Lezersrecensie
Birds of Prey
Bring Up the Bodies, the second book in Mantel’s Cromwell trilogy, is a compact novel. Not only does it have fewer pages, the book also takes place within a time span of barely half a year.
This means that events follow one another rapidly, and as a reader you find yourself in the same power-play pressure cooker as Cromwell.
This creates a claustrophobic feeling, and at times a sense of insecurity. You look through Cromwell’s eyes, and Mantel makes you feel that you need eyes in the back of your head as well.
This is not an easy book. In terms of language it is not overly difficult, but not everything is made explicit. You are carried along in Cromwell’s point of view. At times the machinations and power plays are extremely subtle, and at other times they are more overt. There are many names, and many characters have multiple designations, both their personal name and their noble title. Mantel uses everything interchangeably, and the dramatis personae is your friend here.
Mantel opens the book with a very powerful image: the falcon hunt. The way she describes the birds of prey circling in the sky, watching for their quarry and exploiting every sign of weakness, is an analogy for court life under Henry VIII during the time of Anne Boleyn. It is realpolitik avant la lettre. Mantel is not concerned with truth-finding, just as Cromwell himself is not concerned with truth-finding. It is a textbook case of the end justifying the means.
In an impressive way, Mantel shows how the dominoes fall. Through two or three key scenes, the story marches steadily toward its inevitable end. The ending itself is deeply impressive, not because of a grand dramatic narrative gesture, but precisely because of its suffocating descriptions.
Mantel shows that truth has nothing to do with justice or guilt. It is about power and necessity. Mantel lets Cromwell realise how quickly a fall can happen, that no one is safe, thereby building a bridge to the final part of the trilogy.
This book demands to be read slowly, like an exquisite dish. You have to stay with it as a reader, but the reward is immense.
This means that events follow one another rapidly, and as a reader you find yourself in the same power-play pressure cooker as Cromwell.
This creates a claustrophobic feeling, and at times a sense of insecurity. You look through Cromwell’s eyes, and Mantel makes you feel that you need eyes in the back of your head as well.
This is not an easy book. In terms of language it is not overly difficult, but not everything is made explicit. You are carried along in Cromwell’s point of view. At times the machinations and power plays are extremely subtle, and at other times they are more overt. There are many names, and many characters have multiple designations, both their personal name and their noble title. Mantel uses everything interchangeably, and the dramatis personae is your friend here.
Mantel opens the book with a very powerful image: the falcon hunt. The way she describes the birds of prey circling in the sky, watching for their quarry and exploiting every sign of weakness, is an analogy for court life under Henry VIII during the time of Anne Boleyn. It is realpolitik avant la lettre. Mantel is not concerned with truth-finding, just as Cromwell himself is not concerned with truth-finding. It is a textbook case of the end justifying the means.
In an impressive way, Mantel shows how the dominoes fall. Through two or three key scenes, the story marches steadily toward its inevitable end. The ending itself is deeply impressive, not because of a grand dramatic narrative gesture, but precisely because of its suffocating descriptions.
Mantel shows that truth has nothing to do with justice or guilt. It is about power and necessity. Mantel lets Cromwell realise how quickly a fall can happen, that no one is safe, thereby building a bridge to the final part of the trilogy.
This book demands to be read slowly, like an exquisite dish. You have to stay with it as a reader, but the reward is immense.
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