Mansur Ahmed

I cannot reveal too much about the master John le Carre’s superlative espionage novel, The Spy Who Came in From the Cold, for I would be guilty of a crime unforgivable in the sanctum of literature. To even take a chance at ruining a first reading of this book is a sin of the most contemptible sort. But I will tell you why it cannot be touched in the pantheon of Cold War fiction. The first point to sell is le Carre himself, who is a credible authority in the field having worked for the British Intelligence around the time the Berlin Wall went up. He knows what he is talking about and depicts the life of a spy as only an insider can know. We all have our own impressions of spies from other novels and films, but there is nothing glamorous or romantic about secret agents. On the same level, there is nothing so vigorously cold or hardhearted about them either, as is the alluring cliche of a spy in most entertainments. Instead of a ruggedly handsome figure in expensive clothes, we get a disillusioned, middle-aged protagonist in a stained overcoat. A man whose fragile emotions are real and have to be suppressed in wake of all the violence and subterfuge that is his life.

The book was very unconventional and revolutionary at the time. The world had a particular view regarding Western Intelligence agencies as being honest and more akin of superheroes who do the right thing, but John le Carre depicted a more darker and abhorrent aspect of such an organization. When the book was released, there was a clear idea in everyone’s mind regarding good and evil. The West is good and the East is evil. However, le Carre muddled this notion by showing us conflict within the main character and his role in the central plot of the book. Whenever our convictions of truth are brought into question in unexpected ways, it is always powerful, and The Spy Who Came in From the Cold walked a very thin line during the Cold War era.

Enough about the politics though, let us get to the novel’s wrenching literary genius. To state it bluntly, while reading, one is liable to break into a paranoid sweat and thank the heavens he or she was not born this character or anyone else like him. Not simply because of the terror involved in leading such a life, but of having to live with oneself and the ruthlessness of some of the acts that need to be executed. Le Carre understands what betrayal is, maybe because of his own experiences growing up, and almost cathartically pulls it from his insides as he analyzes the characters and situations in his book. We are unsure of his own perceptions regarding the world, but the viewpoint of this story is one that embraces a bitter truth and le Carre runs with that at full force, relentlessly never stopping to take a breath.

As for the plot itself, whose details I have alluded from revealing, it is a whirlwind of recoiling double-crosses and misleading events. You can never assume to know what is going on, but it’s fun chasing after an understanding that refuses to present itself until the moment is just right. It is, in fact, so idiosyncratic that one must consider John le Carre was a member of Her Majesty’s Secret Service and take a moment of pause to wonder if he might be recalling his own experiences. Now that would add an intriguing new aspect to the analysis of this spellbinding novel.