I have been on such a reading high in the last few days. I’m about a quarter of the way through Wolf Hall, Hillary Mantel’s astonishing epic about Thomas Cromwell, which far exceeds its hype and it’s not often that you can say that. Impeccable research, seamlessly incorporated, and rounded, wry and humane characters. It’s keeping me up late at night and waking me early in the morning.
Before that, indulging my Van Gogh mood, I dug out a copy of Lust for Life by Irving Stone. Writting in the 1930s, Stone was able to interview a number of people who were personally acquainted with Van Gogh and as a result portrays him with great empathy and plausibility. Some of the irresistible vitality of the paintings finds its way into his narrative. I hadn’t read it since I was a teenager, but it was a delight to rediscover and I’m now pressing it on all my friends.
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