I had three hedgehogs, and all have died.

I want some ostrich eggs. And a bittern, to hear it boom, and learn how it makes that noise.

I want knowledge. I want time.

And time wants you, John. You will become a grain of wheat. You will be changed to a pool of water. To a worm, a fly. And a wind will blow the fly away.

note

This is not a true story, though it is based on one. The Irish giant Charles Byrne exhibited himself in London in 1782 and died there the following year. He bears little resemblance to the giant of this story, since he probably suffered from a pituitary tumour and may have been mentally retarded.

In this story, when the Giant and his band leave Ireland, they are not fleeing from any particular catastrophe. They are fleeing cyclical deprivation, linguistic oppression, and cultural decline, conditions in which it is hard for a great man like the Giant to flourish.

John Hunter was born near East Kilbride in 1728. He was briefly apprenticed to a cabinet-maker in Glasgow, but in 1748 he went to London and began a dazzling career as surgeon, scientist, and collector, which spanned forty years and made him famous but never rich.

Until the Anatomy Act of 1832, the only way a scientist could obtain corpses for study was by stealing them or getting them from the hangman. The peculiar horror people felt at the prospect of dissection was partly because of its association with crime and disgrace, but also because of religious/folk beliefs about bodily resurrection after the Last Judgement.

The episode of Hunter’s inoculation with syphilis is controversial. Some authorities think that he inoculated himself, others that he inoculated an experimental subject. In a spirit of generosity, I’ve decided to believe both. Hunter’s experiment was undertaken in the belief that syphilis and gonorrhoea were different manifestations of one poison. I should add, as a word to the worried, that it took place before he was a married man.

I have taken some latitude in describing Hunter’s speculations. For instance, his thoughts about vomiting anticipate the work of Francois Magendie, another great experimenter.

For information about sundry saints, and for the ballad sung by Claffey, I am indebted to Irish Eccentrics by Peter Somerville-Large (Lilliput Press). The Giant’s poem about King Herod may be found in Kuno Meyer’s Ancient Irish Poetry (Constable).

The bones of Charles Byrne may be inspected during the usual exhibition hours at the Museum of the Royal College of Surgeons, Lincoln’s Inn Fields, London.

ALSO BY HILARY MANTEL

Every Day Is Mother’s Day

Vacant Possession

Eight Months on Ghazzah Street

Fludd

A Place of Greater Safety

A Change of Climate

An Experiment in Love

Copyright © 1998 by Hilary Mantel

All rights reserved.

Henry Holt and Company, Inc.

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trademark of Henry Holt and Company, Inc.

Designed by Paula R. Szafranski

eISBN 9781429932196

First eBook Edition : May 2011

Library of Congress Cataloging-in- Publication Data

Mantel, Hilary, 1952-

The giant, O’Brien : a novel / Hilary Mantel.—1st ed.

p. cm.

I. Title

PR6063.A438G5 1998

98-10701

823’.914—DC21

CIP

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First Edition 1998

Also by

Hilary Mantel

The Bestselling Author of Wolf Hall,

Winner of the Man Booker Prize

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