Hilary and Helene

Wait, are we still in the middle of a pandemic? The protests have been raging for over a week now and I suppose that the tiny little bright light in all of this darkness is that it’s been days since I’ve heard a word about coronavirus, masks, curve-flattening, hand-washing, or hydroxychloroquine.

Well, that's not true. But I've heard a lot less corona commentary, and that's all to the good. The lockdown continues though, at least here in Montgomery County, Maryland; and I’m worried that I might run out of things to read. I don’t seem in any danger of running out of things to do. I don’t know how I have such a long to-do list and what seems like so little time in which to accomplish everything, but there it is.

I’m finally reading The Mirror and the Light. It’s very long and I’m about 80% through it, so I’m taking my time now, because after I finish it, I’ll be finished with Hilary Mantel’s Thomas Cromwell and I will miss him terribly. The Mirror and the Light begins in the immediate moments following the events of the end of the second volume, Bring Up the Bodies. Anne Boleyn is dead, and her poor ladies-in-waiting are wading through her blood and carrying away her body and its severed head.

*****
“In the old days; that is to say, a month ago…” This is Cromwell, thinking about something that happened when Anne was still queen. It could be any of us, thinking about the old days; that is to say, any time before March 13, 2020; or any time before May 25, 2020.

I read a review of The Mirror and the Light before I started reading the book. Well, I read part of a review. I didn’t want to know too much about the book before I read it, even though I know how it ends. The reviewer wrote something about how the reader can see Thomas Cromwell racing toward disaster, and that everyone around him sees it too; but Cromwell himself only sees it when it’s too late. That is a metaphor for so many things right now. But I see what the reviewer meant about Cromwell. High on his success after helping Henry rid himself of yet another unwanted wife, and elevated to a position in which his power is second only to the King’s, he doesn’t notice that the King might be feeling guilty about putting Anne Boleyn and several of his closest friends to death. (The King is like Donald Trump--when he's mad about something, someone other than himself has to take the blame.) The ruling families of England despise Cromwell, but he doesn’t worry about them because he thinks he’s untouchable. But he’s still a blacksmith’s son from Putney and his failure to remain (or at least pretend to be) humble will bring him to a dreadful end. Now that I’m nearing the end, Cromwell is starting to wake up a little bit, but it’s too late.

In the first two volumes, Cromwell is sneaky. He’s manipulative, he’s devious, he’s underhanded, he’s brilliant and cunning and ruthless; but he’s not a monster. We wouldn’t care about him if he was. In the first few chapters of the final volume, however, Cromwell is proof of the adage about absolute power corrupting absolutely. He’s out of control. But he’s good company, and I’ll still miss him when he’s gone. 

*****
I’ll also miss Helene Hanff. She wrote tons of letters, tons of TV scripts, tons of plays, and some magazine articles, but only four short books. I have already read two of them, leaving two more. I read Underfoot in Show Business and The Duchess of Bloomsbury on Kindle; and I just bought a paperback copy of 84, Charing Cross Road (her most famous book) and I’m saving it for the coming post-Cromwell literary apocalypse. I’ll get a copy of Q’s Legacy, too; so at least I have two more volumes of Hanff to look forward to.

The Duchess of Bloomsbury and Q’s Legacy are both indirectly about 84, Charing Cross Road, making them books about a book. Like meetings about meetings (which I assure you are a real thing), but much better. Helene Hanff was a writer for her whole life, but she became famous as a result of that one book, which she couldn’t have written without having lived her life. I’m sure that Cromwell wrote something about his own life, possibly in letters or a diary, though he would have had to guard them carefully against enemies and spies. I don’t know if he was anything like he is in Hilary Mantel’s portrayal, but I’ll pretend that he was.

I’m lucky enough to have actually written and received real letters, handwritten, on actual paper. I have a few things in common with Helene Hanff and just about nothing in common with Thomas Cromwell, but we do share an understanding of letter writing and letter reading. But enough about writing. I’m going to finish reading.