Mantel's body of work spanned memoir, short stories, essays — and, of course, historical fiction. Here's a guide to her writing.
In 1998, Mantel cut to the chase in the first line of her review of Mary Gordon’s novel, “Spending”: “Sex, art, money: That’s what it’s all about,” she wrote. In this novel, a woman tries to reconstruct her dead mother’s emotional history using a handful of objects — a pink kimono, a notebook with cryptic scribblings. In 2012, Mantel contributed a tart, honest and witty essay about working as an English teacher in Botswana in the 1970s. “Once those voices begin,” said Mantel, who had been fascinated by the life of Thomas Cromwell since she was a child, “it’s like having the radio on in the background for 15 years. What is it like for an author to shepherd her story onto the stage? In this interview, brimming with marvelous, craggy detail about writing and reading, Mantel told The Times that the best part of working on a book was “the moment, at about the three-quarter point, where you see your way right through to the end: as if lights had flooded an unlit road. Mantel’s seventh novel, and her second to be published in the United States, follows the adult Carmel McBain, who, in a “Proustian time-warp experience,” Margaret Atwood wrote in her review, falls down a rabbit hole of memories of her Catholic childhood and coming-of-age. [died on Thursday](https://www.nytimes.com/2022/09/23/books/hilary-mantel-dead.html) at age 70, left a wide-ranging and hard-to-classify body of work that encompassed memoir, story collections, contemporary novels and brilliant, querulous literary essays. This collection of work from The London Review of Books contains Mantel’s most incendiary essay, “Royal Bodies,” which compared Prince William’s wife, Catherine, to a plastic doll. It scalds.” The eldest child of poor Irish Catholic parents living outside Manchester, Mantel suffered fevers and “the crippling tedium and unintelligible torments of a rough Catholic primary school,” and was separated from her father at a young age. “The wonder of Ms. This fictional portrait of Henry VIII’s scheming aide Thomas Cromwell — the first volume of Mantel’s celebrated trilogy — won the Booker Prize in 2009.
The British writer was best known for the Wolf Hall trilogy, which won two Booker Prizes.
What we do have is a body of work that will be read for generations. The indisputable genius of her words remains as some small consolation to this tragic loss.” Miles, who also worked with Dame Hilary on the playscript for the third instalment, said in a statement to the PA news agency: “She was an extraordinary woman. “That we won’t have the pleasure of any more of her words is unbearable. She was a joy to work with… “I feel so honoured to have known her and to have contributed in a small way to the work of one of the greatest writers of our time.
This fictional portrait of Henry VIII's scheming aide Thomas Cromwell — the first volume of Mantel's celebrated trilogy — won the Booker Prize in 2009. “'Wolf ...
But for now I am thinking of the poignant ending of “The Mirror and the Light,” the final book in the Cromwell trilogy. (For her part, Mantel said she was “bemused” at the suggestion that “the police should interest themselves in the case of a fictional assassination of a person who was already dead.”) Having helped effect the deaths of so many of Henry’s enemies, Cromwell finds that he is to meet the same fate. He feels for an opening, blinded, looking for a door: tracking the light along the wall.” As her agent, Bill Hamilton, said upon the news of her death: “She had so many great novels ahead of her.” There is a lot more to read, and reread. Though the themes of women suffering from pain, isolation and domestic weariness recur in her fiction, she didn’t make her own history the focus of her persona; she was not one to seek pity. For me, her books show that great literature, the kind that marries meticulous craft and deep understanding of human nature, can require work on the part of the reader. It was a shock to see her speak in person and realize how funny she was. Dead for more than 400 years, reduced to caricature as a thug and a brute in the famous Holbein portrait that hangs in the Frick Museum, Cromwell here feels shimmeringly alive, full of pathos. There were nine other novels, demonstrating her ability to write in a range of styles about various subjects and in various time periods. She brings great precision to her writing, as opaque as it sometimes feels, and asks the same of us in our reading. At first, the prose is disorienting.
A close friend of Dame Hilary Mantel has paid tribute to the "attentive, generous and very funny" Wolf Hall author, following her death, aged 70.
"We went to an Italian restaurant where I quoted huge tracts of her work back to her. "She was tremendously accurate whenever she did write anything that was based on truth. I think she was probably one of the most attentive people you could meet. No two books were alike, she was very interested in people's minds. "I watched peacefully at the back of the talk and the librarian who booked her said to me: 'I never know to say to authors', so she asked me to go to dinner with them," she said. "She was very aware of what the other person was going through, she never forgot to ask what was going on, she was extremely kind, generous and very funny.
The death of the British novelist is occasion to remember her genius as well as the chronic illness that shaped her work.
In her 20s, she developed a case of endometriosis severe enough to make her vomit and have so much pain in her limbs and organs that she couldn’t walk. The behavior of a woman’s reproductive organs may be the difference between life and death. A hormonal condition associated with endometriosis induces migraines and, in her case, “the migraine aura that made my words come out wrong” and “morbid visions, like visitations, premonitions of dissolution.” Once Mantel received a proper diagnosis, she was put on medication that made her balloon. But now blood spurts out of the queen’s neck, we are in the third act of the tragedy, and Mantel has added to the list of Cromwell’s powers the ability to turn his back on horror and think about food, as callow as a king. [Giving Up the Ghost](https://bookshop.org/a/12476/9780312423629), Mantel reveals the mystery of her method: “Eat meat. With masterly dispatch, she thrusts us into the middle of the action, tells us exactly where we are, and makes us gasp at a conjunction of things that we would never have thought could occupy the same moral universe—that is, decapitation and a second breakfast.