Home Again: Mantel's Bring up the Bodies Got Me Through

As I've noted only too often, good books and great writing have seen me through many a difficulty. Each day this past week, after caring for my mom, I'd return to my quiet hotel room in the late afternoon to immerse myself in Hilary Mantel's Bring up the Bodies. I hadn't expected that I would be reading it this fall, but I desperately craved a historical novel, and there it was staring at me from my tall floor-to-ceiling bedroom bookcase. In my bookbag it went, along with Beowulf.

If it weren't for Mantel's mesmerizing language, I probably would not have read this one after finishing Wolf Hall. I've suffered from an over-exposure to the Henry Tudor subject matter in my lifetime, as I've noted in the past. But this read has been worth it, though I most definitely will not return to the subject again, though there is a third Thomas Cromwell novel on the way, so yes, I will probably read that and then no more Henry.

I'm oh so happy to be home. There is only so much of wall-to-wall traffic and parking lots that one can take. Boston is drowning in both. How do people stand it? Back to wilderness, trees, stillness, fields, sky, quiet house, family (husband and dog), and more books.