Wolf Hall: A New Approach to Historical Fiction

The conundrum that all historical fiction authors face is how to make a story exciting when the readers know what happens to the major characteristics historically. At first glance, Hilary Mantel's 530 page novel set in the court of Henry VIII as the king attempts to make an heir, faces an especially daunting task of creating something original. Readers interested in this story know about Henry VIII's successful quest to become head of the Church of England, annul his marriage to Katherine of Aragon, and marry Anne Boleyn. We also know that Thomas More is killed for being a heretic. Most importantly, we know that Thomas Cromwell somehow made all this happen as the King's right-hand man.

But Mantel draws on what we don't know to capture our attention. Namely, we don't know how the politics of the time allowed the son of a blacksmith to rise to become a king's secretary. Mantel sheds light on this subject by using a wholly original voice. She tells everything from Cromwell's perspective, but through selective third-person narration rather than first. While this strategy takes several pages to get used to, it contributes to a unique experience unlike any that I've encountered before in historical fiction. Instead of telling us what Cromwell feels in third person, instead of Cromwell narrating "I thought" such and such, Mantel uses Cromwell like a camera lens, exposing us only to what he can see at the moment. For example, early in the book, when the young Cromwell finds a refuge on a ship after escaping his abusive father, we get this line:

"He is surprised. Are there people in the world who are not cruel to their children? For the first time, the weight in his chest shifts a little; he thinks, there could be other places, better."

And so, the story seems to be narrated with one delightful observation to another. On writing bills for Henry VIII: "His bills are passed but there is always another bill. When you are writing laws you are testing words to find their utmost power." On asking a woman if she still has sex with her husband: "That's a conversation I shouldn't have had." On the sentencing of Thomas More and other heretics: "The fate of peoples is made like this, two men in small rooms...This is how the world changes: a counter pushed across a table, a pen stroke that alters the force of a phrase."

Luckily for us, Cromwell is a pretty astute camera lens. He always happens to be in the midst of the politicking and deal making, bringing us behind the scenes of Sixteenth Century kingdom management. If Mantel means to make any sweeping pronouncements, it's that humanity remains excruciatingly unchanged despite four hundred years of progress. On the one hand, man is ruled by reason and science over faith; petulant kings no longer order stake-burnings at their whim. On the other hand, people still scheme, still seek justifications from some higher being for all their actions. Above all, the powerful still need Cromwells to do their dirty work, while we continue to wonder which is more guilty.