I have to admit that I have not read any of Hilary Mantel's novels. I did try one once, can't remember which, and did not get very far with it for whatever reason. But at the beginning of this week I was staying in a Bed and Breakfast in Lyme Regis (Dorset, south coast, for those of you not familiar with the UK) and found this on a shelf. Finding a book in this B&B was not very difficult as it is actually on the top floor of a bookshop! Named The Sanctuary, it is a veritable feast of second hand books, which have overflowed onto the stairs, into the bedrooms and the dining room. I need hardly say what a great joy that was. So it was rather amazing that I came away with only three books -- two battered green Penguin detective novels, of which more later, and this one which came into view as I was having breakfast on the last day. I'm very fond of childhood memoirs (though not those of the misery and abuse persuasion) and loved the cover, but it was when I started reading that I became completely hooked. This is a truly remarkable book. The first part is Mantel's memories of her childhood, not, on the surface, a particularly remarkable one -- but the way she tells it is extraordinary and moving and breathtakingly original. She has that really rare ability of entering completely into her own tiny self, and the way that tiny person perceives the world is absolutely fascinating. The later section of the book moves on to her adult life, her endless health problems, and her feelings about how these have affected her ability to have children. Sounds depressing? Not so. Touching and sad but also very uplifting. A must must must read if you have not already.
And below, here is my bedroom at The Sanctuary.