By Aidan O’Sullivan
There is something timeless about the Cold War. It was a horrible period: Oppressed peoples beyond the Iron Curtain, nuclear devastation a potential horizon, and a litany of proxy wars checkered across the world map, damaging most of all for those nations desperate to leave behind the previous era’s colonial grip.
However, it remains an attractive venue in which any spy thriller feels decidedly at home in. John Le Carré’s Smiley’s People is no different. The last in what has been referred to as his ‘Karla trilogy’ the book finds retired spymaster George Smiley facing his Russian double, the Kremlin’s Karla one last time.
The book unfolds over Paris, Hamburg, and Berlin with a castlist of Russian emigré’s and old British senior MI5 members as Smiley searches for the conspiracy behind the assasination of a former agent of his.
As one of the most iconic spies in British pop culture, John le Carré’s George Smiley acts as a distinct counterpoint to perhaps Britain’s most popular spy, Ian Fleming’s James Bond. In fact, considering both Fleming’s initial Bond Book, 1953’s Casino Royale and Smiley’s introduction in The Spy who Came in From the Cold are only 10 years apart, it’s startling how different they are. As two characters which occupy the same genre they perch on a dividing line in British history. One looks towards a vision of an Empire not quite yet exposed for its threadbare nature, the other is steeped in its immutable decline.
Fleming’s Bond books reek of an updated colonial adventurism. Like the genre of great adventure books before them, the spy novels are steeped in the exoticism of foreign lands, explored by what Fleming clearly saw as a role model of British masculinity. The plots themselves feature a length of explosive car chases, fight scenes, and over the top showdowns with usually stereotyped foreign villains.
Le Carré’s Smiley on the other hand is an old and balding retired spy. When he emerges in the second chapter of Smiley’s People he is ‘clasping his pudgy hands over his belly like a mayor.’ Similarly the book is dominated by a set of ageing spies, the events a methodical investigation and set of maneuverings as Smiley attempts to catch his rival out one last time.
This is not to say the book is not exciting. Despite its older cast, Le Carré is incredibly effective at jumpstarting a scene into a thriller like when an old Russian emigré attempts to flee the pursuit of a KGB stooge in the first chapter.
However, the highlight is always the way Le Carré crafts a deliberate and cinematic atmosphere. Whether it be an inspection of a body at a British morgue, a Hamburg sex club or the streets of Paris Le Carré is a master at steeping a scene in a timeless cinematic quality.
Smiley’s People may have been published in 1979 but it remains top ranked among the spy books of any era.