Hilary Mantel is a bestselling British novelist whose works—mostly historical fiction, or novels and stories with contemporary political overtones—are better known in Great Britain than here. Which is surprising, since the 62-year-old Dame Hilary has a knack for self-publicity.
Last year, for example, she caused a minor sensation when, in a lecture, she characterized Kate Middleton, Duchess of Cambridge, as a “precision-made, machine-made [mannequin] . . . with a perfect plastic smile and the spindles of her limbs hand-turned and gloss-varnished.” Indeed, she went on at some length in this critical vein—comparing “the plastic princess born to breed” unfavorably with Princess Diana and Anne Boleyn—and with such vehemence as to invite comparison with her own appearance.
Now she’s at it again. Readers of last week’s New York Times Book Review will have noticed the appearance of a short story (“The Assassination of Margaret Thatcher”) from Mantel’s forthcoming collection. Its plot is simple and self-explanatory: In 1983, two London acquaintances discuss the possibility—indeed, the desirability—of shooting to death Margaret Thatcher, who can be seen from the narrator’s window. Dame Hilary has explained that she, herself, once saw Mrs. Thatcher from her window during the Falklands war, and entertained similar thoughts. Certainly the narrator’s extended commentary about Thatcher—closer in tone to an op-ed than to imaginative literature—may be taken to be Hilary Mantel’s voice.
All of which, of course, yielded an even stronger reaction than her snarky comments about Kate Middleton. Indeed, like moths drawn to the flame, certain Conservative members of Parliament went so far as to suggest that the law might get involved in the case, since romanticizing the murder of public officials could inspire potential assassins. As well it could—-except that Mantel’s story is, ostensibly, fictional, and, in our transatlantic world, people aren’t chased by the police for their thoughts, no matter how unseemly. Freedom of thought, as Justice Holmes once declared, includes “freedom for the thought that we hate.”
The Scrapbook has two observations about this, and one question. First, the (understandably) indignant reaction of Margaret Thatcher’s friends and admirers to Mantel’s story allowed publications such as the Guardian—which is ordinarily happy to silence unpopular opinion—to take the high road on the question of speech. It’s more than a little annoying to be lectured on artistic license and freedom of conscience by people who believe that “hurtful” speech or “hateful” imagery or “offensive” ideas should be suppressed.
Second, Mantel’s story revived our memory of a now-forgotten 2004 novel by the American writer Nicholson Baker, Checkpoint, which has a comparable plot. In Checkpoint, two acquaintances meet in a hotel room in Washington and discuss the possibility—“for the good of humankind”—of assassinating George W. Bush. In Baker’s novel, as in Mantel’s story, the ending is conveniently ambiguous: Thatcher might have been shot, and Bush might have been killed; but we don’t know for certain. And as with Hilary Mantel, what we know about Nicholson Baker suggests that the mixture of fiction and fact—of author’s sentiment and narrative viewpoint—is deliberate and heartfelt.
Which leads to one question: What is it about the impotent rage of the cultural left? It is often said that while conservatives think liberals are misguided, liberals believe that conservatives are evil. Certainly the fevered visions—the dreams of murderous violence—in Nicholson Baker and Dame Hilary Mantel suggest that “rage” is the pertinent term here. Our friends on the left should consider their reaction if the tables were turned, and pop a Valium.
