Book Report: Dissolution

4. C. J. Sansom, Dissolution (2003) (3/7/19)

Dissolution, set in 1537, is the first in Sansom's "Shardlake" series of Tudor mysteries. I picked it up on the recommendation of a British birder I met in Vietnam, and finally got around to reading it thanks to the recent excitement  of a Facebook friend upon learning of a brand-new installment (the seventh) in the series. The books feature a hunchback lawyer, Matthew Shardlake, who, in the first episode at least, is a loyal follower of Thomas Cromwell, Henry VIII's fixer (more formally, his vice-gerent and vicar general). In the context of this book, Cromwell's main purpose seems to be religious "reform": that is, exerting the new, anti-papist rules of the land, which includes the breaking-up, or dissolution, of the monasteries. It also involves not a bit of beheading, extraction of confessions on the rack, and distribution of wealth to the haves. Hence, the "dissolution" of the title may be seen as both material and moral.

The action gets going in a deep and snowy winter, when Shardlake is sent by Cromwell to an isolated Benedictine monastery on the Sussex coast, where one of Cromwell's commissioners, bearing news of the dissolution to come, has been brutally murdered: his head severed from his body by a sharp sword. The senior officials, or obentiaries, of the monastery range in character from the bursar, in charge of abbey finances, Brother Edwig, humorless and grasping, to the infirmarian, Brother Guy, a Spaniard of dark complexion who seems caring and attentive of his charges. There is an ineffectual abbot, Fabian; a cruel prior and novice master, Mortimus; and a crazy Carthusian, Jerome—as well as various others. Shardlake is struck both by the relative opulence of the living quarters, especially the abbot's, and by the relatively small number of residents, many of them elderly. It is a far cry from St. Benedict's notions of austerity, and from the bustling community that thrived here not all that long ago. He also takes care not to be moved by the monks, whether in sympathy, as with Guy, or in antipathy, as with the prior and the bursar, among others. He strives to remain neutral. But that proves difficult, and not necessarily effective. A few non-religious characters have important roles as well.

Not surprisingly (this is a relatively long book, at 439 pages: things have to happen), a second murder ensues, this one of a young novice by poisoning, belladonna. Then, a body is discovered in a fish pond, that of a woman, along with the sharp sword. Lights are seen in the night, off in the treacherous marsh that borders the monastery. There are whisperings of sexual indiscretion, as well as of hushed-up land transactions. Certain recent goings-on at court—Anne Boleyn was beheaded not too long before the action of this book, and her successor, Jane Seymour, dies as the story gets going—figure in as well. There is a secret passage and a bell tower.

As with any good mystery, the details mount in a pleasing fashion, and ultimately everything falls into place for Shardlake, and for us, in surprising ways. (I was gratified that I guessed one key detail confirming one bad guy. Always a pleasure when you notice such things, even if they don't immediately have meaning, but ultimately they add up.) The writing is solid, if somewhat pedestrian. Conversations are carried out without literary flourish, and the characters lack depth. But, it's a mystery, not literature.

Tintern Abbey, Monmouthshire

Perhaps the most satisfying thing about this book is the way history comes alive: the sights and sounds of sixteenth-century London and of the coastal backwater of Scarnsea; the machinations of Cromwell and of the "reformists"; the power dynamics of poor and wealthy, religious and reformist, courtly, political, and lay. I knew nothing about the Dissolution, which was a real thing, lasting from 1536, when the first, smaller monasteries were destroyed, to 1540, when the last of the large religious communities surrendered to the king and were disbanded. Many were granted, as valuable land, to loyal followers of the king; many others simply fell into ruins (such as Tintern Abbey, alluded to in the famous poem by Wordsworth). Sansom, the author note says, earned a BA and PhD in history before becoming a solicitor (lawyer) and then full-time writer.

Here is a conversation, early in the book, in which the friction between the monks and the reformist commissioner Shardlake, who comes upon the brothers enjoying drinks and a card game, can be seen:

The tall, thin monk stepped forward, bowing again obsequi-ously.
 "I am Brother Jude, sir, the pittancer."
 "Master Matthew Shardlake, the king's commissioner. I see you are enjoying a convivial evening."
 "A little relaxation before Vespers. Would you care for some of this fine liqueur, Commissieoner? It is from one of our French sister houses."
 I shook my head. "I still have work to do," I said severely. "In the earlier days of your order, the day's end would have been taken up with the Great Silence."
 Brother Jude hesitated. "That was long ago, sir, in the days before the Great Pestilence. Since then the world has fallen further towards its end."
 "I think the English world does very well under King Henry."
 "No, no—" he said hastily. "I did not mean—"
 A plump monk from the card table, his face disfigured by a warty growth on one cheek, joined us. "Forgive Brother Jude, sir, he speaks without thinking. I am Brother Hugh, the chamberlain. We know we need correction, Commissioner, and we welcome it." He glared at his colleague.
 "Good. That will make my work easier. Come, Brother Guy. We have a corpse to inspect."

And here is a more philosophical bit, toward the end, when Shardlake is beginning to realize that loyalty can be misplaced if one is not sure exactly what one is being loyal to. In a church in London, he has just encountered a century-old cadaver tomb, with two tiers: on top,

the effigy of a rich merchant in his fine robes, plump and bearded. On the lower tier lay the effigy of a desiccated cadaver in the rags of the same clothes, and the motto: "So I am now; so I once was: as I am now; so shall ye be."
 Looking at the stone cadaver I had a sudden vision of [the decomposed body found in the pond] rising from the water, then of the diseased rickety children at Smeaton's house. I had a sudden sick feeling that our revolution would do no more than change starveling children's names from those of the saints to Fear-God and Zealous. I thought of Cromwell's casual mention of creating faked evidence to hound innocent people to death, and of Mark's talk of the greedy suitors come to Augmentations [a newly created law court] for grants of monastic lands. This new world was no Christian commonwealth; it never would be. It was in truth no better than the old, no less ruled by power and vanity. I remembered the gaudy, hobbled birds [parrots brought from South America as novelties for the wealthy] shrieking mindlessly at each other and it seemed to me like an image of the king's court itself, where papists and reformers fluttered and gabbled, struggling for power. And in my wilful blindness I had refused to see what was before my eyes. How men fear the chaos of the world, I thought, and the yawning eternity hereafter. So we build patterns to explain its terrible mysteries and reassure ourselves we are safe in this world and beyond.

I expect I will read more in the Shardlake series—though I understand the books get increasingly long (the newest one is 800 pages), so it may be a while. This book also reminded me of the Ellis Peters Brother Cadfael series that I read decades ago, set in the twelfth century during the Anarchy in England. They were entertaining too. There could be worse ways of learning about history than through a romping good murder mystery.