Library Limelights 264

John le Carré. Silverview. Canada: Viking/Penguin Canada, 2021.

Speaking of the master (in Stella Rimington review, below), here is his last completed manuscript, a work he had had on the go for some years. His son Nicholas Cornwell, in an Afterword, explains why his father kept editing it and why he shied from publishing for so long. Nicholas is proud to say the author’s fans can expect “pure le Carré.” He’s right, it’s everything you would expect. The opening scene deftly rouses curiosity about the obscure agenda of Stewart Proctor, head of domestic security for the intelligence Service, although it’s some time before we know what his position is. A parallel story line involves Julian Lawndsley, a thirty-something who made his fortune toiling in London’s financial offices; now all he wants is to establish a cozy book shop in a small East Anglian town. Julian is befriended by an elderly local, Edward Avon, who offers plenty of good literary advice; the man is less forthcoming about himself.

To his surprise, Julian learns that Edward is married to Deborah, living in her inherited family mansion called Silverview. Their daughter Lily is the first connection made to Proctor. Deborah’s career as the top analyst in the Service is at an end with her terminal illness. Invited for dinner, Julian witnesses her baffling hostility aimed at husband Edward. Meanwhile Proctor is interviewing agents to trace the secret past achievements of a “joe” dubbed Florian, from those who worked with him in various war zones—to what end is unclear. Florian sounds a lot like Edward but spoilers bid me say no more. Of course there’s much under the surface here with le Carré’s known antipathy for the heartless aspects of Brit espionage culture. Does bureaucratic ego fail to respect an individual field agent’s wellbeing? It’s a quick but challenging read, distilling an illustrious career.

One-liners

▪ Ellen unpins her incomparable auburn hair and lets it cascade over her bare shoulders, as practised by beautiful women since the beginning of time. (34)

▪ “He’s as straight as a die, is my Teddy, don’t ever let anyone tell you different!” (43)

▪ “What your chaps and chapesses have got to understand is that Agent Florian was an absolute one-off, a gift from Heaven.” (95)

▪ Her reticence ‒ not to say secrecy – was as much a part of her nature as it was of Edward’s. (150)

▪ What the fuck did they do to each other, Jules? Lily marvels drowsily into his cellphone in the small hours of this morning. (169)

Multi-liners

▪ “Her message has been taken to heart. Her concerns will be acted upon. All her conditions will be met in full.” (7)

▪ “And you’ll not be lurking down there in the scullery all night, I trust, Stewart? Because it’s a crying waste of a woman’s life otherwise. And a man’s.” (35)

▪ “It’s ‘Do what you think’, not ‘Think what you do’, for Nietzsche and for Edward. A most dangerous dictum, would you not say, Julian?” (128)

▪ [Proctor] The very idea of a consuming passion bewildered him ‒ let alone of allowing one’s life to be conducted by it. Absolute commitment of any sort constituted to his trained mind a grave security threat. The entire ethic of the Service was utterly ‒ he would almost say absolutely – opposed to it, unless, that is, you were talking of manipulating the absolute commitment of an agent you were running, (197-8)

The human factor

Service ethics placed an unbridgeable divide between in-house professionals and field agents. For Florian and Deborah, Head Office made an exception.

But Philip needed his last word:

“He fell for her, for Christ’s sake, Joan! She was his Britannia!” ‒ ignoring Joan’s hoot of derision. “That’s what he does. He casts a woman in some image he’s got of her, then he falls head over heels for the image. She was British to the core, loyal as they come, good-looking and rich. Edward was bloody lucky.” (99)

Game changer

As Florian described it, it was just like any other Bosniak village stuck in a fold of bare hills a day’s drive out of Sarajevo. It had a mosque and two churches ‒ one Catholic, one Orthodox – and sometimes the church bells got mixed up with the muezzin, and nobody cared, which Florian thought was wonderful.

“You’d never get him admitting that anyone was the better for religion, but at least it wasn’t ripping people apart, so hooray. When the village had a knees-up, everyone sang the same songs and got plastered on the same hooch.” (106)

Who’s in charge?

“I don’t know how much you’ve actually seen of the wildcat proposals Deborah’s think tank was putting out in the run-up to the second Iraq War have you, Quentin?”

“Why?” asked Battenby, to Proctor’s confusion.

“It was pretty hair-raising stuff, that’s all. Informed by our best intelligence, but animated by a political perception, one felt, rather than a viable sense of reality. Simultaneous bombing of Islamic capital cities, gifting of Gaza and South Lebanon to Israel, targeted assassination programmes for heads of state, enormous secret armies of international mercenaries under false flags sowing mayhem across the region in the name of people we didn’t like ‒ ”

Teresa had heard enough.

“Barking moon-gazers, whoever doubted it?” she interrupted impatiently. (184)

Marie-Renée Lavoie. A Boring Wife Settles the Score. 2020. Canada: House of Anansi Press, translation 2021.

I loved Autopsy of a Boring Wife so much (LL201 in 2019), I was delighted to see a sequel published. After her long marriage to Jacques tanked, Diane Delaunais finds herself at bitter loose ends. The worst sting of all still needles her—Jacques’ accusation that she’s boring. To prove to herself that she is interesting and useful, she takes a job as a kindergarten teacher’s aide. Ensueth hilarious descriptions of trying to manage a roomful of anarchic tots, not to mention their overbearing parents and the teachers themselves. Diane’s adult children are supportive of her new initiative, as is her also-divorced BFF Claudine; the two women share a house with their family hangers-on and a cat called Steve, occasionally attempting to instill some human qualities into teenage Adèle.

Claudine’s mind is primarily on having sex with a man—any man―she hasn’t found yet. Not for want of trying; demure is not her style. When Diane meets Guy, a worthy construction worker her first day on the job, she too feels the same urge, nervously agonizing over her middle-aged body, wardrobe planning, fantasizing scenarios of Hollywood seduction. The two friends exchange—at critical times―hysterical texts of encouragement and advice. Does Diane have second thoughts of caving when Jacques romances her once again? Not a chance, especially since his new wife just had a baby. Diane keeps her balance with much humour and many small kindnesses. Even some practical child psychology creeps in. Lavoie is a gem of a writer—perceptive, articulate, above all witty. Balm.

One-liners

▪ “Are you saying I look good because I look like I lost weight, or I look good and I look like I lost weight?” (35)

▪ “She can’t breastfeed with those huge plastic tits?” (41)

▪ I had no idea what I was planning to say, skydiving without a parachute. (60)

▪ If it were a movie I’d have jumped on him and we’d have French kissed as some super-famous song arranged for ukulele played in the background. (63)

▪ I’d learned some time back not to give a shit about matters of zero importance, and I didn’t give even half a shit now. (270)

▪ When I told the kids Miss Sophie would be absent for a few days, wiggling the fingers of one hand to limit their imaginations to five, Devan kicked the trash can, Éléonore burst into tears, and Julia dropped her cards. (280)

Multi-liners

▪ “You’re the one having a tough time. You want me and your tramp to be buddy-buddy so you can sit back with a clear conscience and enjoy your midlife crisis.” (35)

▪ Throughout our conversation I could see a boy named Devan, out of the corner of my right eye, violently smashing a doll’s head against the ground. Was he trying to make it explode? (51)

▪ I threw her a real estate agent’s smile. I knew, of course, my defiance was tantamount to a declaration of war, but lately life had given me a break from the hostilities and I was thrilled by this initial victory. (132)

▪ The nervous little girl who, a moment ago, was wondering what to do with the man in her shower had vanished, booted aside by the boring wife Jacques had left in tatters when he ran off one beautiful spring day. (148-9)

▪ It was a good thing Claudine had taken my phone away: I was exuberant and capable of doing stupid things. Which is how too many bad dramedies start. (234-5)

Texting

GUY MIGHT COME TAKE A SHOWER AT MY PLACE!!! (145)

HEY! THE GUY’S IN YOUR LIVING ROOM NAKED, HE’S NOT THERE TO EAT MUFFINS, GO! (154)

I’M AT THE HOSPITAL WITH MY OLD FOOL OF AN EX- HUSBAND, WHO JUST BROKE HIS NECK. I’M NOT KIDDING. (178)

THE SHOWER WAS MY IDEA. (211)

I’LL TAKE THE OTHER SICK CAT, IT WILL BE GOOD FOR STEVE. (241)

Meet the kids

As expected, lunchtime gave me countless opportunities to be imaginative, resourceful, and patient as never before. Some kids couldn’t recognize their lunch boxes, others had lost theirs; the microscopic Éléonore started screaming like a banshee when she noticed cheese in her sandwich, Loïc stuck three raisins up his nose (which I had to fish out with my eyebrow tweezers), Tarek began spitting on the floor and clawing at his tongue when he bit into an onion (?!?) the size of an apple, Léah and Fauvèle (?!?) made a huge fuss about eating with Louane (“Her lunch stinks!”), Coralie cried because she was still hungry after downing her pint-sized tuna wrap (“You can have my sandwich, sweetie”), and Devan ... Devan made art by jumping with both feet onto his juice box. (55)

Stella Rimington. Rip Tide. USA: Bloomsbury, 2011.

Someone somewhere referred to the literary ‘heirs’ of the redoubtable John le Carré as being Stella Rivington and Mick Herron. I’m already Mick’s number one fan; but who is Stella? She’s a former Director General of MI5 which pretty much says it all for her fund of British espionage knowledge, domestic or otherwise! Rip Tide comes in the midst of a series starring Liz Carlyle, MI5 intelligence officer. Liz is on the job when a British national is found among captured pirates—pirates in a failed attempt to hijack a French ship off the coast of Somalia. Amir Khan is from Birmingham where it’s suspected he was radicalized, but he’s not talking; MI5 already has an undercover agent working there to determine if jihad training is on some imam’s agenda. Young Moslem men are allegedly being sent to Pakistan but Liz needs to establish who is sending them and what their real destination is. Forced to co-opt a civilian volunteer, she takes pains to protect her.

A host of characters with other issues enter the picture, including Liz’s bugbear, Geoffrey Fane, an influential but sly MI6 officer. Head of USCO in Athens—a charity that ships aid to needy countries―Mitchell Berger wonders who is leaking their cargo information to Somali pirates. And why are foreigners such as Amir turning up in the pirate gangs? A few scenes set on the African coast are appropriately bleak. Intelligence agents and USCO executives from London to Athens try to identify a spy within, expecting Liz to produce evidence of a Birmingham connection. But Maria, their amateur undercover spy in the USCO office, is soon murdered. The story and action run true to insider spy-novel form; a trap is set with a phony cargo manifest. No big surprises, more than competent writing, and characters with devious backgrounds. Liz even manages to have an interesting love life.

One-liners

▪ But was it pure coincidence that all three ships that had been attacked were carrying such valuable disposable cargoes? (18)

▪ Al Qaeda, under pressure in Pakistan and Afghanistan, was looking for safer bases from which to launch their attacks against the West. (54)

▪ “If I were a pirate, I’d rather demand a ransom from the likes of Exxon or Shell than from a charity.” (132)

▪ Berger had not felt so exposed for several years, not since moving out of his risky former life and joining the calm backwaters of charitable work. (170)

▪ Bokus disliked and distrusted the Brits, so he had adopted a persona designed to discomfit them. (193)

Multi-liners

▪ UCSO, as its name implied, was a co-ordinating charity. Its role was to receive requests for aid from NGOs working in the field, to liaise with donors all over Europe, and to arrange for the requested aid ‒ food, equipment, spare parts, whatever it might be – to be assembled in Athens. (15)

▪ This is a man constantly on the brink of losing his temper, thought Liz. And he’s not used to being questioned by a woman. (79)

▪ She had had relationships in the past with people outside ‘the ring of secrecy’, as it was called, but it had never worked out. She’d not been able to be frank about what she did for a living. (97)

▪ Malik said icily, “The cause is what matters, Salim. I have said that already. May we meet when God intends.” (184)

▪ “You keep doing this, Geoffrey ‒ you keep holding back information. I don’t see how we can work together if you won’t be straight with me.” (189)

▪ “But Tahira volunteered to help; wants to help. I’m sorry, Liz, you have no choice. You can’t say no.” (239)

Undercover applicant

“If there is some sort of leak here, someone must be monitoring the precise make-up of each of our cargoes and passing it on.”

“Who has access to that information?”

“In theory, just the accountant and myself. But in practice, who knows? We don’t exactly have top-level security here. We are a fairly friendly team ‒ just the eleven of us. Let’s hope you’ll make it a Lucky Dozen.” (100)

Cost of business

For the first time, Berger hesitated; he seemed almost embarrassed. Then he explained: in some of the countries receiving UCSO aid, it was necessary to make informal payments (he neatly avoided the word ‘bribe’) to ensure that the aid was delivered to the people who needed it. Otherwise, he went on, anything from Range Rovers to one-hundred-pound bags of flour could find their way on to the black market, or into the garages and larders of Government Ministers. “It’s not admirable, or ethical, or something I’d want to appear in the press. But ultimately, it’s necessary.” (104)

Anti-western rant

“But when the Wall fell, so did your raison d’être. You didn’t have a role any more. Just what exactly were you fighting after that, and what were you defending? I mean, what does democracy consist of when a hedge fund trader makes three billion dollars trading off the back of some poor black people in Detroit who’ve taken out a mortgage?

“So you became stooges of the Americans. Dancing to their tune. Fighting a war on terrorism ‒ ‘those who are not with us are against us.’ Anyone who thinks differently from them is a threat and has to be destroyed. And the rest of the world is supposed to admire this, and stick out their bowl for the thin gruel the likes of UCSO graciously bestow on them.” (322)