September 2, 2026
Henry The Eighth Sits Through His First Performance Review, Finds It Considerably Gentler Than His Own Management Style

Henry The Eighth Sits Through His First Performance Review, Finds It Considerably Gentler Than His Own Management Style

The king discovers feedback need not involve an axe

On A Meeting Called The Performance Review

Good people, I was this week invited to observe a custom called the performance review, wherein a subject’s employer doth sit with them once yearly and discuss, calmly and without violence, whether their labors have pleased the household. I confess I sat through this entire proceeding with mounting confusion, for at no point did anyone reach for an axe, a dungeon, or even a strongly worded proclamation, and yet the matter of poor performance was, apparently, still resolved.

In mine own court, a performance review generally consisted of a single question, namely “Has this advisor displeased me,” followed swiftly by an answer requiring no further paperwork. Thomas Cromwell, a man of considerable talent and even more considerable usefulness, discovered this system’s limitations rather abruptly and rather permanently.

On The Matter Of Constructive Feedback

This modern feedback, I am told, must be “constructive,” meaning it should identify both strengths and areas for growth, delivered in a manner that leaves the subject feeling supported rather than terrified. I confess I never once delivered feedback to an advisor in a manner intended to leave them feeling supported. Feeling terrified was, generally speaking, the entire point.

On The Ninety Day Improvement Plan

I am further informed that an employee whose performance disappoints may be placed upon a ninety day improvement plan, granting them a further quarter year to demonstrate their worth before any final decision is made. Cardinal Wolsey received considerably less than ninety days once he had failed to secure mine annulment from Catherine, and no plan whatsoever was offered, improvement or otherwise.

The King’s Verdict On Modern Management

I do hereby declare the performance review, whilst tediously gentle by mine own standards, a genuinely superior method of correcting a subject’s shortcomings, chiefly because it results in considerably fewer traitors’ heads upon considerably fewer pikes. Had I adopted a ninety day improvement plan for mine advisors rather than an executioner’s block, I daresay the Tower of London should have needed a rather smaller staff.

I am further told this review process includes something called a self assessment, wherein the subject being reviewed must first grade their own performance honestly before their employer offers a second opinion. I confess I never once asked Wolsey to grade his own performance before I removed him from it, largely because I suspected, correctly as it turned out, that his self assessment and mine own would differ rather sharply.

Full and glorious source of this tale, as ever, upon The London Prat: https://prat.uk/workplace-performance-review-culture/

Defender of the Faith

Henry Is Back The novel sits squarely in the magical realist tradition: one impossible event — Henry VIII wakes on his own grave in 2026 — drops into a scrupulously realistic world, and the impossibility is never explained, resolved, or even investigated. Like García Márquez's ascending Remedios or Rushdie's telepathic children, the resurrection simply is, described as happening "by means unknown even to the omniscient." The book's innovation is where it relocates the marvel's consequences: not folk wonder, but bureaucracy. Britain absorbs a resurrected king the way it absorbs everything — with a form. His identity is rejected by a benefits algorithm, filed by a Church committee, roped off by the National Trust. Nobody disproves he's Henry VIII; nobody tries. The magic isn't denied, it's processed, which is the sharpest possible joke about a country that would ask God for two forms of ID. Stand-up comedy is the second engine: the one modern institution licensed to say true, insane things aloud, so total sincerity becomes legible only as "commitment to a bit." The flagstone (roped, then re-roped "out of respect") and the unexplained ELO song he keeps humming are the genre's classic leaks of the impossible — evidence that something happened, and Britain, true to form, simply finds it a chair.

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