Search Results for: bring up the bodies

I coincidentally was reading Hilary Mantel’s historical novel “Bring Up the Bodies” around the same time as I was watching the “Diamond Jubilee” celebration, commemorating Queen Elizabeth II’s amazing 60 years on the throne of England. Perhaps there’s not a direct correlation, but I’m definitely getting my fix of English royal history lately, with its influential monarchs and their reigns of power, accomplishments, struggles and scandals. It’s fascinating material to be sure.

Mantel’s latest novel about Thomas Cromwell, the court of King Henry VIII and the destruction of Queen Anne Boleyn has received unanimous gushing reviews as did her previous book of their earlier years, “Wolf Hall,” which was awarded the 2009 Man Booker Prize. The print critics love her, with Janet Maslin of the New York Times going as far to say that “Bring Up the Bodies” is “this year’s best beach read” and the “one must-read of the season.”

Best beach read? Hmm, I had to read it. But now that I’m done, I can tell you, if you like “War and Peace” or Shakespeare on the beach then perhaps you will definitely like this one. Otherwise, I’d stick to something lighter and easier to sink into. “Bodies” definitely has the elements of a beach book, with power plays, intrigue, rumors, gossip, revenge, adultery, violence, but it swirls around for quite a while, muting its impact. Its narrative language though beautiful by Mantel is a bit of a challenge for the beach; it’s not Olde English but it’s not exactly contemporary either. You’ll have to work a bit to get the array of characters and who is speaking when and what is being said. At times it can be a bit confusing or even a slog to read, but I did successfully plow through it and came away with a more vivid picture of the poisonous atmosphere at the court during Anne Boleyn’s last months.

You don’t have to read its predecessor “Wolf Hall” to understand “Bring Up the Bodies”; I went right to the latter one, which is meant to be the second in a trilogy — all told from Thomas Cromwell’s point of view. Cromwell was King Henry VIII’s right hand man, his secretary and power broker, who comes to believe he must destroy the Queen before she destroys him. Mantel paints him as more human than just ruthlessly evil, which is how he is often portrayed, though he’s still cleverly shrewd and harsh in the end.

The book takes place over nine months from 1535 to 1536. As it begins, Queen Anne Boleyn has replaced King Henry VIII’s first wife Katharine of Aragon with much ado, leading the King to break with the Catholic Church in Rome. All is momentarily at peace. But after three years, the king grows restless as Anne is unable to produce a male heir and he begins to favor Jane Seymour. Thereafter the Queen’s days are numbered. Cromwell uncovers a web, eventually arresting her along with five men on trumped up charges of adultery and incest (with her brother). Whether she is actually guilty as charged is a mystery preserved in the book, though it sides with it being unlikely. In an interview, Hilary Mantel has said the Queen gives the impression of being guilty, whether or not she really is, is not known.

Surely the book is quite dark; everybody’s out for themselves and trying to gain their advantage with the King and the court. It seems Machiavellian. Some have sympathies with the last Queen, while others are aligning with the future, Jane Seymour. The plot gangs up on Anne Boleyn, and it is quite chilling to read about a woman’s place then and the abuse of the court’s power — all because Henry VIII wanted a new wife. There’s not really a redeeming character in the book to latch onto, and despite what it’s about, not a lot of action. I was hoping for more. It’s mostly filled with the verbal sparring, court gossip and posturing amid its unseemingly cast. I took away quite a bit from it but not without considerable persistence and effort — something that I don’t hope for in my next (real) beach read. Continue reading →

Hi. I hope everyone enjoyed the summer solstice yesterday, the longest day of the year. It stays light these days till past 10 at night here, which is really nice, and we often garden and do yard work till after … Continue reading →

It’s almost December — can you believe it? I hope everyone has finished as many books as they wanted to this year. I’m shooting for 60 books completed in 2017, but who knows if I will make it there. It … Continue reading →

I recently finished these two slim novels that are pictured here, and though they were stories about different topics, they did share some similarities. Both are quite dark and are told by flawed narrators who are working their way psychologically through difficult circumstances (one after divorce, the other war). Both use landscape to lend to the plot’s mood (one in New Mexico, the other Iraq), and both forebodingly lead up to an event at the end of the book that makes a shattering impact.

“The Boy” by Lara Santoro, which came out last month, is about a 42-year-old woman (Anna), who’s a single mother trying to put her life back together after a bitter divorce. She crosses paths with a 20-year-old male neighbor, who seems to get under her skin and infatuate her. Though she tries to resist the temptation, she soon finds herself involved in a reckless relationship with the boy. His carefree nature seems to make her happy and she pursues her lust for him despite admonitions from his father and her daughter. Ultimately the consequences of their affair turn devastating for all in its wake.

I found the narrator Anna to be pretty harsh. She’s obviously a damaged soul (apparently from her divorce) who looks at the world in a dark or seemingly uncaring way. Her judgement about her sexual relationship with the boy is pretty screwed up and awful, and the one person she truly seems to love, her young daughter, she puts at risk.

It’s hard to find a lot redeemable about Anna, which marred some of my ability to like the novel. She loves her daughter, but can she really be trusted to raise her? That’s one thing the book puts forth to struggle with, along with the “ick factor” of Anna being sexually involved with a 20 year old. The author writes effectively in casting Anna as both flawed and not totally beyond redemption; her daughter still loves and wants to be with her. But after what happens, you’ll be struggling with Anna’s ability as a mother for long after the book’s climax crashes down.

I can’t say I thoroughly liked “The Boy” but it did raise some disturbing questions.

The same perhaps can be said of my feelings towards “The Yellow Birds” by Kevin Powers, which was a finalist for the National Book Award in 2012.

This novel is about a 21-year-old boy, Private Bartle, who with a buddy he meets in basic training, 18-year-old Private Murphy, tries to stay alive while their platoon wages a bloody battle in Al Tafar, Iraq. Before leaving the States, Bartle promises Murphy’s mother that he’ll bring him back unharmed, but after a year or so into the war, Murphy begins to become unhinged. Yet Bartle still feels responsible for him. The actions that follow by both soldiers lead to devastating consequences at the end.

“The Yellow Birds” is told through Bartle’s narration, and alternates chapters of life during the war and then after the war when Bartle is back home in Virginia, trying to piece together his experience in Iraq.

The novel paints a bleak picture of what war is like: the constant stress of danger, the ambivalence toward dead bodies, the fatigue, the body counts, the psychological toll. The author effectively captures it all quite vividly with his descriptive images and account of life among the platoon. Undoubtedly, this is why the book was chosen as a finalist for the National Book Award.

But it’s not an easy read. At times, I grew impatient with Bartle and his malaise and damaged self. I wanted to relate and understand his take on war but found him and the tangents he goes on at times out of reach. My mind started to wander during some of the storytelling and I wanted Bartle to get to the point of what happened. It reads a bit like a gradual march, or a look back on something bad that’s happened but it takes till the end of the book to get there, dangling you along like a wet rag.

While I appreciated some of the writing and insight into war in “The Yellow Birds,” it’s sort of an agonizing place to remain too long, marching. Continue reading →