Fludd by Hilary Mantel

Fludd by Hilary Mantel was one of my holidays reads from the cottage bookcase. It was a lovely book and one that I would probably not have bothered buying before reading it but now I know I will have to have my own copy.

Fludd is set in a moorland parish in Lancashire in c.1956. I picture somewhere like Uppermill or Delph above Oldham on the edges of Saddleworth moor. We focus on the Catholic parish though there is an opening caveat that the "Church in this story bears some but not much resemblance to the Roman Catholic Church in the real world". The Catholic church is on the cusp of change in these years preceding the Second Vatican Council and Fludd has something of the atmosphere of The British Museum is Falling Down but Fludd is a darker book, funny, but more wryly so. The humour of Fludd takes its tone from the moors, it is as sharp and cutting as the Pennine wind, "a wind with no breath of sea, bearing an upland odour of privation and loss". The wind of change in The British Museum is Falling Down is fresh and light and witty; in Fludd it is dank and the humour mocking. The dark, close narrow streets are in contrast to the open moor as Fludd is in contrast to the closed societies within societies of this imaginary village Fetherhoughton. The society is penned into convent and parish, Men's fellowship and Children of Mary, mother superiors and bishops, clergy and nuns. The simplest things require permission:

Father Fludd stared at the nun's feet. She said, 'I've got a dispensation for Wellingtons. A special permission, from Mother Provincial…I'm getting a dispensation for a rainmate'.

The tone manages to stay the right side of dour however and there is a very engaging cast of characters. Father Angwin has lost his faith and clings to the outward observances with a pedantic grasp, just to keep appearances going. He resists the changes demanded by the bishop, partly out of a drunken stubbornness but also partly out of a real and secure knowledge of the needs of his poverty stricken and barely literate parishioners:

'But I'm afraid,' Father Anwin said, 'that if you take away the statues, and next the Latin, next the feast days, the fast days, the vestments …'
'I said nothing about this, did I?'
'I can see the future. They won't come any more. Why should they? Why should they come to church? They might as well be out on the street?'
'We are not here for frills and baubles, Father,' said the bishop. 'We are not here for fripperies. We are here for Christian witness.'
'Rubbish,' Father said. 'Theses people aren't Christians. These people are heathens and Catholics.'

As we meet the Father he is horrified to be ordered to take down most of the plaster saints in his church. He is aware that the Bishop is likely to send him a curate, young and with new ideas, to keep an eye on him and to check that the bishop's orders are carried out. In a bizarre ceremony-less burial Angwin submerges the saints in the local soil abetted by his concerned housekeeper Agnes and Sister Philomena from the convent.

Philomena is the heart of the novel. She leaves behind the girl who was 'tossed out of believing Ireland to this God-forsaken place' for a stigmata that was imposed on her by a mother desperate for reflected glory and a priest too keen on miracles to question what was in front of him. In Lancashire where the Bishop is too sharp for superstition she is berated instead for her youth and perceived lumbering Irishness. Into her life and into Angwin's comes Fludd.

The real Fluud (1574-1637) was a physician, scholar and alchemist. Here he appears late one night in the rain and Angwin and Agnes take him in, unquestioned, as the new curate. What happens next is a kind of alchemy in the parish. The hearts and minds of Angwin, Agnes and Philomena are disturbed and changed as Fludd passes through.

Fludd is a witty historical novel, about the restraints of religions on the surface, but about much more than that in its many layers. It is about closed societies of many kinds, of education, of the genuine and the fake, of freedom, belief and faith, of love and longing and fulfilment. It is delightfully funny throughout. Philomena and her briefly mentioned relations Kathleen and Dymphna are wonderful creations, Father Angwin says to the Bishop what we would all like to say to figures of authority, and McEvoy the tobacconist (or the Devil depending on who you believe) is a nice piece of deus ex machina in a plot determined to right wrongs, flay the bullies, and free the innocent.

New to me, though first published in 1989, I curse its date for preventing me from putting it into my top ten books of the last ten years. It is certainly one of my most enjoyable reads in the last decade. Utterly delightful.

Comments

[Cornflower]

I was wondering which Mantel to read next, and this book is obviously it. Thankyou!

[Teresa]

Is it possible for you to post a rave of a book without making me want to read it? Because I *really* want to read this!

[GeraniumCat]

I've just finished Mantel's memoir, Giving Up the Ghost, which is wonderful, and I shall definitely be reading this - sounds absolutely tremendous!

[Juxtabook]

Cornflower - this was my first Mantel and I too am wondering which to read next. Glad to have helped you our anyway!

Teresa - I can only apologise! I'll try and find a few things to write scathing revewis about - would that help?

Germanium Cat - ahh! I think you've helped me with which Mantel to go for next.

[Alis Hawkins]

Thanks Catherine - this sounds like just the book I'm looking for at the moment!

[Cornflower]

I've read it now, and it is just marvellous! Thankyou again.