The Wolf Hall Trilogy

By Hilary Mantel, Henry Holt and Co.
Reviewed by Janet Cleaveland

• “Wolf Hall,” 2009, 604 pages

• “Bring Up the Bodies,” 2012, 404 pages

• “The Mirror and the Light,” 2020, 754 pages

We all know from history that Thomas Cromwell’s head won’t sit on his shoulders at the end of Hilary Mantel’s trilogy. Welcome to the court of King Henry VIII. And welcome to a chance to understand the workings of the Lord Privy Seal’s mind as he navigates the morass of Henry’s first four marriages and divorces. Famous for his six wives and England’s break from the Catholic Church, Henry reigned from 1509-47.

“Wolf Hall” covers Cardinal Thomas Wolsey’s downfall; Henry’s desire to divorce his first wife, Katherine; the courtship of Anne Boleyn; and St. Thomas More’s execution. “Bring Up the Bodies,” ends with the execution of Queen Anne and her supposed lovers; and “The Mirror and the Light,” turns the tables on mastermind Cromwell, ending with the aforementioned head separated from his body. (That fourth marriage of Henry to Anne of Cleaves was Cromwell’s fatal mistake, coming four years after the execution of Anne Boleyn.)

I admit that I never liked Cromwell — or Crumb — as he was affectionately referred to by Henry and some courtiers during his glory days, according to the Mantel trilogy. I had read too many accounts of Sts. More and John Fisher and their courage and steadfast resolve even as they refused the king’s oaths, knocked down his charges with crisp logic and eloquent words, and kept the faith. I loved “A Man for All Seasons,” the 1966 film starring Paul Scofield as More. Scofield earned an Oscar for his performance, and the film won Best Picture.

But Mantel’s trilogy made me recognize Cromwell’s genius and his ability to navigate the impossible. I grew to like Crumb, Henry’s legendary fixer. I liked his unflinching directness in approaching a problem. He questioned people under pressure for crimes as serious as treason or as light as dreaming about the king. There was nowhere to waffle when my lord Privy Seal was demanding answers. He would have made a fine investigative or political reporter in our time, I thought. He missed nothing.

There was a time when I devoured fiction and nonfiction dealing with the Tudor era, in particular Henry VIII’s reign. When “Wolf Hall” was published in 2009 to high praise, I thought the book would be just the ticket.

But I couldn’t deal with it. Sure, I was familiar with names of many of the courtiers and their titles, and Mantel provides a list of historical figures and their connections at the beginning of each book for reference. I just didn’t have the patience to sort everyone out and make sense of their connections to the crown. (Ever heard of Call-Me Wroithsley? I hadn’t either.) I didn’t care enough about Cromwell and his service to Wolsey to get into the story. I put “Wolf Hall” aside for 10 years. Then I had coffee in early January (pre-Covid-19 lockdown) with a former colleague who said she was eagerly awaiting the third book of the trilogy.

I might as well try the Cromwell story again, I thought, as the lockdown began. This time, I powered though “Wolf Hall.” “Bring Up the Bodies” seemed even more readable and interesting. And by the time I got to “The Mirror and the Light,” I was ready for the logical conclusion, knowing full well that Henry would kill the mastermind I had grown to respect and even like.

One last note for our time: Henry was terrified of plague. He was always on the move in the summer when the sweating sickness descended on London.

“The warm weather has brought sweating sickness to London, and the city is emptying,” Mantel writes in “Wolf Hall.” The “gossip in the shops is all about pills and infusions, and friars in the streets are doing a lucrative trade in holy medals. This plague came to us in the year 1485, with the armies that brought us the first Henry Tudor. Now every few years it fills the graveyards. It kills in a day. Merry at breakfast, they say: dead by noon.”

When Cromwell lost his wife to the disease, he quarantined for a month and read Petrarch and Machiavelli in Latin. Tudor times called for an infected family to hang a bunch of straw outside their door and restrict visitors for 40 days. They were to go out as little as possible.

Indeed. We can all learn from history.