H.M Castor
About Author
H. M. Castor has been obsessed with the Tudors since primary school. She studied Tudor History at Cambridge University and, despite spending time after that doing a variety of jobs including teaching English in Prague and working as a Benesh Movement Notator for the Royal Ballet the Tudors have never lost their hold on her.
In particular she has been fascinated by the story of Henry VIII. "I've read a great deal about his life," she says, "but still a huge question has remained: just how does this extraordinary boy become one of the most villainous kings in British history?
"He is vastly talented, has astonishing warrior skills, and is said to be a model of virtue. So what turns him into a monster? In writing VIII Ive set out to answer that question."
H. M. Castor lives in Bristol with her husband and two daughters.
Interview
VIII
October 2011
Published by Templar
The inspiration for VIII grew from two obsessions. First: Tudor history. I can't remember a time when I wasn't hooked on it - it grabbed me at primary school (I still have the project I did then, full of tracings done on greaseproof paper from the kitchen, coloured in with felt tips), and it has never let go.
I've often wondered what it is about the Tudors in particular that I find so riveting early on, I think it was the costumes and the beheadings! Or rather, not the executions in themselves so much as the terrific, dramatic stories of which they were the gruesome final scene.
How could someone be a maid of honour, then rise to become queen, only to end up starring in that dreadful theatrical spectacle on the scaffold (as both Anne Boleyn and Katherine Howard did)?
Scary kings, tragic queens, betrayals, secret messages and swordfights, sumptuous palaces, sinister ravens, the whisper of headless ghosts and it's all true (well, maybe not the ghosts bit). What more could anyone want?
Over the years my love of the period has deepened and broadened. I studied history at A-level, then at university, and in the twenty years since have rarely been without a book about some aspect of Tudor history on my bedside reading pile.
In art galleries I search out the sixteenth-century paintings... on holiday all I want to do is visit houses, castles and churches that the people of that century built or knew.
These things exert a thoroughly emotional pull. A couple of years ago, Hilary Mantel mentioned in a newspaper article (The Guardian, 15th August 2009) that she struggled to keep back tears when she saw an imprint in Tudor bricks of a blade of grass and a dogs paw: "It was then that the shock of the past reached out and jabbed me in the ribs. They were as alive as I am; why can't I touch them?"
That is exactly how I felt as a child, sweeping round stately homes in my longest skirt, desperately trying to see ghosts. And that is exactly how I feel, still, as an adult.
These people have left behind vivid remnants - the documents they wrote, the jewellery they wore but their living flesh, their personalities, their feelings (every bit as intense and urgent as our own) have vanished - how can that be?
At the heart of a fascination with history lies wonder at the mysteries of birth and death, and of time. Dont we all share that?
So much for the Tudors and for history in general. Why Henry VIII in particular, why this book? Well, this brings me to my second obsession: a need to work out what makes people tick, what goes on in their minds, why they take the decisions they do?
I'm drawn to the psychological aspect of stories - and Henry VIII, psychologically as well as historically, is one of the most fascinating and puzzling personalities I have ever come across.
Although in a way Henry's story is well known, the well-known part is, in fact, only that: a part. Yes, he was that famous image: the fleshy, powerful-looking bearded king who had six wives. But just look at him, earlier on.... he's an extraordinary boy: hugely talented, with astonishing warrior skills, and he's said to be a model of virtue. What went wrong? How did that boy become one of the most villainous kings in British history?
Henrys story has a mythic shape: it's the tale of a fallen angel. In fact it bears an intriguing resemblance to the story (itself heavily influenced by myth) of Anakin Skywalker from Star Wars - the brilliant, talented youth who turns to 'the dark side' and becomes Darth Vader. And I believe that this archetypal quality in Henry's story is part of the reason why children and adults for generations have instinctively been so fascinated by him.
Yet, for me, despite many years of reading about Henry, there has remained a gaping hole. No author in my view has ever convincingly told his story from the inside - no one has made me identify with him.
Other kings of the time failed to have sons, without reacting so devastatingly. What was going on in Henry's mind? Why did his drive for glory go so wrong? What was it, early on, that constructed his emotional circuit board and shaped this powerful, contradictory personality?
In writing VIII, I wanted to answer these questions. I knew that if I climbed inside Henry and looked out through his eyes, the story would change radically. After all, for each one of us, it's our thoughts, our interpretations that shape our world.
The more I considered Henry's childhood and teenage years, the more amazed I became that they have remained relatively unexplored. For me, they hold the key to the man he became, and to the psychological meltdown that I believe he had in later life.
Henry was the child of a doting mother and an emotionally distant father. Both his parents had grown up during a bloody civil war (the Wars of the Roses) and had been deeply affected by it - his mother's two young brothers had been murdered, and his father had spent years on the run.
When I learned history at school these two 'periods' were in totally separate compartments: the Wars of the Roses and the Princes in the Tower on one side, and the Tudors on the other. But Henry's mother was the sister of the Princes in the Tower... surely their murders affected her? His father spent years in exile with a price on his head, and finally won the crown in a brutal battle.
Today, if two people with such traumatic backgrounds had children together, no one would be remotely surprised to learn that their past had a 'trickle-down' effect on those kids.
As for Henry himself, there is so much that the modern reader can relate to. He was sports-mad, competitive, impulsive and ambitious, and he loved to horse around with his gang of friends (even as king, we know from the records that he wasn't above a game of snowballs).
He was never meant to rule - he was born the younger son, the 'spare' - and that gave him a certain freedom, although it also made him second best in his father's eyes. But then, when he was ten, his elder brother died and Henry was thrust into the limelight. A year after that his mother, his emotional anchor, died too.
Henry's relationship with his father was difficult - on one occasion when he was a teenager it was reported that his father had to be physically restrained from attacking him.
And at last, to top it all, Henry became king at just seventeen years of age. He and everyone around him believed that the coronation ceremony transformed him into a divine being.
What does that do to a boy - to a young man? What was it like to be him? This isn't just a history question I'm asking. It's a human question. And I hope that the answer I've found in writing VIII will grab the attention of readers who dont think theyre into history, just as much as it grabs those who know they are.
