Fludd, by Hilary Mantel

My plan to read only women during Women's History Month really brought home to me how many more books I have by men than women. It might be 2:1, and the ratio of men to women authors is probably even worse, because there are a handful of women writers whose books make up large chunks of my collection. I own every or nearly every book written A.S. Byatt, George Eliot, Jane Austen, and Kate Atkinson. I suspect Hilary Mantel belongs on this list of women. At present, I have -- and have read -- 3 of her books. I adored Wolf Hall. I went right out and bought Bring Up the Bodies upon finishing it, and then got so mad that the third volume was not yet out. (And this was 2015! Where is The Mirror and the Light Hilary Mantel?!) I never really looked beyond the Cromwell books but a few months back when I found a copy of Fludd at a thrift store, so I bought it for $1 and shelved it next to Bring Up the Bodies and forgot all about it until I was scanning my shelves for books by women. It's a slim book and doesn't get into the depth of its characters thoughts quite the way Wolf Hall does, but there is a familiar tenderness toward them. The book starts out rather bleakly, but the story was wholly unexpected and delightful.