I’m happy to let you know that I wasn't disappointed. In fact, I enjoyed this book a lot. The story was peculiar and twisted, but also amusing even in its most piercing narration.
Deep within her, behind her cardigan and her blouse and her petticoat trimmed with scratchy nylon lace, behind her interlock vest and freckled skin, Miss Dempsey sensed a slow movement, a tiny spiral shift of matter, as if, at the very moment the curate spoke, a change had occurred: a change so minute as to baffle description, but rippling out, in its effect, to infinity.
As I understand it, this book does not criticize Catholicism. In fact having good comprehension of the religion makes the story and the questions presented here more relevant. Mantel brought the reader in a world spellbinding even in its dullness, drowning from its catastrophic foolishness, and yet vindicated for their faith.
Not all forms of love are comprehensible, and some forms of love destroy what they touch.
The story is a knot of ignorant parishioners, an unrepentant tobacconist, a high-handed bishop, an atheist priest, and vicious nuns. Humorous and symbolic. I believe I am ready for another Hilary Mantel novel.