{"id":161692,"date":"2022-09-23T15:44:34","date_gmt":"2022-09-23T19:44:34","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=161692"},"modified":"2022-09-23T18:08:02","modified_gmt":"2022-09-23T22:08:02","slug":"de-kretser-orr-recommend","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2022\/09\/23\/de-kretser-orr-recommend\/","title":{"rendered":"Michelle de Kretser and David Orr Recommend; Our Editors Remember Hilary Mantel"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"<\/a>

Gabriel M\u00e4lesskircher, Saint Guy Healing a Possessed Man<\/em>, public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.<\/p><\/div>\n

This week, we remember Hilary Mantel (1952\u20132022), and bring you recommendations from two of our issue no. 241<\/a>\u00a0contributors.\u00a0<\/i><\/p>\n

On holiday in France, I went to Colmar to see the Isenheim Altarpiece in the Mus\u00e9e Unterlinden. Afterward, wandering through the museum\u2019s collection of medieval and Renaissance art, I came across a small oil painting: part of an altarpiece attributed to Gabriel M\u00e4lesskircher, a fifteenth-century German artist from Colmar. <\/span>Saint Guy Healing a Possessed Man<\/span><\/i> has clear, singing colors, predominantly reds and greens. While Saint Guy looks on, the possessed man in question is being restrained by three other men. His head is thrown back, and the expelled demon, a tiny black humanoid, has just flown out of his gaping mouth.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

I thought at once of Mavis Gallant\u2019s story \u201cIn the Tunnel,\u201d which ends with the protagonist, Sarah, writing a jokey, flirtatious invitation to dinner on the back of a postcard that shows a miniature human figure cast out from a man\u2019s body: \u201cThis person must have eaten my cooking.\u201d I remembered that another of Gallant\u2019s stories, \u201cVirus X,\u201d is set partly in Colmar, and I felt certain that she knew M\u00e4lesskircher\u2019s painting. I imagined her looking at it, taking in its detail as I was, and the thrill of connection ran through me like bright wire.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Back in Sydney, I woke with jet lag at three in the morning. In the living room, I switched on the heater and a lamp and began to read \u201cIn the Tunnel.\u201d Well before I reached the end, I knew I had been wrong about Sarah\u2019s postcard. The story is set on the French Riviera, and Sarah steals the card in a mountain chapel not far from Menton. The chapel, which Gallant doesn\u2019t name, is Notre-Dame des Fontaines, famous for its frescoes. The one reproduced on Sarah\u2019s postcard, by Giovanni Canavesio, depicts the hanged Judas. From the mess of guts that spills from his open stomach, his soul\u2014a tiny man\u2014reaches out to the waiting Devil. Visiting the chapel with Sarah are her lover, Roy, and the woman with whom he\u2019s cheating on her. It\u2019s Roy, betrayer and devil, a man who takes pleasure in cruelty, a man who has supervised hangings, who first makes the remark about Sarah\u2019s cooking\u2014seeking, as usual, to inflict pain. In other words, the subject of the fresco is integral to the story. But in my wish to connect with Gallant, I\u2019d contrived to forget all this and had superimposed M\u00e4lesskircher\u2019s painting onto Canavesio\u2019s work.<\/span><\/p>\n

At the end of the story, years have gone by and Sarah, too, has forgotten everything: Roy, the day in the chapel, the provenance of the postcard. When she unconsciously repeats Roy\u2019s words, she\u2019s making them her own, transforming hurt into erotic potential. After she writes the card, the past comes back to her. Her prospective dinner guest might turn out to be another Roy, but for now she\u2019s out of the tunnel, and there\u2019s joy in view. We remember only as much as we need to for happiness, and I felt happy that day in Colmar. Maybe Gallant did once pause in front of <\/span>Saint Guy Healing a Possessed Man<\/span><\/i>\u2014why not?\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u2014Michelle de Kretser, author of \u201c<\/b>Winter Term<\/b><\/a>\u201d<\/b><\/p>\n

Middle-grade children\u2019s literature consists of books intended to teach children something, most of which are boring, and books children actually like, most of which are bad. Susan Cooper\u2019s <\/span>The Dark Is Rising<\/span><\/i><\/a> sequence, which was published from 1965 to 1977, is neither. I reencountered these books, which I loved as a boy, a couple of weeks ago, when my ten-year-old daughter finally turned to them, having plowed through everything else lumped under the heading, \u201cIf you liked Harry Potter<\/em>, you might also like \u2026\u201d In one sense Cooper’s series is typical middle-grade fantasy: kid wizard, prophecy, evildoers, Gandalf figure. In a larger sense, however, her books rewrote the formula before there was even a formula to be written. The boy wizard isn\u2019t always central. The Gandalf figure is rather grim. Children are major actors, but the events depend on adult frailties like thwarted lust, and the characters\u2019 faults and virtues are tangled together: when a boy hero named Bran is treated like an outsider, he resents that treatment but also grows vain about it, such that another boy thinks of Bran\u2019s face as showing \u201cshadows of crafty arrogance\u201d and wishes it were otherwise. My daughter\u2019s favorite book is the third one, <\/span>Greenwitch<\/span><\/i>, about a strange creature created by an ancient harvest ritual that works all too well. \u201cWhat I like,\u201d she told me, \u201cis that everything isn\u2019t just about the people, instead it\u2019s about this mysterious force nobody can control and nobody really understands.\u201d There are worse ways to think about the world, or about the world of books.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u2014David Orr, author of \u201c<\/b>The New You<\/b><\/a>\u201d<\/b><\/p>\n

At school, Hilary Mantel\u2019s <\/span>A Place of Greater Safety <\/span><\/i>was recommended by the history teacher I, a hateful teenager, liked least (pedantic; prone to raptures over seemingly arcane points of fact). He proclaimed it the best book we could read on the French Revolution; since it was the only novel on the list, I opened it anyway, and was reluctantly entranced. (Robespierre, self-conscious, trying to muster something better than his usual thin, cold smile for Danton\u2014\u201cBut it was the only one available to his face.\u201d) Mantel\u2019s imagination was uncannily sinuous: it seemed she could absorb and reinvent her revolutionaries without bending or avoiding any of the established facts, and dance her way through the countless disputed ones. By the time of <\/span>Wolf Hall<\/span><\/i>, she could conjure a Thomas Cromwell faithful to the historical record whose thoughts ran quick and vital, with no whiff of the antique. Those intricately researched and constructed books are animated throughout by the thrill it evidently gave Mantel to inhabit a mind like Cromwell\u2019s\u2014to imagine its unusual intelligence, the dark jokes it might tell itself even in extremis. There\u2019s a moment when our man, believing he may die, is reluctant to give confession, to relinquish those sins \u201cthat others have not even found the opportunity of committing \u2026 they\u2019re mine.\u201d He goes on: \u201cBesides, when I come to judgment I mean to come with a memorandum in my hand: I shall say to my Maker, I have fifty items here, possibly more.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u2014Lidija Haas, deputy editor<\/strong><\/p>\n

Hilary Mantel\u2019s <\/span>Giving Up the Ghost<\/span><\/i> is one of my favorite memoirs\u2014a book about illness without sentimentality, let alone self-pity; about the supernatural, without the woo-woo; about motherhood without children:<\/span><\/p>\n

You come to this place, midlife. You don\u2019t know how you got here, but suddenly you\u2019re staring fifty in the face. When you turn and look back down the years, you glimpse the ghosts of other lives you might have led. All your houses are haunted by the person you might have been. The wraiths and phantoms creep under your carpets and between the warp and weft of your curtains, they lurk in wardrobes and lie flat under drawer liners. You think of the children you might have had but didn\u2019t. When the midwife says, \u201cIt\u2019s a boy,\u201d where does the girl go? When you think you\u2019re pregnant, and you\u2019re not, what happens to that child that has already formed in your mind? You keep it filed in a drawer of your consciousness, like a short story that wouldn\u2019t work after the opening lines.<\/span><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

\u2014Emily Stokes, editor<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u201cA book about illness without sentimentality, let alone self-pity; about the supernatural, without the woo-woo; about motherhood without children.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[68386],"tags":[12555,68535,67827,2153,68523,3344,31506],"class_list":["post-161692","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-the-reviews-review","tag-childrens-literature","tag-dark-is-rising","tag-featured","tag-hilary-mantel","tag-issue-241","tag-mavis-gallant","tag-michelle-de-kretser"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nMichelle de Kretser and David Orr Recommend; Our Editors Remember Hilary Mantel by The Paris Review<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"September 23, 2022 \u2013 \u201cA book about illness without sentimentality, let alone self-pity; about the supernatural, without the woo-woo; 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