The agony of reading Hilary Mantel

It is dispiriting being an also-ran. Setting yourself up as a writer takes hubris. It is a wild and outrageous claim that you have something to say, in a voice worth being amplified. Then along comes Hilary Mantel, and you realise with deadening clarity — you have little to say, badly.

Earlier this month, The Mirror and the Light, the concluding part of Mantel’s Tudor trilogy, was published. You might have noticed? It is a titan. A book adored by critics which will be bought by actual readers. It sends ripples through social media. Have you read it yet? Have you got it? Have you seen the size of it? My writer friends, most of whom write historical fiction, are in a froth.

There is a particular kind of anguish when the book, which is the size of a small car, is finally in my hands. As a reader, I’m transported. It’s beautiful.