A perfect spy novel for the lockdown

It's not flowing prose that sweeps you along. Instead, the author has opted for short, staccato sentences. They're like terse commands: Insistent, demanding but strangely riveting

I’ve done an incredible amount of reading during the last three weeks. In fact, apart from the cramming I did for my Tripos at Cambridge, I don’t think I’ve ever read as much. But it’s been almost entirely about the wretched virus that’s wrecking our lives. The solitary exception is John Le Carre’s new book Agent Running in the Field. If you want to ward off the blues or simply find something to distract you from the ceaseless television coverage of Covid-19, you could do a lot worse than pick up this book. But if you haven’t already got it, an e-commerce supplier is probably your only hope, although non-essential deliveries have been disallowed after a brief reopening.

Now, let me tell you why I found this book fascinating. It’s not Mr Le Carre’s best. To be honest not an awful lot seems to happen as you read the 281 pages. A lot of the story feels like an intricate dance on the head of a pin. But it is perhaps his best written. And I’m referring entirely to the style he’s adopted. It’s not flowing prose that sweeps you along. Instead, he’s opted for short, staccato sentences. They’re like terse commands: Insistent, demanding but strangely riveting. You feel like a tennis ball relentlessly smashed from one side of the court to the next in an almost ceaseless rally.

Mr Le Carre’s craftsmanship is astonishing. To stretch the tennis metaphor, it includes the literary equivalent of sneaky drop shots, unpredictable cross-court diversions, hits deep to the baseline and, even, the occasional thundering smash!

For example, this is how the book starts: “Our meeting was not contrived. Not by me, not by Ed, not by any of the hidden hands supposedly pulling at his strings. I was not targeted. Ed was not put up to it. We were neither covertly nor aggressively observed. He issued a sporting challenge. I accepted it. We played.”

Here’s another example, this time from the middle of the book: “Instructing everyone to get on with their work as normal, a forlorn hope, I step back into the street, turn down a side alley and walk hard for ten minutes before settling in a café and ordering myself a double espresso. Breathe slowly. Get your priorities sorted. I try Florence’s mobile once more on the off-chance. Dead as a dodo!”

Perhaps because of this rapid-fire prose, I found the book difficult to put down. I’m not a fast reader and I’m easily distracted. The shallow but irresistible desire to hear the last news on television or continue till the end of a discussion that’s only repeating what you’ve heard the day before (and the day before that) is usually enough for me to put aside William Dalrymple or Hilary Mantel. Both of them sit on my television table calling in vain for my attention. But John Le Carre caught it from the word go and retained it till the end. I won’t fib and say I read the book in one night or even one stretch. It took two days but on each of them, he got the better of the news as well as the discussion programmes.

Now, in case I’ve mislead you by emphasising Mr Le Carre’s literary style  over his normally riveting content let me reassure you that the book is littered with hints that could reveal you a lot more if only you realised what they were saying. In fact, there’s one embedded in the starting sentence I quoted earlier but I doubt if you’ll spot it. To be honest, I only noticed it after I’d virtually finished the book. As ever, Mr Le Carre’s gems are well-hidden jewels. They only sparkle if you can find a light to shine on them.

What this means is that if you enjoy the book as much as I obviously did, go back and read random bits of it again. This time you’ll spot the brilliance you didn’t catch. And if you do that you’ll recognise the genius that makes Mr Le Carre not just special but actually unique. Oh, and by the way, it will also help keep the television off. You might even get through a full evening without the morbid news and the repetitive discussions.