My rating: 4 of 5 stars
It’s folly to compare one writer to another, usually, but then, usually, I’m something of a fool. Hilary Mantel’s writing is just so absorbing, so engaging, she reminds me of Gabriel Garcia Marquez in that respect. Stylistically they’re nothing alike. And yet, if you told me that, in my retirement, I’d just sit around in lounge chairs sipping tea and reading Mantel and Marquez, I’d wonder what I done right in life to earn that.
I’d already read Bring Up the Bodies, the sequel to Wolf Hall, before reading Wolf Hall itself . I’d read the one because it was on the Booker Prize longlist for 2012 (then it made the shortlist and then it won). Wolf Hall also won, in 2009, and I’d enjoyed Bring so much, catching up with Wolf Hall was a no-brainer; nor did it disappoint.
And it’s interesting to read a book and to know, ahead of time, how it will end. Doubly true here, as these are historical novels, and knowing history is as easy as looking things up on Wikipedia. Which I did, often, as, with my reading of Bring, I was nearly overwhelmed with the multitude of characters.
Knowing the ending, of course, isn’t the same as knowing the plot, so there’s still plenty of intrigue to be had in Wolf Hall. And now that I’ve finished it, I can make good on my intention to re-read Bring Up The Bodies. And then, when Mantel writes the promised third in the series, I’ll be that much more prepared. And I am very certain that as excellent a read as these books are, being less of a fool myself will make them that much better.