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- Jan 22, 2008
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John le Carré writes spy stories the way Raymond Chandler wrote crime thrillers: they are firmly withinin their genre, but they explore wider ideas. In his books about the adventures of a range of MI6 agents and their associates, Le Carré seems fascinated by ideas of loyalty and betrayal, and the loneliness and loss of direction felt by people working against the country in which they live.
I’ve read quite a few novels by John le Carré now, and I’ve come to the conclusion that I admire his writing slightly more than I like it. That’s not to say that he’s bad: it’s more that, much as I have enjoyed his books, I’ve found the writing slightly too dense for the story that it’s being used to convey. Chunks of Smiley’s People, for instance, are written in an odd retrospective style that wouldn’t be out of place in an Edwardian novel. Also, while his central characters are great, le Carré has limits: in particular, a crude anti-Americanism creeps into some of the later books, where everyone in the States is a whooping, waterboarding thug. One wonders how they run the CIA if they’re all that dim.
Anyhow, The Secret Pilgrim is an excellent book. The hero is Ned, a spy approaching retirement, who attends a speech given by his mentor, George Smiley. Smiley’s lecture prods Ned into a set of reminiscences, each of which forms a chapter in the book. The Secret Pilgrim is, therefore, a portmanteau of linked stories as Ned looks back over his career.
Le Carré covers a lot of ground. It’s not so much who is spying on who – or who “wins” – that matters, but the psychological effects. One spy becomes a sort of martyr; another denounces himself, perhaps to be finally acknowledged as an expert. Ned finds himself called in to find a traitor in a nest of smugglers, and to help tackle an assassination attempt that may be entirely fake. Every story ends unexpectedly.
Three stand out, and they’re really just conversations: in Israel, Ned interviews a deranged, almost inhuman terrorist, and in Beiruit he is telephoned by a terrified woman who might be a lure. But the longest, and perhaps creepiest story, takes place in suburbia, as Ned embarks on a battle of wills with a bureaucrat who may be a Russian agent, and who seems like a grim reflection of himself.
Le Carré’s writing in this book is clearer than in others, while his sense of setting really makes Ned’s career come alive. Perhaps the framing device is a bit obvious, but these are all strong stories, well told, which create a picture of a drab, dangerous and often cruel world, whose confused morality makes the people who struggle through it seem all the more heroic. Le Carré ends with a story that seems extremely relevant, as Ned realises that Capitalism has its own evils. The Secret Pilgrim is both satisfying and unsettling, and well worth a look.
Recommended.
I’ve read quite a few novels by John le Carré now, and I’ve come to the conclusion that I admire his writing slightly more than I like it. That’s not to say that he’s bad: it’s more that, much as I have enjoyed his books, I’ve found the writing slightly too dense for the story that it’s being used to convey. Chunks of Smiley’s People, for instance, are written in an odd retrospective style that wouldn’t be out of place in an Edwardian novel. Also, while his central characters are great, le Carré has limits: in particular, a crude anti-Americanism creeps into some of the later books, where everyone in the States is a whooping, waterboarding thug. One wonders how they run the CIA if they’re all that dim.
Anyhow, The Secret Pilgrim is an excellent book. The hero is Ned, a spy approaching retirement, who attends a speech given by his mentor, George Smiley. Smiley’s lecture prods Ned into a set of reminiscences, each of which forms a chapter in the book. The Secret Pilgrim is, therefore, a portmanteau of linked stories as Ned looks back over his career.
Le Carré covers a lot of ground. It’s not so much who is spying on who – or who “wins” – that matters, but the psychological effects. One spy becomes a sort of martyr; another denounces himself, perhaps to be finally acknowledged as an expert. Ned finds himself called in to find a traitor in a nest of smugglers, and to help tackle an assassination attempt that may be entirely fake. Every story ends unexpectedly.
Three stand out, and they’re really just conversations: in Israel, Ned interviews a deranged, almost inhuman terrorist, and in Beiruit he is telephoned by a terrified woman who might be a lure. But the longest, and perhaps creepiest story, takes place in suburbia, as Ned embarks on a battle of wills with a bureaucrat who may be a Russian agent, and who seems like a grim reflection of himself.
Le Carré’s writing in this book is clearer than in others, while his sense of setting really makes Ned’s career come alive. Perhaps the framing device is a bit obvious, but these are all strong stories, well told, which create a picture of a drab, dangerous and often cruel world, whose confused morality makes the people who struggle through it seem all the more heroic. Le Carré ends with a story that seems extremely relevant, as Ned realises that Capitalism has its own evils. The Secret Pilgrim is both satisfying and unsettling, and well worth a look.
Recommended.
