My husband woke me up at 6 AM to tell me that Hilary Mantel is dead. She was only 70 (I’m approaching that myself). I am sick at heart. I revered her as a writer of historical and/or any other type of fiction – or non-fiction – she chose to turn her hand to. The world is a vastly richer place for her work – and now a poorer one for her loss. I pre-ordered her recent books as soon as they were available; bought copies of her older ones from betterworldbooks.com. When I received my copy of The Mirror and the Light (and oh, what a long wait it seemed), I was thrilled to find it was autographed! It will be cherished the more now. It seems fitting that the ending of her final novel was a beautiful agony of death that should stand right up there with “It’s a far, far better thing I do…”
I’ve reviewed quite a few of her books on Goodreads (links below). The Wolf Hall trilogy knocked me off my feet, and perhaps working backward through her earlier novels disadvantaged them by comparison as she was sharpening and deepening her art. But even in those, I was dazzled by star shells of observation, wit, character, atmosphere, and craftsmanship that were lighting the way to the monument of Cromwell’s life and death. Her four-part Reith lectures are a master class in writing (not to mention reading, thinking about, and understanding) history, fictional or otherwise. Her memoirs include some of the best description I’ve ever seen of a child’s perception and examination of family dynamics she can feel but not quite understand… it’s another angle on what she has called “the what but not the how” in historical fiction, the “filling in the gaps.” Even her emails to her editors are brisk, warm, self-deprecating, and delightful.
I have long harbored a fantasy of “stalking” her to her home village in England (which she was planning to leave, though not in the way she has). I imagined approaching her meekly and politely on the street, and simply saying: “Ms. Mantel, your work has enriched my life. Thank you.” Then I would walk away… and maybe she would call me back and invite me home for a cup of tea, or for a drink at the local. Alas, a fantasy with no possibility – however unlikely – of ever coming true loses much of its glow.
In a sadly prescient recent interview, Mantel was asked if she believed in an afterlife. She said she did, but that she couldn’t imagine how it would work. However the afterlife “works,” I’m sure she’ll navigate it, observe it, figure it out and probably enjoy it. I just wish she could tell us all about it. May flights of angels sing her to her rest.
My Mantel reviews:
Beyond Black
Eight Months on Ghazzah Street
A Place of Greater Safety
A Change of Climate
An Experiment in Love
The Giant, O’Brien
The Mirror and the Light
Learning to Talk
Giving Up the Ghost
Mantel Pieces