank commander who is subsequently killed in battle. The jacket cover inflates this episode by describing it as "the still point of her turning world", but the problem is that it fails to ring true. Ultimately, the version of Claudia that dominates the narrative is that of the smug, superior harpie. To whom my reaction was - why should anyone possibly care?
So, while I can admire the skill with which this book was written, the emotional vacuum at its core ultimately leaves me cold. ...more
Loading...
