Civil Servant Extraordinaire

Warning: This post may state the obvious. So many have waxed euphoric (or something) about this book that I really have nothing new to contribute. However, this state of reviews won't stop me from a couple of thoughts:

Two Thomases of Tudor England are set in opposition in the wondrously absorbing award winning novel Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel - Thomas Cromwell and Thomas More. More has gotten much better press over the centuries, and it is gratifying to see a less favorable view that is very well presented. More's Chelsea comes off effete and barren compared to the Cromwell lair, Austin Friars. Though a ruthless servant of the King, Cromwell's home life is nurturing to the ones under his roof.

Getting home to that roof every day is a challenge for Cromwell, who, after the death of Cardinal Wolsey, his totally larger than life mentor, rises to become Henry VIII's top adviser, administrator, and general ear. Wolsey's fate stands in the background, however. These are the Anne Boleyn years, and Mantel's characterization of Anne is also original and different from the standard treatment of her in historical novels (at least the few I have read). Jane Seymour pokes her head in at times and is also portrayed in an interesting light.

The prose is also a bit unconventional, and though initially I thought the third person about one person clumsy, once I oriented myself to it the technique worked well. This is a work of original depth-charging insight, and well worth completing though it may seem a bit daunting at times.

Elizabeth of York

Elizabeth of York appears to be chiefly known for being the daughter, sister, niece, wife, and mother of kings. How could a queen be more family connected and oriented? These happenstances are definining in how she is seen in a medium depth historical novel I recently finished called "The Tudor Rose" by Margaret Campbell Barnes, whose work has been reissued of late, which body was originally written in the late 40s to early 50s.

Elizabeth spends an awful amount of time preoccupied with other's needs to the exclusion of her own. She acquiesces in a joyless marriage because she has no choice, and, because she has always sublimated her desires, this is done without lasting regret. Her sheerest happiness comes at the sight of her son Harry (to be the 8th).

In another novel of this first Tudor Queen, "The King's Daughter" by Sandra Worth, her connection to Richard III is more deeply imagined, and Henry VII is much more menacing. The royal pair's firstborn, Arthur, is Elizabeth's core raison d'etre, and the gushing over him is the more poignant because his eventual death, most probably known to the reader, lurks in the consciousness throughout. Henry to be VIII is much more darkly drawn, as a boy reveling in the suffering of others, a source of deep worry to his mother.

The two treatments of Elizabeth may be indicative of the times when the novels were written. Elizabeth's suffering seems to be the defining factor of her life, with love lost being the central cause in the current rendition, whereas her strength and attention to duty is paramount in the Barnes novel. The Barnes novel, written during early postwar Britain, stresses the duty angle, and the American author stresses Elizabeth's response to her sufferings.

The three Elizabeths, the Yorkist Elizabeth Woodville, the York/Tudor Elizabeth, and the glorious Tudor Elizabeth her granddaughter span the emergence of England from the internecine strife of the Wars of the Roses to the early modern age styled the Elizabethan, the greatest point in English history to that time.

Two Annes, Different Results

I must confess to a fascination with the wives of Henry VIII, though their stories be a century along from my area of greater interest (Lancaster and York). Our century is a huge distance from the 19th, but I have yet to learn how different the 15th and 16th centuries were in practice. In any case, it was easy to read two novels about two Annes, "The Concubine" by Norah Lofts, and "My Lady of Cleves" by Margaret Campbell Barnes.

Anne Boleyn, briefly "The Most Happy" and Anne of Cleves, for awhile the least happy. Of all the wives, Anne of Cleves, initially called the Flanders Mare by her boorish self centered royal husband, and deeply insulted, turned out to be the only one who left Henry with her head and a comfortable home intact. The comparison between their respective visages is deceptive, the old story of the lack of the surety of surfaces. In Anne Boleyn's case, Henry is enchanted with a vivacious sprightly young thing, and in Anne of Cleves' case, he falls for what he sees in a portrait. He falls out of love in both cases, cruelly so, and all in a moment, as both authors describe the Annes' individual catastrophes.

Both of these women are presented very sympathetically, and it is interesting to speculate how their lives would have played out if they hadn't fallen under the royal eye. Would Anne Boleyn have been hardened by grief to dip into ambition due to the loss of young love in any case? Would Anne of Cleves have glided in the Flemish countryside unremarked? Anne of Cleves, in the royal bedchamber - "if he only gives me children" she could bear it. Anne Boleyn totally devastated by the birth of Elizabeth, and crazed under the pressure that was life and death.

I have ordered a biography of Jane Seymour, so my preoccupation with the wives will continue. What a collection of gutsy women! What a king trapped by circumstance and his view of his place in history.

Living In Utopia

A King and his Chancellor, Henry VIII and Thomas More - their collision is a story that I have been taken by for decades now - I saw "A Man for All Seasons" as a teenager, and just now finished "The King's Confidante" (previously issued as "St. Thomas' Eve") bye the Mistress, Jean Plaidy.

She has taken the far famed homestead at Chelsea and made it into a sort of utopia, with all living in harmony with animals and plant life, from the bustling Dame Alice, More's second wife (who acts as a foil with her worldliness set against his erudition), to itinerants who find a place at their table. It is a wondrous microcosm centered on More and his children, both natural and adopted, and their spouses, humble and ambitious.

More serves his sovereign reluctantly, ghosting Henry's tract against Martin Luther, pointing out constellations to the King and Queen Catherine, all the while regretting his time away from his family as the children grow up happy in his regard. He for a time fills a need of Henry's to have intellectuals around him, and ultimately can't fulfill Henry's need for his approval of what he did to ensure the succession, that is turning the English Church to his rule as it's head. No, Thomas could not come out in favor of the divorce. His silence had to be shown to be assent.

Anne Boleyn has a background part and Thomas More is empathetic, realizing that her hold on life is as tenuous as his. It is enjoyable to read enough Plaidy to have characters walk out of one book into another.

Thomas More was a huge hero of mine in my teenage years. Now I know his story had not that simple purity of explanation. He was a heretic hating zealot, and did wrestle with Will Roper, his son-in-law in a way over Will's beliefs that seems unreasonable to me, with his dear daughter Meg torn between them. Dame Alice spoke of his pride in refusing to approve the divorce, and the more I think of it, the more I see her point. It is justice vs expediency, martyrdom vs the middle road. Perhaps his family would not have loved him as deeply as they did had he taken that middle road. In the end, he had no choice, really, as so many victims of Henry VIII found.

Another Martyr to the Cause

The Tudor Dynasty, one haunted by a need to perpetuate itself if ever there was, had a number of martyrs to the Cause. Anne Boleyn and the anti-Anne, Jane Seymour, are among the number. In a sense, Henry VIII himself had a life and value system driven by the need to provide an heir, thus he was a martyr of sorts too.

"Plain Jane", by Laurien Gardner (who I gather is also Jennifer Ashley), is a cut above a romance novel, and a level or two below masterful historical fiction. Jane's "plainness" is an attribute beaten to death, and is one that defines her. In truth, (I think) this attribute is her greatest strength, as a foil to the erstwhile fascinating Anne, and its concomitant virtuousness perceived is as strong a draw to Henry as Anne's bewitching smile was. Whatever. Sometimes I see the Six Wives as types enslaved by the Tudor dilemma and victims of the tragedy of not delivering the required societal result for which they were chosen. Jane is the one that delivers, but she has to pay with her life anyway.

The Jane in "Plain Jane" was in the bind of all of the wives, not to be able to question the boss with any long range success, as seen by her defense of a ransacked nunnery which elicited the statement from Henry that he could kill her off too if she opposed him.

Plain Jane was virtuous but not insipid. Of the wives, she may be the least documented, and the treatment in this novel is thus welcome.

Anne Boleyn in her own words

I just read "The Lady in the Tower" by the mistress, Jean Plaidy. Anne tells her story, and one is drawn in by her wisdom in hindsight. She writes/tells from the time when she lives and now her life is done, to paraphrase Chidiock Tichborne. Such a vantage point has made her quite perceptive, especially regarding her imperious behavior around Henry VIII, a man she admits she never loved. Well, he really wasn't that lovable, I should think.

Unlucky in love and embittered thereby - Henry Percy of the North being an early beau, she feels that Henry prevented their union so he could have this tasty morsel to himself. She traded any hope for further love for ambition, a quality that stood her in good standing in her relationship with Henry Tudor. The result is resounding success at getting her way with the King, but at such a cost to the nation, and a knife edge of danger, though she believes the necessary son will result from their relationship.

One may regard Anne as something of a silly woman, but Plaidy's take on her introspection, however late, is very engaging and believable. Basically, she was in over her head, and only in looking back she sees the power of the despot she was dealing with, power over her very life.

Henry and Elizabeth and Elizabeth

I have just finished reading "To Hold the Crown", a reissued work of Jean Plaidy. It chronicles the reign of Henry VII in rather direct and unsophisticated style. Plaidy is of the opinion that Henry killed the Princes in the Tower, and was plagued by the fear of this "secret" coming out to threaten his hold on the monarchy. Elizabeth of York is portrayed as almost too good to be true, the purely submissive and comforting wife. Elizabeth Woodville is caught up in a power struggle with her son-in-law's mother, Margaret Beaufort.

A good part of the novel concerns Henry, initially Duke of York, then Prince of Wales, then King. His character is well developed, though I don't think Plaidy does justice to Henry VII as his depiction is rather flat, almost that of a villain. My personal view of him is much brighter. The novel covers a lot of ground, and reads pleasantly smoothly. I don't agree with a few of the characterizations, but this is a good start in reading fiction of the period.

Margaret Tudor, Divorce, and Dismay

I zipped through Jean Plaidy's "The Thistle and the Rose" yesterday. Though she only had half the number of husbands as her brother Henry VIII had wives, there are some similarities between these lusty siblings. According to Plaidy, Margaret had a real weakness for a pretty face, and her judgement was corrupted thereby. All of her husbands had mistresses (surprise!), and children they wanted to bring up as if legitimate. Sadly, she could not accept infidelity, past, present or future.

James IV (pictured), a connoisseur of women, was her first king, infatuation and then disappointment. Plaidy's characterization of him was, I thought, very sympathetic. It would be interesting to meet such a man- a charmer without modern morals, sort of a male Madonna (the singer).  James and Margaret appear to have worked things out pretty well.  Unfortunately the Warfare Sickness claimed a royal soldier and left his son a crown on a child.  The others were earls I think, pretty and not too bright.

Hester Chapman stressed Margaret's plainness, here Plaidy pronounces her beautiful. (Or maybe it was the clothes that were beautiful.) (Or maybe in royal circles it is close to the same thing.)