Brits, Espionage, Bloody Brilliant

Book Review: The Night Manager by John Le Carré

…the story about how this book came into my possession isn’t overly enthralling nor gripping. It was merely the result of pilfering the bookshelves of my dear sister prior to leaving for Denmark (she was present and aware of my actions). In a last-ditch attempt to supplement my own selection of material, I picked through her shelves and selected a handful of intriguing works. In addition to this title, I collected: Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen, 1984 by George Orwell, The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien, and The Philosopher's Stone by J.K. Rowling. Not a bad handful to come away with, and a darn sight better than I had expected – also free to me, so does not get much better than that.

As I write this, I stare across at my own little bookshelf here in Denmark. It makes me think about what someone would select from my offerings. How would someone interpret my collection of books? What conclusions would they make about me? I do feel as if you can take a great deal from the books an individual reads – perhaps even slightly more than any other kind of art someone consumes. I feel like books, even more than visual art, films, music, etc., hint at how a person sees the world, what they want to see in the world, what they want to see in themselves, where they escape to, what they want to feel, and simply what they like – or don’t. The active participation required through reading is what I believe gives the literary arts a slight edge – maybe edge is the wrong term, maybe it’s just a different angle than the others – as its easy enough to just throw on a film on and barely watch it while you scroll on your phone or become distracted by something else, or put up a painting you never look at. It is then much easier to passively consume certain other types of art, yet reading requires a conscious commitment of time, effort, and focus. I believe this intentional consumption creates a solid bond between the individual and the art, which thereby gives us a stronger footing to understand the individual's likes, dislikes, hopes, aspirations, etc.

Disclaimer: I’m not trying to condescend in my discussion of this topic in any way whatsoever. I believe all types of books have value, and I really think you should read a wide range of books. This is not me suggesting that you ought to be some overtly deep and thoughtful person and your bookshelf should represent that, or should appear that way aesthetically. I think that line of thinking defeats the purpose of reading somewhat, which, as an art/form of entertainment, is something inherently intrinsic (yes, I understand that this contradicts the whole association, so sorry to break it to you, but a certain level of irony is implied with the PFA). Reading doesn’t always have to be some grand journey for intellectual betterment. Reading for any end is good. Trying to read a book that will change your life every time sounds incredibly exhausting; on the contrary, reading reality TV in book form one after the other without coming up for air probably isn’t too fantastic either.

Okay, so I apologize for going on quite the tangent there – that’s probably enough for today. I might have to pick that thread up in a standalone post sometime. Look, I did really mean it in my introductory post when I said that I would be spewing up words in these posts, so I hope you believe me now. Moving on to the review, this long preamble does have some relevance to my experience with the novel. It was a book I just enjoyed. It didn’t change my life. It didn’t suddenly make me view myself or the world majorly differently. It made you think and had a great level of complexity to it, but I’m not sitting here as a wholly changed man because of it. And that’s great, because I enjoyed it.

Now, review time...

John Le Carre leads us along an unpredictable, complex, and twisting story of a British ex-soldier, now luxury hotelier, Jonathan Pine, who answers the call of his conscience – upbringing, love, country, or fate? – to go undercover and infiltrate suave war profiteer, Richard ‘Dickie’ Onslow Roper. Le Carre does a fabulous job in creating a delicate sense of unpredictability, both in the characters and plot. Pine’s complexity is dynamic and ever-developing. He is both virtuous and slightly volatile. Le Carre communicates Pine’s internal battles brilliantly, as we see deep into his thought processes as well as the past experiences that impact him. His conflicts with national pride, a troubled childhood, love, lust, and morality are described intensely. The way in which feelings and imagery are illustrated is incredibly vivid. When introducing Pine’s affinity for Dickie’s female companion, Le Carre speaks to how “Jonathan is nearly ill with desire.” This is just one of countless descriptions made by Le Carre, which give us more than a plain statement of feeling.  

The main antagonist in this novel is equally interesting and, in some sense, fairly likable. Dickie Roper seemingly has it all, an exorbitantly wealthy British ‘businessman’, who is incredibly charismatic, witty, and charming. It is certainly with an air of ‘I’ve got more money than your whole family’, along with a healthy dose of trepidation due to the understanding that this is an incredibly immoral and dangerous man. Nonetheless, most of his interactions with Pine, as well as with peripheral characters, show him as being particularly magnetic. Le Carre does give us flashes of Dickie’s vicious capabilities, yet these are only drip-fed to us. Through restraining the amount in which we see Dickies sinister side, we come to see him more through the affable gentleman façade he puts up for the public. A key component to not only Dickie’s likability but my enjoyment of the novel was the overt Britishness of it all, particularly the speech. It felt as if I could hear the voices of the characters even more clearly than any book I’ve read before. The colloquial terms, the joking, even the structure of sentences made me feel that I was not only reading in English but my language.

While the plot as a whole was enticing and well structured, I felt as if there were certain complexities that would have been best left out. A great deal of detail was included – confusingly so – about the countless “espiocrats” and other government agency pawns. At times, it was rather difficult to keep up with and simply muddied the non-Pine chapters. The intelligence agency world’s inclusion is obviously central to the story; however, the myriad of hierarchies, branches, and offshoot outfits made visualizing it challenging at times. Despite these subjective flaws, the book was a fantastic read. Engaging, complex, and unpredictable, everything one would expect and want in a spy novel. On a personal note, The Night Manager was a touch nostalgic in an odd way for me. It reminded me slightly of the young adult book series, Cherub, I was obsessed with as a young teen (a series I still have every copy of sitting on my bookshelves at home). This certainly added to my enjoyment and has perhaps tainted my objectivity in review. Heartwarming nostalgia aside, Le Carre has given us an objectively terrific book. The deeply complex and flawed protagonist, paired with all the drama of espionage, made for a thoroughly good read.

4/5