Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel was like reading a Jim Shepherd short story that lasted for six hundred pages: it was brilliant. I read the historical novel during class, before bed, whenever I could hide from my children. Mantel recently died, and the subsequent memorials reminded me that I'd meant to read her, to discover her Booker-Prize winning oeuvre. Part of the pleasure of diving into that gripping book was knowing that it was the first in a weighty trilogy, and that I could enjoy this world for untold future months. I lack patience for long-form television shows, but I imagine that the feeling of finding a good new show is the same.
Wolf Hall is the first in Mantel's Thomas Cromwell series. It charts his rise from working for Cardinal Wolsey to working for Henry VIII, ending with the execution of Thomas More. As a sophomore at a Catholic High School, I had seen the 1966 film A Man for All Seasons, and was under the impression that More was a pious martyr, the last innocent voice in a corrupt government. Wolf Hall did not disabuse me from Tudor corruption, but it also indicted More's violence and fanaticism. Everything was dark; everyone was complicit. Throughout, Mantel imbued the novel with excellent pacing, dreamlike happenings, rare moments of transcendence, and lofty religious consideration. Here's to Wolf Hall, and here's to the late Hilary Mantel.
