Anthony Eden: A Life and Reputation by David Dutton.
A fascinating study of one of our most controversial prime ministers. Reading it one cannot help but acquire an empathy for Eden as a man; a man with a far more multifaceted personality than many accepted at the time or have accepted since. There is an undeniable feeling of tragedy that such an important political figure under Chamberlain and Churchill should be reduced to a punchline, his reputation shattered by the Suez crisis which was, whatever mistakes were made, a most complex issue.
A detailed and balanced examination that is definitely worth a read.
I am always in two minds when it comes to Buchan. On the one hand he wrote some incredibly gripping thrillers with dark and cold atmospheres, on the other I cannot stand the dreadful prejudice evident in some unfortunate passages. One must, I suppose, simply ignore these bits however they are still rather unattractive and mar what are superlative thrillers.
The Thirty-Nine Steps is, predictably, my favourite Buchan, although Greenmantle is not far behind. Inspired by an actual event, this novel sees the compelling protagonist—Richard Hannay—on an assignment to penetrate the Muslim lands where the Germans plan to deploy the ‘Greenmantle’ weapon, a weapon which could determine the fate of the First World War. Some wonderful travelogue ensues, through war-ravaged Europe from Constantinople to the Russian border.
I shall not give away the plot as to do so would ruin the enjoyment of the reader. Regardless, there is a constant undercurrent of fear in Greenmantle, far more intense than in The Thirty-Nine Steps. The mysteriousness surrounding the wider complexities of the plot is sustained throughout and the manner of the infiltration and the unveiling may be what, essentially, ensures that the novel can be considered a classic thriller.
The characterisation is supreme as the wicked Hilda von Einem and Stumm truly emerge as grotesques from the page. Weaved into the characterisation is the dark mystery which throbs incessantly throughout the narrative, and it is in Mr Buchan’s wonderful prose that his skill and sophistication as a writer is apparent. His influence on Ian Fleming is discernable; literary Bond fans would probably enjoy Buchan.
Perhaps unfairly grouped with jingoists like Sapper nowadays the bigotry that sometimes rears its ugly head in Buchan’s work must nevertheless be acknowledged. That said, the quality of Buchan’s writing is above the likes of Sapper, and Buchan is, in my view, a story-teller par excellence.
Here are a couple of paragraphs I thought were rather nice:
“I travelled up to London in a regular November drizzle, which cleared up about Wimbledon to watery sunshine. I never could stand London during the war. It seemed to have lost its bearings and broken out into all manner of badges and uniforms which did not fit in with my notion of it. One felt the war more in its streets than in the field, or rather one felt the confusion of war without feeling the purpose. I dare say it was all right; but since August 1914 I never spent a day in town without coming home depressed to my boots.”
“The wind had gone to the south and the snow was melting fast. There was a blue sky above Asia, and away to the north masses of white cloud drifting over the Black Sea. What had seemed the day before the dingiest of cities now took on a strange beauty, the beauty of unexpected horizons and tongues of grey water winding below cypress-studded shores. A man’s temper has a lot to do with his appreciation of scenery. I felt a free man once more, and could use my eyes.”
I just finished re-reading Ian Fleming's Casino Royale to prepare myself for the upcoming movie, and it's as great as I remember it!
For those of you interested in the real James Bond, I suggest you pick up a copy (and the rest of Fleming's 007 novels too).
Drawn Out Dad.
Independent, one-shot comic books from the outskirts of Melbourne, Australia.
twitter.com/DrawnOutDad
The End of Oil by Paul Roberts, I tend to read non-fiction, enjoy it more than fiction. This book really explored the energy problems of the world, including a historical perspective. Hard to believe that in the early 60's the USA was the world largest exporter of oil and Saudia Arabia's oil fields were largely undiscovered. He debukes all the possible solutions to our oil lust, including hydrogen, natural gas, coal etc. In the short term, he sees no solution to our need for oil. How much is left is subject to debate, but the easy stuff is pretty much gone. Interesting book if you want to understand the energy world a little better.
Cheers for that Greenmantle review Lazers, I will get round to reading it.
No problem NP. It is a thoroughly enjoyable novel, possibly one of the finest examples of British thriller writing.
I am quite quickly now reading Adam Hall's The Tango Briefing. Not quite as good as The Nith Directive in my view, but a solid Quiller novel nonetheless.
Adam Hall's The Tango Briefing was a reasonably breezy read, and next I shall be re-reading Joseph Conrad's seminal The Secret Agent. A novel that possibly, more than others, set the template for the spy thriller, and a wonderfully literate read in its own right.
Just finished Hunters of Dune by Brian Herbert and Kevin Anderson.
Don't know if you all are familiar with Frank Herbert's Dune series, but this is a sequel to Herbert's last novel, Chapterhouse: Dune (which itself ended in a cliffhanger that was never resolved oweing to the author's death). Together with the forthcoming Sandworms of Dune, these books are supposed to bring the Dune saga to a grand and fitting end. The story is supposedly based on an outline and some notes Frank Herbert had prepared before he died and also ties into the prequel Dune books that the younger Herbert and Anderson had written.
I'd read all of Herbert's Dune books, but by the fifth one his prose had become so dense that the pace slowed to a crawl and it seemed that every paragraph had about 18 levels of hidden meaning. By comparison, Hunters is a very fast and easy read with a much more straightforward narrative (some have called these new books Dune Lite and I can't say I disagree).
The book basically reacquaints us with the various characters, factions, and conflicts from the last couple of novels. Of interest, many of the protagonists from previous books (Paul Atreides, Chani, Leto II and several others) are revived as clones in preparation for a coming apocalyptic battle with an unknown Enemy that has laid waste to everything before it.
The book kept my attention but it ends abruptly and I'll now have to wait an entire year to see how it all ends. Still, it piqued my curiosity and I'll definitely be picking up the second volume when it is released if only to see how the authors tie everything up.
I just finished reading The Spy Who Loved Me. I am reading Flemings Bond novels in order and this has been my least favorite so far. I am not sure I liked the story being told from the perspective of the Bond Girl and it took way to long for Bond to even show up in the novel. I would say that it was just OK.{:) I am still looking forward to reading OHMSS, right after I finish The Camel Club which has started off good.
"A blunt instrument wielded by a Government department. Hard, ruthless, sardonic, fatalistic. He likes gambling, golf, fast motor cars. All his movements are relaxed and economical". Ian Fleming
I re-read Joseph Hone's The Private Sector over the last few days, and I will post a review I wrote for a spy novel discussion group I contribute to. Bear in my mind that I have now read it more than two times, and I cannot recommend it highly enough should you be able to track it down.
[line]
The first time I read The Private Sector I did so in something of a rush and did not give it the attention it deserves; I felt it an unusually—excessively?—literate read, perhaps a tad too dense for its own good for what is essentially a story about running double and triple agents. While I did admire the general quality of Mr Hone’s writing and his subtle and delicate handling of the genre, I first formed the impression that the central story was somewhat drowned in the diversions—unnecessary complications adding to an already convoluted plot.
Well, this demonstrates the value of a second read. The Private Sector is the sort of novel that cannot really be put down and picked up again a few days later, it requires diligence in order to fully appreciate the aforementioned complexities and the associated ramifications. It is an immensely sophisticated read, a believable yarn that does not shy away from the awkward truth that not only does iniquity go unpunished it is often rewarded. We start off in 1967 with Marlow being sent off by his superior (Williams) to find his friend Edwards in Egypt, although the precise reason for sending Marlow is a little suspicious (confirmed, of course, at a later point in the novel). We then go back in time to 1957. Marlow is a teacher in Egypt, and Hone spends a great deal of time fleshing out his character and life before he is approached to join a spy ring. As previously noted, this is an ‘innocent in too deep’ story, as Marlow discovers that his wife (Bridget) is also a member of the ring, a fact she neglected to mention previously. It is here that Hone displays his best feature; his handling of human relationships, the uncomfortable fact that we don’t know everything about our lovers or friends and sometimes they will deliberately ensure that we don’t.
The characterisation is top-notch; Bridget, despite all sorts of deep flaws, emerges as a sympathetic woman, someone with whom Marlow cannot help but feel a connection. Edwards is mysterious, and I like Hone’s repetition (when Marlow is in first person—more on that later) of the line “We were friends in other ways” to describe Marlow’s ignorance of Edwards’ work. The rest of the supporting cast are entirely believable, they talk and act like real people who operate in the shadows.
Espionage is depicted as a supremely grubby affair, and Marlow’s cynicism is evident in different ways at different points in the novel. Each side is essentially the same: “It wasn’t so different these days, I thought. The fevers and the maxim guns had gone, and nanny had died weeping for the brave and foolish. But the umpires were still around in Whitehall, men like Williams, and far from liberal. And in Washington. And Moscow. There wasn’t the sound of any whistles now. They knocked on the door late at night; and there was still no boat home.” There is no ‘good’ and ‘bad’ side, especially since—in the novel—many of the agents involved work for both, or even a third.
Indeed, if you thought John Gardner could spin a complicated tale of double- and triple-agents you really should read this. The difference, of course, is that in Hone you believe that the characters in the spy ring—and in London—serve alternative masters. And there is a depressing central purpose to this: never trust anyone. While it can become a little confusing after a while—Colonel Hamdy, in particular, works for the British, the Soviets and the Israelis while serving the Egyptians—if you read it without substantial pause, as I did second time round, it is possible to stay on track. Alternatively just flip back a few pages to remind yourself, as I did a couple of times.
An air of duplicity hangs over Sector and thus makes it an intriguing spy novel. And while the complexity of the plot can be a tad puzzling it is chillingly believable: the calculated march towards war feels authentic and realistic. The atmosphere Hone effortlessly conveys is superb, the shadowy deception and the fading dream that is Egypt in 1957. Also effortlessly handled is the switch between first and third person. This allows the wider plot to become apparent by continuing the story from outwith Marlow’s perspective. It was a bit of a gamble—it was either going to work or be terrible—but Hone gets away with it.
While the complexity of the plot is reminiscent of a dreaded Le Carrè novel, the distinguished and exciting prose and literary flourish lift Sector above the ‘Desk’ contemporaries. (To be fair, as has been previously pointed out, Hone’s novel is a combination of the ‘Field’ and ‘Desk’ worlds). Some of the passages are just lyrical, and as a result Egypt truly comes alive as a character in her own right. Consider this: “June 13, the Queen’s birthday: the maple leaf over the British Embassy buildings wrapped around the flag post, a mourning drape in the still air, the heat rising like a smack in the face from the yellow, burning streets; kites motionless in the sky far away, specks in the distance, like aeroplanes, until they dipped suddenly, swerving over the trees on Gezira Island: the old Peugeot taxis braying across Kasr el Nil bridge, and he Mercedes, gliding by, curtained against the glare: a group of farmers up from the country, with sheep and goats and huge shallow metal dishes of simmering beans, camping under sheets of corrugated paper against the corniche in front of Shepheard’s Hotel. The harsh amplified prayers from a mosque at the corner of El Trahir: June 13, the Queen’s birthday.” The local colour with which Hone so successfully imbues his novel is exquisite.
All considered, there was only one problem for me, and it was a minor problem at that. The ‘thriller’ elements—the twists—are normally executed with aplomb; Bahaddin’s death is skilfully handled. However, Edwards escape from custody in Cairo is just a little implausible for me, even in as two-bit a country as post-colonial Egypt. Of course, in comparison with the usual good fortune and coincidence in the genre this is nothing, but it jarred for me.
I do not want to spoil the ending but I will say that it was a brilliantly brutal one. Since spynovelfan has detailed the following Hone novel I know that the ending is not quite as sad as it might otherwise have been, although it is related to the notion that innocence is not always recognised—and neither is guilt.
Overall Joseph Hone’s The Private Sector is a seminal spy story that requires, and deserves, an assiduous read. Give it a try.
LoeffelholzThe United States, With LovePosts: 8,991Quartermasters
Just finished Fleming's You Only Live Twice B-) I sincerely hope Eon gets round to the Shatterhand/Death Collector storyline---castle, garden of death and all...
Check out my Amazon author page!Mark Loeffelholz
"I am not an entrant in the Shakespeare Stakes." - Ian Fleming
"Screw 'em." - Daniel Craig, The Best James Bond EverTM
As the Christmas holidays provide ample reading time, last night I finished Hall's/Trevor's The Tango Briefing. This is the second Quiller novel I have read, and like The Ninth Directive, it proved a relatively brisk read and it did hold my attention throughout. However, there were, I feel, some problems with the novel and these problems are worth noting as The Ninth Directive was such an incredible and tight little thriller.
The plot is pretty straightforward: a crashed freighter is somewhere in the Sahara, the crew picked at by vultures, the cargo extremely hazardous. This is the Tango Victor, and Quiller's directive is to examine the freighter at close range. Hall manages to flesh this quite simple plot out admirably by introducing a range of memorable characters and thrilling scenes of danger and daring. Overall events move in a linear fashion, and the beginning allows the reader a glimpse of the dreaded Bureau, that horrific organisation of pen-pushers, the existence of which is denied. This is a most enjoyable section as Hall details the grey, penny-pinching and anonymous organisation which reads almost as a statement on British society of the 1970s.
The most notable aspect of both The Ninth Directive and The Tango Briefing is the singular prose of Hall: stylistically he writes in a jaunty and unnerving fashion. Short sharp sentences are followed by long extended sentences to up the ante with plenty of internal monologue and discussion on Quiller’s part. This works because Quiller serves primarily as a *voice* rather than a *protagonist*; the sentences have the feeling of a stream of thoughts noted down as Quiller reflects on the mission. Another aspect is an integral part of the Quiller formula: Quiller seemingly in an impossible situation only for the next chapter to open with him absolutely fine, with the twist explained a few pages later. Personally I lap this sort of thing up, although admittedly Hall’s prose style does take some getting used to if one is a fan of spy thriller writers whom are considerably less sparse.
Having met him in The Ninth Directive, Loman returns as Quiller’s Director In Field. By the end of the novel I actually came to sympathise with poor Loman, even if he does talk like a schoolmistress (if Fleming was apparently repetitive in his use of ‘gunmetal’, surely Hall takes the biscuit with his use of ‘schoolmistress’ to describe Loman’s way of speaking). Even when Quiller feels sorry for the man such sorrow is half-hearted and laced with a dig: ‘He looked so depressed that I felt sorry for him, as far as you can feel sorry for a man like Loman’. Of course, Quiller is constantly teetering on the edge of his nerves so his impatience with his DIF is understandable, however so thorough is his impatience with Loman that I have come to see the latter as a somewhat misunderstood character. Chirac, a French ally, is a good companion for Quiller for much of the novel. The Quiller girl, if I may be so bold as to call her that, is Diane, working in the British base. Quiller cannot stand her and it is quite easy to see why: Diane, it turns out, is completely inept and pretty useless at her job.
It would be worthwhile to outline briefly what I felt were the problems with The Tango Briefing as The Ninth Directive is an almost perfect blend of suspense, neurosis and paranoia whereas the 1973 novel does not have the same impact. This is not to say that The Tango Briefing was unexciting of uninteresting, only that the elements of Hall’s writing combine less successfully here than they do in The Ninth Directive. The lack of warmth is, of course, standard in Quiller and one of the series’ primary attractions, however here things get a little too elemental and, at times, mechanical. The least successful part of the novel is in fact the middle section where Quiller finds the aircraft which is Quiller’s very objective: the action is perhaps slowed down *too* much and the level of detail afforded to the drop into the desert aboard Chirac’s glider and Quiller’s subsequent movements makes for some stray tedious writing. The mechanical feel of the prose is evident with perhaps too extensive an emphasis on Quiller’s biology: there is lots of talk of the ‘organism’ and the ‘plexus’ and the ‘forebrain’. I know, I know, this is what Quiller is all about; nonetheless while in the desert and during Quiller’s exploration of the freighter there is perhaps too deep an analysis of the effects on Quiller’s body and psychological well-being with insufficient examination of what has been Quiller’s goal since the outset of the novel.
If the middle section is just too slow, other parts of the novel feel rushed. Hall does do this purposely at times for stylistic reasons, however at some points it does feel as though the writer was simply skipping corners and trying to get the novel finished. One example is the manner in which Quiller dispatches of the four Egyptians of the cell that has caught Quiller and Diane. Quiller ingeniously fashions a self-made flame thrower with a match and the opening of a petrol cap on a car, something which does stretch credibility, yet it all happens so fast that it reads as though Hall recognised such incredibility and was simply trying to write his characters out of a difficult spot to move the story along. In other writers credibility is often stretched beyond reason and yet this works for various reasons (depending on the writer), however one of the appeals of Hall is that there is a feeling of realism and authenticity. The ending is quite unsatisfying as again it feels rather rushed. Quiller’s survival is dealt with hastily and the novel concludes on a final sentence which does not inspire much faith: ‘Of course he started asking a lot of questions but I cut him short, told him where I was, north of the rocks, told him to pull me out’. As noted previously Quiller exists mainly as a voice and therefore Hall almost gets away with the cursory final scene, however at the end of the novel I was left hungry for something more meaty.
These less successful elements are all the more frustrating as contained within the novel is some incredibly sharp writing: when Hall is on form he really does bring the reader into the nerve-racking setting in which Quiller operates. One of the best parts of The Tango Briefing is Quiller’s discovery that the place of his recuperation is a trap, which he deduces from where two cars are parked in the street (one of which he recognises, both of which are parked in the shadows—immediately suspicious as they would have been parked under a streetlamp ‘so people won’t pinch things’). These little revelations are again standard I Hall’s works and they are incredibly successful: they grip the reader and ensure that the plot remains taut. That said, it is the deadpan nature of Quiller’s revelation that I appreciate particularly: ‘I came away from the window, again not hurrying, but it didn’t matter whether they knew I’d seen them or not because it was too late to do anything about it: this place was a trap’. Then we are off to the next chapter as Hall propels the narrative forward with breathless momentum.
In the escape from the clinic—a brilliantly tense and gripping scene—and the ensuing chase Quiller actually displays a surprising level of humanity. He remains dismissive of Diane’s lack of ability—indeed he notes ‘I wanted to know how she was because the last time I’d seen her there’d been tears running down her sooty little face and if anyone of us survives this trip I’d see those scaly *******s wrote her off the books before they did anything else’—however he also wishes that she had not been caught up in all of the mess and does want to reassure her and some of his dismissive asides do seem a case of the Lady doth protest too much. During these scenes the interaction between the two is realised fully and Diane emerges as an interesting character: incompetent and bungling, as mentioned, with no idea how to hold a gun for instance, yet a woman with warmth and sincerity.
Earlier on in the novel is a daring chase at the end of which Quiller leads his tag to his death, an unsettling experience recounted with expert efficiency. Quiller also barely survives a car bomb and has his face decorated with some shards of glass, something which allows a bit of humour: ‘…the driver kept looking at me in the mirror and [was] trying to pluck up the courage to ask me what brand of razor I used because he didn’t want one’. We also meet Fyson, an agent whose nerves are completely shot. In the opening manoeuvres of The Tango Briefing Hall sets his stall so proficiently that the saggy aspects are more irritating in comparison—he opens so well that the disappointment is only greater later on.
Some missteps aside, The Tango Briefing is another enjoyable Hall novel in which the dark and gritty and neurotic world of Quiller is shaped with considerable tension and suspense: when Quiller sweats the reader sweats in the tense scenes, and this, surely, is a mark of just how exciting these novels can be.
superadoRegent's Park West (CaliforniaPosts: 2,652MI6 Agent
Just finished Blood Fever last night, and I don't remember what novel I read before that. Blood Fever is about young James Bond
"...the purposeful slant of his striding figure looked dangerous, as if he was making quickly for something bad that was happening further down the street." -SMERSH on 007 dossier photo, Ch. 6 FRWL.....
As the Christmas holidays provide ample reading time, last night I finished Hall's/Trevor's The Tango Briefing.
I read a few of the Quiller novels in the 70s, including that one (although I hardly remember it now!). Lazenby880, did you ever see the BBC "Quiller" series, starring Michael Jayston? The stories tended to be originals by the screenwriters, but I do remember watching an adaptation of "The Tango Briefing". I have no idea if the series is availavle on DVD.
I read a few of the Quiller novels in the 70s, including that one (although I hardly remember it now!). Lazenby880, did you ever see the BBC "Quiller" series, starring Michael Jayston? The stories tended to be originals by the screenwriters, but I do remember watching an adaptation of "The Tango Briefing". I have no idea if the series is availavle on DVD.
Hi Barbel.
I am afraid I am too young to have watched the BBC Quiller series, and I have not seen it repeated anywhere. From what I understand it did not follow the novels or the original character very closely, although that is second-hand information. I have seen the motion picture adaptation of The Quiller Memorandum, directed by Michael Anderson—have you? It is the sort of film that could have been a really solid thriller, were it not for the utter non-entity that is George Segal's Quiller. Making him American was a huge mistake: Quiller's a neurotic paranoid Brit! The film Quiller completely jars, and it is not as though they made him an interesting American. Segal is just not there. Almost everything else works well: Max von Sydow and Alec Guinness are both very good, and the writing is nicely subtle; however the picture is unfortunately only mildly entertaining due to the ruddy great hole that should be the lead.
Incidentally, I have also read Hall's The Ninth Directive, another Quiller novel. This is what I thought of it, which may explain my disappointment with The Tango Briefing as it just did not match up unfortunately:
I loved it; the brutal pace, the kinetic speed, the unbearable tension, everything about the novel worked. I was gripped from the first page and the Hall just doesn't let the reader go; this is the sort of novel one can efficiently read within one or two days. This is the sort of novel I like.
To be fair, Hall's style took a little getting used to at first—I had just finished reading Hone's The Private Sector and the two are more than a little divergent. Moreover, as a Bond fan I was introduced to the spy novel genre through the Fleming novels and here again a pretty distinct divergence exists—where Fleming is wonderfully extravagant in his prose and in the details (clothes, drinks and so on) Hall is incredibly sparse, often unbearably so. This is not a criticism as Hall is not sparse in the John le Carré sense, rather Hall uses his style to create real excitement and passages of electrifying activity.
Thinking about Fleming and Hall another difference emerges: there are passages of Fleming's prose that stick in my mind whereas this is not the case with Hall. It is the novel as a whole, the energy and the speed and the suspense, that lingers. The brevity obviously contributes to this, but it is the general atmosphere Hall creates seemingly effortlessly that remains in my imagination.
If Quiller is constantly teetering on the edge of his nerves, so is the reader. Hall is very good in detailing the human element of man up against it, relying only on his wits to survive. There is real danger here. The kinetic nature of the action is captured exquisitely and conveyed effectively. The twists and turns at the end of each chapter compel the reader to read on, as any thriller worth its salt will do. However the very immediacy of the situation ensures that Hall is especially gripping, a good example being the end of chapter twenty ('The Shroud') where we are left with Quiller being held at gunpoint: "Because of the silencer the report of the gun was not very loud, though the fragile paper kites shivered to the vibration." The next chapter opens with Quiller chatting to Loman and we have to wait a couple of pages for Quiller to explain what actually happened. I have read a critical review of another Quiller novel which argued that this happens too often and becomes irritating—personally I loved it. Perhaps after a few it might become wearing, however for now I think it is a very effective device Hall executes with panache and ups the tension even more.
Indeed, never have I read a novel in which tension is so brutally created. There are tense scenes in an Ambler or a (Hammond) Innes or a Maclean, however the white-knuckle nature of Hall's incredible tension ensures that the reader is almost sweating in anticipation. The pages are imbued with a constant sense of paranoia and fear; paranoia in not knowing who to trust and fear for what might come next. Hall accentuates said fear with Quiller's unreliable narration: I love that Quiller does not reveal everything that he knows and this makes the twists more surprising, such as the bit (I forget where) when he gets in the car and asks Vinia why she has been following him. This is the first time she is introduced; Quiller knows she has been following him but neglects to tell us so. I like this. *A lot*.
The chap who recommended the Quiller series to me described it as sort of like the Bourne films in a book, and having seen both the Bournes (great spy thrillers, incidentally) it seems as if they took some influence from Hall. Even if they didn't, The 9th Directive reads a bit like Bourne (not, thankfully, like those awful Ludlum things) in a more exotic setting. I am aware that Hall didn't like to visit his locations, but for me this doesn't matter. Bangkok *feels* real, and that is what is important.
I had, in fact, only two minor issues with the novel. The first is that Hall kept referring to the 'Republic of China' when he meant the government in Beijing, however that term refers to the Nationalist government in Taipei. I'm assuming he meant the 'People's Republic', but I found it a little confusing that he didn't use the correct term. (Perhaps this is just an issue for me—I've spent quite a lot of time studying Taiwan so this probably rankles only me). The other was one stray bit of stereotyping: "He was a Chinese and vulnerable—like all his race—to superstition, and when he had spoken to me in his own tongue he believed that he had cursed the dead." We are hardly talking about John Buchan-style sideswipes against whole peoples, however there is nothing of this sort of stuff in the rest of the novel and it struck a slightly jarring note.
Apart from those two little details that, frankly, did not interrupt my enjoyment of The 9th Directive, I loved the book. Dark and gritty and neurotic, it was some ride. Excuse my inarticulacy however I am rather excited as I have just discovered a whole new series of books to devour.
Some, though by no means all, Bond fans would love the Quiller series, especially (I feel) if they enjoy the Dalton pictures. He would have made a good Quiller, incidentally (far better than Segal in that adaptation of The Quiller Memorandum). Hall is not like Fleming at all, there is a greater sense of realism and Hall's writing is snappier and dirtier. Do give him a try, it might just be worth it.
I am afraid I am too young to have watched the BBC Quiller series, and I have not seen it repeated anywhere. From what I understand it did not follow the novels or the original character very closely, although that is second-hand information. I have seen the motion picture adaptation of The Quiller Memorandum, directed by Michael Anderson—have you? It is the sort of film that could have been a really solid thriller, were it not for the utter non-entity that is George Segal's Quiller. Making him American was a huge mistake: Quiller's a neurotic paranoid Brit! The film Quiller completely jars, and it is not as though they made him an interesting American. Segal is just not there.
John Barry's score is nice, though.
I'm in total agreement with you there! Segal is simply blank, and JB's score works terrifically (his main theme "Wednesday's Child" was written to deliberately contrast not only with his Bond work but with his iconic "Ipcress File" music also). Another reason I like the film is it shows a lot of my favourite city, Berlin.
"The Tango Briefing" is the only episode of the TV series (and I'm going from memory here; it was loooong ago!) that I recall as being derived from the novels. I read a few of them at the same time, and enjoyed them although I can't remember the details much.
I'm currently reading (and loving) a thriller called "Assumed Identity" by David Morrell. It's about a special forces operative and it's really terrific.
"He’s a man way out there in the blue, riding on a smile and a shoeshine. And when they start not smiling back—that’s an earthquake. and then you get yourself a couple of spots on your hat, and you’re finished. Nobody dast blame this man. A salesman is got to dream, boy. It comes with the territory." Death of a Salesman
Sir MilesThe Wrong Side Of The WardrobePosts: 26,602Chief of Staff
Just finished "The Ultimate James Bond Fan Book" by Deborah Lipp.
Well worth a read. I quite like reading other peoples insights into the Bond World, it can often open your own eyes up to something you either didn't think about or missed.
I only have two small gripes about this book though, one of which I'm sure the author shares. The first is the grammatical/spelling errors (not my strongpoint either, but I'm sure most of these are down to proof readers and the way the book was edited), the second being the way the films are graded as a percentage - I understand the principal behind this, but it is a tad confusing - to me anyway.
I'm in total agreement with you there! Segal is simply blank, and JB's score works terrifically (his main theme "Wednesday's Child" was written to deliberately contrast not only with his Bond work but with his iconic "Ipcress File" music also). Another reason I like the film is it shows a lot of my favourite city, Berlin.
"The Tango Briefing" is the only episode of the TV series (and I'm going from memory here; it was loooong ago!) that I recall as being derived from the novels. I read a few of them at the same time, and enjoyed them although I can't remember the details much.
Digging a little deeper I see that the first episode was an apparently faithful adaptation of The Tango Briefing while the rest were based on original scripts (see here). If you are able to get a hold of The 9th Directive I would certainly encourage you to pick it up again, as I enjoyed it thoroughly (as I noted above). Regarding the film, I like almost everything *except* Segal: Max von Sydow and Alec Guinness are both superb and the picture does have the haunting aura of cloak and dagger about it. The writing is generally intelligent also. And yes, Berlin is realised nicely. Indeed, I am going there for a five-day break in the summer. Any recommendations outside the tourist-y stuff would be welcomed warmly.
I have just the other day finished re-reading Ambler's The Light of Day, another great novel by my favourite author. I hope to post in more detail on it soon.
A couple of days ago I finished re-reading Eric Ambler’s The Light of Day. Ambler is my favourite author, and the San Francisco Chronicle was surely right in declaring him ‘the greatest spy novelist of all time’. Ambler’s novels of the pre-war era were crackerjack spy thrillers in which the writer fashioned a dark and gritty atmosphere, full of foreboding about the horrors which would visit the continent during the War. These novels are full of the suspense and tension of a Hitchcock picture, indeed the director himself described the author thus: ‘Mr Ambler is a phenomenon!’.
The Light of Day, first published in 1962, is the novel adapted by Jules Dassin for his classic film Topkapi, for which Peter Ustinov won an Oscar in the lead role. Now Pierce Brosnan is to apparently star in The Topkapi Affair, an update which will serve as a sequel to 1999’s The Thomas Crown Affair. If anything, hopefully Ambler’s profile will be raised by this enterprise as The Light of Day is a witty, entertaining and gripping novel of intrigue with a wealth of compelling characters and is *definitely* worth a read.
Arthur Abdel Simpson, a petty thief living in Greece, is working as a driver. Born in Cairo to an Egyptian mother and British officer father Arthur claims a thoroughly British background: he went to a grammar school and became well-versed in the British way of things. From Athens airport Arthur picks up work from a man Harper, whom he believes to be American. Later, Harper discovers Arthur going through his things in his hotel room. Harper then blackmails Arthur into smuggling arms across the border into Turkey; unfortunately for Arthur the border police discover the loot while checking the car. Arthur is then blackmailed by a Major Tufan into spying on Harper and his associates to discover for what purpose the arms are to be used.
The Light of Day is completely different in tone from the spy thrillers Ambler wrote in the pre-war era: there is not the urgency of, say, Uncommon Danger or Journey Into Fear. The atmosphere is different too. The Light of Day has a more leisurely feel, and both the setting and the pacing combine to create a sort of languid, sunset-by-the-Bosphorous tone. Greece and Turkey are realised beautifully; Ambler draws you in so that you really feel like you are there.
Ambler’s greatest success is in terms of character. Arthur is a pathetic character in every way, and yet he does not elicit sympathy: “I have often thought of killing myself, so that I wouldn’t have to think or feel or remember any more, so that I could rest; but then I have always started worrying in case this afterlife they preach about really exists. It might turn out to be even bloodier than the old one.” With a penchant for self-pity Arthur is rather difficult to like. Nonetheless, with wonderful little insights peppered throughout the novel Ambler builds this completely compelling and fascinating central character about whom you want to learn more, and by the end it becomes clear why Arthur has become so wayward. (Basically it has a lot to do with his childhood and the way the British Government treat him: Arthur is a bit like a stateless person).
When I mention that he is pretty dislikeable it is little thoughts like this which might inspire contempt: “Miss Lipp’s legs were particularly long, and, for some reason, that was irritating as well as exciting; exciting because I couldn’t help wondering what difference long legs would make in bed; irritating because I knew damn well that I wasn’t going to be given the chance to find out.” However, while this might inspire contempt it does make Arthur a recognisable character: he feels real as I am sure that we are all aware that there are plenty of decidedly un-heroic chaps about. Arthur is a complex little man, and he emerges from the text as one of Ambler’s best creations.
Part of Arthur’s pitiful existence is his tragic relationship with Nicki. Arthur lies when asked about his former wife: he says she died during Suez when in reality she left him because they could not have children. Masterfully Ambler does not reveal this as a lie until later as he shapes slowly a more pitiable man. Now Arthur is shacked up with Nicki with whom he shares a convenient association at best: “I did not mention Nicki. I don’t know why; perhaps because I did not want to think about her just then.” Later Arthur notes: “Anyway, there was no point in giving an address. I knew she wouldn’t write back to me.” He seems to do his own thing and she hers: she works as a dancer in an insalubrious establishment. How she spends her free time is apparently her business entirely.
Ambler has also created a great cast of other characters in The Light of Day. Harper and his girlfriend Lipp, as well as Miller and Fischer, all feel like the genuine participants in a criminal gang and are all with *very* few endearing features. Then there are the more-than-slightly mad cook and the servant couple all of whom add more colour and are memorable once the novel is finished. Major Tufan, for whom Arthur is spying, is a great invention as a slightly melodramatic chief who nevertheless demands results. One of Ambler’s strongest features as a writer, besides the atmosphere, suspense and intrigue, is in the fashioning of an array of vibrant characters to become involved in and, as ever, they read as incredibly authentic and accurate.
Ambler’s trademark twists are in there as well which continue the momentum forward, so much so that you may find yourself sitting up at three or four in the morning reading the novel. Often these end-of-chapter surprises have a great deal of dramatic impact: Harper’s discovery of Arthur rummaging through his room is unsettling stuff—while countless other thriller writers may have utilised a similar thing *no-one* I have read comes close to doing so with the unnerving effect of Ambler. And while the pacing may be a bit more leisurely this is not to suggest a lack of tension; there are a number of incredibly suspenseful scenes in which Arthur, not the most proficient of amateur spies, almost gets caught.
The Light of Day is an enormously engaging and entertaining novel which underscores once more why Eric Ambler was considered one of Great Britain’s best writers. Excellent stuff well worth reading.
also in recent weeks read The Simple Art of Murder, Pickup On Noon Street, Trouble Is My Business, The Big Sleep, Farewell My Lovely, and the High Window, and have The Little Sister and The Long Goodbye lined up in front of me
Im still trying to find a copy of Playback and Killer In the Rain
also in recent weeks read The Simple Art of Murder, Pickup On Noon Street, Trouble Is My Business, The Big Sleep, Farewell My Lovely, and the High Window, and have The Little Sister and The Long Goodbye lined up in front of me
Im still trying to find a copy of Playback and Killer In the Rain
Good stuff, Mr potts. I've always enjoyed going down those mean streets, and have read all the books you mention more than once. Have you read "Poodle Springs", which Robert B. Parker completed from Chandler's unfinished few chapters? Or Parker's "Perchance To Dream", his rather less pleasing sequel to "The Big Sleep"?
Have you read "Poodle Springs" ... or Parker's "Perchance To Dream"...?
not yet, I want to read the real Chandlers first
I know I'll have no problem finding Poodle Springs, thats the one Chandler book every used book store is guaranteed to have
though his real books are for some reason much harder to find
(same with Hammett for that matter)
do you recommend Poodle Springs?
if I cant find Playback I know theres a graphic novel adaptation Ive seen around lately that may have to suffice
apparantly his script for The Blue Dahlia has also been published in bookform, but Ive found no trace of that except in Internet bibliographies, and the film is not available on DVD
"Poodle Springs" is acceptable enough- Parker knows what he's doing and ekes out the meagre strands he's been given into a reasonably Chandlerian story.
I did once see "Blue Dahlia" in a bookshop but didn't buy it at the time. That was some time ago, though.
Berlin is realised nicely. Indeed, I am going there for a five-day break in the summer. Any recommendations outside the tourist-y stuff would be welcomed warmly.
Well, if you've never been there before some of the tourist-y stuff is pretty cool. But apart from that...
(1) The Reichstag tour is excellent (and not very well publicised). This needs to be arranged in advance by phone- I can get you the number if you're interested- and thus saves waiting for hours in the queue to walk up the Kuppel (the glass dome; this is included in the tour). There's a lot of interesting stuff, and it's free.
(2) Babelsberg is the old film studio used by the DDR, and interesting tours are available. It's in Potsdam and easily reached by public transport.
(3) If the weather permits, take one of the sightseeing boat trips.
(4) Check the Berlin website ((www.berlin.de), which can be translated into English, for any special events upcoming.
(5) There are always loads of markets well worth visiting. These are in various locations- there's often a nice one in Spandau or the Alexanderplatz.
(6) Go to Charlottenburg and see where Bride Of Barbel and I got married! :x
(7) The botanic garden or zoo (either of the two) are worth a look. The zoo in the west has a panda, unless he's away visiting lady pandas around the world... (Hello. My name's Panda. Giant Panda. :007)) They have a night animal house, and the aquarium is excellent. The one in the east, the Tierpark, gives the animals really large enclosures, so there's a lot of walking.
(8) Try the night life. Berlin is open around the clock- it's pretty much a different city by night. B-) Alexanderplatz or the Ku'damm are the most popular, but there are many more.
(9) Buy day tickets for public transport- they are valid till 3am the next day- but if you have a day with lots of sightseeing buy a tourist ticket (they give you a discount on entrance to some places, and can be made valid for one to three days).
(10) Go shopping! Cheap CDs, cheap booze & cigs, etc. Computer stuff is often cheaper, too!
(1) The Reichstag tour is excellent (and not very well publicised). This needs to be arranged in advance by phone- I can get you the number if you're interested- and thus saves waiting for hours in the queue to walk up the Kuppel (the glass dome; this is included in the tour). There's a lot of interesting stuff, and it's free.
I completely forgot to thank you for these recommendations Barbel, they are very helpful indeed. I am particularly appreciative of this recommendation as the Reichstag is something I will *definitely* be doing; I'm into politics, including German politics, and the building itself looks spectacular. And you never know, I might catch a glimpse of Angela Merkel. )
“I was taking a Martini across the room to my wife, who was still chatting with our host, Amos Darrel, the physicist, when the front door of the house opened and a man came in to join the party. He meant nothing to me—but with him was the girl we’d called Tina during the war.”
So opens the first of Donald Hamilton’s 27-strong Matt Helm series, dismissed commonly as an American Bond knock-off, which inspired the four Dean Martin pictures that *were* basically lacking Bond spoofs. It is perhaps on the basis of these pictures that the original novels acquired the reputation as a faux-007 series, and yet this reputation is completely undeserved. The novel’s first paragraph may capture the martini-swilling culture of Bond parody, however the world of Helm is considerably more dark, violent and gritty than anything associated with Fleming’s creation.
Donald Hamilton was already an established writer by the time he came to write Death of a Citizen, penning many Westerns which marked his entry into the thriller genre. It is, however, for Matt Helm that he is most famous and the character held up the long-running espionage-thriller series. Helm is not a spy, really, but an assassin. Death of a Citizen establishes the character throughout: a secret agent during the Second World War who has now retired and living a normal life in Santa Fe with a wife and family. The sinister career of the past has been replaced by penning adventure thrillers and taking photographs part-time. This is the world of the thriller, though, and therefore the sinister nature of Helm’s previous work will visit him here. At its heart, then, Death of a Citizen is just that: the death of a loving family man and the rebirth of the cold and ruthless agent of the past.
The reader is thrown straight into the action as Hamilton starts as he means to go on: at a breakneck pace. Helm is rudely interrupted as Tina, a passing conquest and partner in the cloak and dagger during the War, returns to bring him back into the fold. Tina has returned to get him to go back into his old line of work as the life of a scientist is threatened from the world of espionage. Helm is not much pleased to see her. We soon find out why.
Hamilton details his novel with such depth of character that Helm emerges as one of the most compelling espionage heroes of the 1960s; more compelling, for this reader, than Len Deighton’s nameless character or indeed Adam Hall’s Quiller. That this depth of character has been achieved by an American thriller writer demonstrates that this is American thriller writing at its very best, and in 142 pages Hamilton does something Clancy and his ilk cannot do in 500. Helm is cold and callous, his sheer brutality evident in the most haunting scene of the novel where his wife witnesses him kill and torture a woman in a disturbingly cruel manner. Nothing better reflects the divergence between the two Helms; nothing better reflects that the agent is probably the true Helm, the citizen just a mask to be taken off to reveal the terrifying face beneath.
There is a cynicism to Hamilton’s writing that some people argue is Chandleresque. For me, however, this comparison is mistaken. Where Chandler is mainly style Hamilton steeps his novel with substance, and the way in which each writer conveys cynicism is therefore very different. Comparisons with Fleming’s James Bond are unavoidable but equally off the mark. There is no exotic travelogue here; Helm drives around the dusty expanse of the American South in a beat-up truck. This adds to the appeal of Helm and Death of a Citizen, the smaller scale and the dirt and dust of the adventure add a great sense of realism. Fleming is a brilliant writer, and the Bond stories’ combination of high glamour and low grit makes for great reading. Hamilton is all grit and the low-key nature of Death of a Citizen is a refreshing change. Hamilton’s world *feels* real and genuine, the events being identifiable and shocking and, by the end, deeply involving.
The action in the novel is gripping and the twists and turns executed with the finesse of an accomplished thriller writer. Death of a Citizen is an assured introduction to the Helm series and it lingers in the mind due to the quality of the writing, the depth of character and the themes examined. It is a dark and melancholy thriller: one of the best of the genre.
Comments
A fascinating study of one of our most controversial prime ministers. Reading it one cannot help but acquire an empathy for Eden as a man; a man with a far more multifaceted personality than many accepted at the time or have accepted since. There is an undeniable feeling of tragedy that such an important political figure under Chamberlain and Churchill should be reduced to a punchline, his reputation shattered by the Suez crisis which was, whatever mistakes were made, a most complex issue.
A detailed and balanced examination that is definitely worth a read.
I am always in two minds when it comes to Buchan. On the one hand he wrote some incredibly gripping thrillers with dark and cold atmospheres, on the other I cannot stand the dreadful prejudice evident in some unfortunate passages. One must, I suppose, simply ignore these bits however they are still rather unattractive and mar what are superlative thrillers.
The Thirty-Nine Steps is, predictably, my favourite Buchan, although Greenmantle is not far behind. Inspired by an actual event, this novel sees the compelling protagonist—Richard Hannay—on an assignment to penetrate the Muslim lands where the Germans plan to deploy the ‘Greenmantle’ weapon, a weapon which could determine the fate of the First World War. Some wonderful travelogue ensues, through war-ravaged Europe from Constantinople to the Russian border.
I shall not give away the plot as to do so would ruin the enjoyment of the reader. Regardless, there is a constant undercurrent of fear in Greenmantle, far more intense than in The Thirty-Nine Steps. The mysteriousness surrounding the wider complexities of the plot is sustained throughout and the manner of the infiltration and the unveiling may be what, essentially, ensures that the novel can be considered a classic thriller.
The characterisation is supreme as the wicked Hilda von Einem and Stumm truly emerge as grotesques from the page. Weaved into the characterisation is the dark mystery which throbs incessantly throughout the narrative, and it is in Mr Buchan’s wonderful prose that his skill and sophistication as a writer is apparent. His influence on Ian Fleming is discernable; literary Bond fans would probably enjoy Buchan.
Perhaps unfairly grouped with jingoists like Sapper nowadays the bigotry that sometimes rears its ugly head in Buchan’s work must nevertheless be acknowledged. That said, the quality of Buchan’s writing is above the likes of Sapper, and Buchan is, in my view, a story-teller par excellence.
Here are a couple of paragraphs I thought were rather nice:
“I travelled up to London in a regular November drizzle, which cleared up about Wimbledon to watery sunshine. I never could stand London during the war. It seemed to have lost its bearings and broken out into all manner of badges and uniforms which did not fit in with my notion of it. One felt the war more in its streets than in the field, or rather one felt the confusion of war without feeling the purpose. I dare say it was all right; but since August 1914 I never spent a day in town without coming home depressed to my boots.”
“The wind had gone to the south and the snow was melting fast. There was a blue sky above Asia, and away to the north masses of white cloud drifting over the Black Sea. What had seemed the day before the dingiest of cities now took on a strange beauty, the beauty of unexpected horizons and tongues of grey water winding below cypress-studded shores. A man’s temper has a lot to do with his appreciation of scenery. I felt a free man once more, and could use my eyes.”
For those of you interested in the real James Bond, I suggest you pick up a copy (and the rest of Fleming's 007 novels too).
Independent, one-shot comic books from the outskirts of Melbourne, Australia.
twitter.com/DrawnOutDad
Roger Moore 1927-2017
I am quite quickly now reading Adam Hall's The Tango Briefing. Not quite as good as The Nith Directive in my view, but a solid Quiller novel nonetheless.
Don't know if you all are familiar with Frank Herbert's Dune series, but this is a sequel to Herbert's last novel, Chapterhouse: Dune (which itself ended in a cliffhanger that was never resolved oweing to the author's death). Together with the forthcoming Sandworms of Dune, these books are supposed to bring the Dune saga to a grand and fitting end. The story is supposedly based on an outline and some notes Frank Herbert had prepared before he died and also ties into the prequel Dune books that the younger Herbert and Anderson had written.
I'd read all of Herbert's Dune books, but by the fifth one his prose had become so dense that the pace slowed to a crawl and it seemed that every paragraph had about 18 levels of hidden meaning. By comparison, Hunters is a very fast and easy read with a much more straightforward narrative (some have called these new books Dune Lite and I can't say I disagree).
The book basically reacquaints us with the various characters, factions, and conflicts from the last couple of novels. Of interest, many of the protagonists from previous books (Paul Atreides, Chani, Leto II and several others) are revived as clones in preparation for a coming apocalyptic battle with an unknown Enemy that has laid waste to everything before it.
The book kept my attention but it ends abruptly and I'll now have to wait an entire year to see how it all ends. Still, it piqued my curiosity and I'll definitely be picking up the second volume when it is released if only to see how the authors tie everything up.
[line]
The first time I read The Private Sector I did so in something of a rush and did not give it the attention it deserves; I felt it an unusually—excessively?—literate read, perhaps a tad too dense for its own good for what is essentially a story about running double and triple agents. While I did admire the general quality of Mr Hone’s writing and his subtle and delicate handling of the genre, I first formed the impression that the central story was somewhat drowned in the diversions—unnecessary complications adding to an already convoluted plot.
Well, this demonstrates the value of a second read. The Private Sector is the sort of novel that cannot really be put down and picked up again a few days later, it requires diligence in order to fully appreciate the aforementioned complexities and the associated ramifications. It is an immensely sophisticated read, a believable yarn that does not shy away from the awkward truth that not only does iniquity go unpunished it is often rewarded. We start off in 1967 with Marlow being sent off by his superior (Williams) to find his friend Edwards in Egypt, although the precise reason for sending Marlow is a little suspicious (confirmed, of course, at a later point in the novel). We then go back in time to 1957. Marlow is a teacher in Egypt, and Hone spends a great deal of time fleshing out his character and life before he is approached to join a spy ring. As previously noted, this is an ‘innocent in too deep’ story, as Marlow discovers that his wife (Bridget) is also a member of the ring, a fact she neglected to mention previously. It is here that Hone displays his best feature; his handling of human relationships, the uncomfortable fact that we don’t know everything about our lovers or friends and sometimes they will deliberately ensure that we don’t.
The characterisation is top-notch; Bridget, despite all sorts of deep flaws, emerges as a sympathetic woman, someone with whom Marlow cannot help but feel a connection. Edwards is mysterious, and I like Hone’s repetition (when Marlow is in first person—more on that later) of the line “We were friends in other ways” to describe Marlow’s ignorance of Edwards’ work. The rest of the supporting cast are entirely believable, they talk and act like real people who operate in the shadows.
Espionage is depicted as a supremely grubby affair, and Marlow’s cynicism is evident in different ways at different points in the novel. Each side is essentially the same: “It wasn’t so different these days, I thought. The fevers and the maxim guns had gone, and nanny had died weeping for the brave and foolish. But the umpires were still around in Whitehall, men like Williams, and far from liberal. And in Washington. And Moscow. There wasn’t the sound of any whistles now. They knocked on the door late at night; and there was still no boat home.” There is no ‘good’ and ‘bad’ side, especially since—in the novel—many of the agents involved work for both, or even a third.
Indeed, if you thought John Gardner could spin a complicated tale of double- and triple-agents you really should read this. The difference, of course, is that in Hone you believe that the characters in the spy ring—and in London—serve alternative masters. And there is a depressing central purpose to this: never trust anyone. While it can become a little confusing after a while—Colonel Hamdy, in particular, works for the British, the Soviets and the Israelis while serving the Egyptians—if you read it without substantial pause, as I did second time round, it is possible to stay on track. Alternatively just flip back a few pages to remind yourself, as I did a couple of times.
An air of duplicity hangs over Sector and thus makes it an intriguing spy novel. And while the complexity of the plot can be a tad puzzling it is chillingly believable: the calculated march towards war feels authentic and realistic. The atmosphere Hone effortlessly conveys is superb, the shadowy deception and the fading dream that is Egypt in 1957. Also effortlessly handled is the switch between first and third person. This allows the wider plot to become apparent by continuing the story from outwith Marlow’s perspective. It was a bit of a gamble—it was either going to work or be terrible—but Hone gets away with it.
While the complexity of the plot is reminiscent of a dreaded Le Carrè novel, the distinguished and exciting prose and literary flourish lift Sector above the ‘Desk’ contemporaries. (To be fair, as has been previously pointed out, Hone’s novel is a combination of the ‘Field’ and ‘Desk’ worlds). Some of the passages are just lyrical, and as a result Egypt truly comes alive as a character in her own right. Consider this: “June 13, the Queen’s birthday: the maple leaf over the British Embassy buildings wrapped around the flag post, a mourning drape in the still air, the heat rising like a smack in the face from the yellow, burning streets; kites motionless in the sky far away, specks in the distance, like aeroplanes, until they dipped suddenly, swerving over the trees on Gezira Island: the old Peugeot taxis braying across Kasr el Nil bridge, and he Mercedes, gliding by, curtained against the glare: a group of farmers up from the country, with sheep and goats and huge shallow metal dishes of simmering beans, camping under sheets of corrugated paper against the corniche in front of Shepheard’s Hotel. The harsh amplified prayers from a mosque at the corner of El Trahir: June 13, the Queen’s birthday.” The local colour with which Hone so successfully imbues his novel is exquisite.
All considered, there was only one problem for me, and it was a minor problem at that. The ‘thriller’ elements—the twists—are normally executed with aplomb; Bahaddin’s death is skilfully handled. However, Edwards escape from custody in Cairo is just a little implausible for me, even in as two-bit a country as post-colonial Egypt. Of course, in comparison with the usual good fortune and coincidence in the genre this is nothing, but it jarred for me.
I do not want to spoil the ending but I will say that it was a brilliantly brutal one. Since spynovelfan has detailed the following Hone novel I know that the ending is not quite as sad as it might otherwise have been, although it is related to the notion that innocence is not always recognised—and neither is guilt.
Overall Joseph Hone’s The Private Sector is a seminal spy story that requires, and deserves, an assiduous read. Give it a try.
"I am not an entrant in the Shakespeare Stakes." - Ian Fleming
"Screw 'em." - Daniel Craig, The Best James Bond EverTM
The plot is pretty straightforward: a crashed freighter is somewhere in the Sahara, the crew picked at by vultures, the cargo extremely hazardous. This is the Tango Victor, and Quiller's directive is to examine the freighter at close range. Hall manages to flesh this quite simple plot out admirably by introducing a range of memorable characters and thrilling scenes of danger and daring. Overall events move in a linear fashion, and the beginning allows the reader a glimpse of the dreaded Bureau, that horrific organisation of pen-pushers, the existence of which is denied. This is a most enjoyable section as Hall details the grey, penny-pinching and anonymous organisation which reads almost as a statement on British society of the 1970s.
The most notable aspect of both The Ninth Directive and The Tango Briefing is the singular prose of Hall: stylistically he writes in a jaunty and unnerving fashion. Short sharp sentences are followed by long extended sentences to up the ante with plenty of internal monologue and discussion on Quiller’s part. This works because Quiller serves primarily as a *voice* rather than a *protagonist*; the sentences have the feeling of a stream of thoughts noted down as Quiller reflects on the mission. Another aspect is an integral part of the Quiller formula: Quiller seemingly in an impossible situation only for the next chapter to open with him absolutely fine, with the twist explained a few pages later. Personally I lap this sort of thing up, although admittedly Hall’s prose style does take some getting used to if one is a fan of spy thriller writers whom are considerably less sparse.
Having met him in The Ninth Directive, Loman returns as Quiller’s Director In Field. By the end of the novel I actually came to sympathise with poor Loman, even if he does talk like a schoolmistress (if Fleming was apparently repetitive in his use of ‘gunmetal’, surely Hall takes the biscuit with his use of ‘schoolmistress’ to describe Loman’s way of speaking). Even when Quiller feels sorry for the man such sorrow is half-hearted and laced with a dig: ‘He looked so depressed that I felt sorry for him, as far as you can feel sorry for a man like Loman’. Of course, Quiller is constantly teetering on the edge of his nerves so his impatience with his DIF is understandable, however so thorough is his impatience with Loman that I have come to see the latter as a somewhat misunderstood character. Chirac, a French ally, is a good companion for Quiller for much of the novel. The Quiller girl, if I may be so bold as to call her that, is Diane, working in the British base. Quiller cannot stand her and it is quite easy to see why: Diane, it turns out, is completely inept and pretty useless at her job.
It would be worthwhile to outline briefly what I felt were the problems with The Tango Briefing as The Ninth Directive is an almost perfect blend of suspense, neurosis and paranoia whereas the 1973 novel does not have the same impact. This is not to say that The Tango Briefing was unexciting of uninteresting, only that the elements of Hall’s writing combine less successfully here than they do in The Ninth Directive. The lack of warmth is, of course, standard in Quiller and one of the series’ primary attractions, however here things get a little too elemental and, at times, mechanical. The least successful part of the novel is in fact the middle section where Quiller finds the aircraft which is Quiller’s very objective: the action is perhaps slowed down *too* much and the level of detail afforded to the drop into the desert aboard Chirac’s glider and Quiller’s subsequent movements makes for some stray tedious writing. The mechanical feel of the prose is evident with perhaps too extensive an emphasis on Quiller’s biology: there is lots of talk of the ‘organism’ and the ‘plexus’ and the ‘forebrain’. I know, I know, this is what Quiller is all about; nonetheless while in the desert and during Quiller’s exploration of the freighter there is perhaps too deep an analysis of the effects on Quiller’s body and psychological well-being with insufficient examination of what has been Quiller’s goal since the outset of the novel.
If the middle section is just too slow, other parts of the novel feel rushed. Hall does do this purposely at times for stylistic reasons, however at some points it does feel as though the writer was simply skipping corners and trying to get the novel finished. One example is the manner in which Quiller dispatches of the four Egyptians of the cell that has caught Quiller and Diane. Quiller ingeniously fashions a self-made flame thrower with a match and the opening of a petrol cap on a car, something which does stretch credibility, yet it all happens so fast that it reads as though Hall recognised such incredibility and was simply trying to write his characters out of a difficult spot to move the story along. In other writers credibility is often stretched beyond reason and yet this works for various reasons (depending on the writer), however one of the appeals of Hall is that there is a feeling of realism and authenticity. The ending is quite unsatisfying as again it feels rather rushed. Quiller’s survival is dealt with hastily and the novel concludes on a final sentence which does not inspire much faith: ‘Of course he started asking a lot of questions but I cut him short, told him where I was, north of the rocks, told him to pull me out’. As noted previously Quiller exists mainly as a voice and therefore Hall almost gets away with the cursory final scene, however at the end of the novel I was left hungry for something more meaty.
These less successful elements are all the more frustrating as contained within the novel is some incredibly sharp writing: when Hall is on form he really does bring the reader into the nerve-racking setting in which Quiller operates. One of the best parts of The Tango Briefing is Quiller’s discovery that the place of his recuperation is a trap, which he deduces from where two cars are parked in the street (one of which he recognises, both of which are parked in the shadows—immediately suspicious as they would have been parked under a streetlamp ‘so people won’t pinch things’). These little revelations are again standard I Hall’s works and they are incredibly successful: they grip the reader and ensure that the plot remains taut. That said, it is the deadpan nature of Quiller’s revelation that I appreciate particularly: ‘I came away from the window, again not hurrying, but it didn’t matter whether they knew I’d seen them or not because it was too late to do anything about it: this place was a trap’. Then we are off to the next chapter as Hall propels the narrative forward with breathless momentum.
In the escape from the clinic—a brilliantly tense and gripping scene—and the ensuing chase Quiller actually displays a surprising level of humanity. He remains dismissive of Diane’s lack of ability—indeed he notes ‘I wanted to know how she was because the last time I’d seen her there’d been tears running down her sooty little face and if anyone of us survives this trip I’d see those scaly *******s wrote her off the books before they did anything else’—however he also wishes that she had not been caught up in all of the mess and does want to reassure her and some of his dismissive asides do seem a case of the Lady doth protest too much. During these scenes the interaction between the two is realised fully and Diane emerges as an interesting character: incompetent and bungling, as mentioned, with no idea how to hold a gun for instance, yet a woman with warmth and sincerity.
Earlier on in the novel is a daring chase at the end of which Quiller leads his tag to his death, an unsettling experience recounted with expert efficiency. Quiller also barely survives a car bomb and has his face decorated with some shards of glass, something which allows a bit of humour: ‘…the driver kept looking at me in the mirror and [was] trying to pluck up the courage to ask me what brand of razor I used because he didn’t want one’. We also meet Fyson, an agent whose nerves are completely shot. In the opening manoeuvres of The Tango Briefing Hall sets his stall so proficiently that the saggy aspects are more irritating in comparison—he opens so well that the disappointment is only greater later on.
Some missteps aside, The Tango Briefing is another enjoyable Hall novel in which the dark and gritty and neurotic world of Quiller is shaped with considerable tension and suspense: when Quiller sweats the reader sweats in the tense scenes, and this, surely, is a mark of just how exciting these novels can be.
I read a few of the Quiller novels in the 70s, including that one (although I hardly remember it now!). Lazenby880, did you ever see the BBC "Quiller" series, starring Michael Jayston? The stories tended to be originals by the screenwriters, but I do remember watching an adaptation of "The Tango Briefing". I have no idea if the series is availavle on DVD.
I am afraid I am too young to have watched the BBC Quiller series, and I have not seen it repeated anywhere. From what I understand it did not follow the novels or the original character very closely, although that is second-hand information. I have seen the motion picture adaptation of The Quiller Memorandum, directed by Michael Anderson—have you? It is the sort of film that could have been a really solid thriller, were it not for the utter non-entity that is George Segal's Quiller. Making him American was a huge mistake: Quiller's a neurotic paranoid Brit! The film Quiller completely jars, and it is not as though they made him an interesting American. Segal is just not there. Almost everything else works well: Max von Sydow and Alec Guinness are both very good, and the writing is nicely subtle; however the picture is unfortunately only mildly entertaining due to the ruddy great hole that should be the lead.
John Barry's score is nice, though.
I loved it; the brutal pace, the kinetic speed, the unbearable tension, everything about the novel worked. I was gripped from the first page and the Hall just doesn't let the reader go; this is the sort of novel one can efficiently read within one or two days. This is the sort of novel I like.
To be fair, Hall's style took a little getting used to at first—I had just finished reading Hone's The Private Sector and the two are more than a little divergent. Moreover, as a Bond fan I was introduced to the spy novel genre through the Fleming novels and here again a pretty distinct divergence exists—where Fleming is wonderfully extravagant in his prose and in the details (clothes, drinks and so on) Hall is incredibly sparse, often unbearably so. This is not a criticism as Hall is not sparse in the John le Carré sense, rather Hall uses his style to create real excitement and passages of electrifying activity.
Thinking about Fleming and Hall another difference emerges: there are passages of Fleming's prose that stick in my mind whereas this is not the case with Hall. It is the novel as a whole, the energy and the speed and the suspense, that lingers. The brevity obviously contributes to this, but it is the general atmosphere Hall creates seemingly effortlessly that remains in my imagination.
If Quiller is constantly teetering on the edge of his nerves, so is the reader. Hall is very good in detailing the human element of man up against it, relying only on his wits to survive. There is real danger here. The kinetic nature of the action is captured exquisitely and conveyed effectively. The twists and turns at the end of each chapter compel the reader to read on, as any thriller worth its salt will do. However the very immediacy of the situation ensures that Hall is especially gripping, a good example being the end of chapter twenty ('The Shroud') where we are left with Quiller being held at gunpoint: "Because of the silencer the report of the gun was not very loud, though the fragile paper kites shivered to the vibration." The next chapter opens with Quiller chatting to Loman and we have to wait a couple of pages for Quiller to explain what actually happened. I have read a critical review of another Quiller novel which argued that this happens too often and becomes irritating—personally I loved it. Perhaps after a few it might become wearing, however for now I think it is a very effective device Hall executes with panache and ups the tension even more.
Indeed, never have I read a novel in which tension is so brutally created. There are tense scenes in an Ambler or a (Hammond) Innes or a Maclean, however the white-knuckle nature of Hall's incredible tension ensures that the reader is almost sweating in anticipation. The pages are imbued with a constant sense of paranoia and fear; paranoia in not knowing who to trust and fear for what might come next. Hall accentuates said fear with Quiller's unreliable narration: I love that Quiller does not reveal everything that he knows and this makes the twists more surprising, such as the bit (I forget where) when he gets in the car and asks Vinia why she has been following him. This is the first time she is introduced; Quiller knows she has been following him but neglects to tell us so. I like this. *A lot*.
The chap who recommended the Quiller series to me described it as sort of like the Bourne films in a book, and having seen both the Bournes (great spy thrillers, incidentally) it seems as if they took some influence from Hall. Even if they didn't, The 9th Directive reads a bit like Bourne (not, thankfully, like those awful Ludlum things) in a more exotic setting. I am aware that Hall didn't like to visit his locations, but for me this doesn't matter. Bangkok *feels* real, and that is what is important.
I had, in fact, only two minor issues with the novel. The first is that Hall kept referring to the 'Republic of China' when he meant the government in Beijing, however that term refers to the Nationalist government in Taipei. I'm assuming he meant the 'People's Republic', but I found it a little confusing that he didn't use the correct term. (Perhaps this is just an issue for me—I've spent quite a lot of time studying Taiwan so this probably rankles only me). The other was one stray bit of stereotyping: "He was a Chinese and vulnerable—like all his race—to superstition, and when he had spoken to me in his own tongue he believed that he had cursed the dead." We are hardly talking about John Buchan-style sideswipes against whole peoples, however there is nothing of this sort of stuff in the rest of the novel and it struck a slightly jarring note.
Apart from those two little details that, frankly, did not interrupt my enjoyment of The 9th Directive, I loved the book. Dark and gritty and neurotic, it was some ride. Excuse my inarticulacy however I am rather excited as I have just discovered a whole new series of books to devour.
Some, though by no means all, Bond fans would love the Quiller series, especially (I feel) if they enjoy the Dalton pictures. He would have made a good Quiller, incidentally (far better than Segal in that adaptation of The Quiller Memorandum). Hall is not like Fleming at all, there is a greater sense of realism and Hall's writing is snappier and dirtier. Do give him a try, it might just be worth it.
I'm in total agreement with you there! Segal is simply blank, and JB's score works terrifically (his main theme "Wednesday's Child" was written to deliberately contrast not only with his Bond work but with his iconic "Ipcress File" music also). Another reason I like the film is it shows a lot of my favourite city, Berlin.
"The Tango Briefing" is the only episode of the TV series (and I'm going from memory here; it was loooong ago!) that I recall as being derived from the novels. I read a few of them at the same time, and enjoyed them although I can't remember the details much.
Well worth a read. I quite like reading other peoples insights into the Bond World, it can often open your own eyes up to something you either didn't think about or missed.
I only have two small gripes about this book though, one of which I'm sure the author shares. The first is the grammatical/spelling errors (not my strongpoint either, but I'm sure most of these are down to proof readers and the way the book was edited), the second being the way the films are graded as a percentage - I understand the principal behind this, but it is a tad confusing - to me anyway.
Good book overall though.
I have just the other day finished re-reading Ambler's The Light of Day, another great novel by my favourite author. I hope to post in more detail on it soon.
The Light of Day, first published in 1962, is the novel adapted by Jules Dassin for his classic film Topkapi, for which Peter Ustinov won an Oscar in the lead role. Now Pierce Brosnan is to apparently star in The Topkapi Affair, an update which will serve as a sequel to 1999’s The Thomas Crown Affair. If anything, hopefully Ambler’s profile will be raised by this enterprise as The Light of Day is a witty, entertaining and gripping novel of intrigue with a wealth of compelling characters and is *definitely* worth a read.
Arthur Abdel Simpson, a petty thief living in Greece, is working as a driver. Born in Cairo to an Egyptian mother and British officer father Arthur claims a thoroughly British background: he went to a grammar school and became well-versed in the British way of things. From Athens airport Arthur picks up work from a man Harper, whom he believes to be American. Later, Harper discovers Arthur going through his things in his hotel room. Harper then blackmails Arthur into smuggling arms across the border into Turkey; unfortunately for Arthur the border police discover the loot while checking the car. Arthur is then blackmailed by a Major Tufan into spying on Harper and his associates to discover for what purpose the arms are to be used.
The Light of Day is completely different in tone from the spy thrillers Ambler wrote in the pre-war era: there is not the urgency of, say, Uncommon Danger or Journey Into Fear. The atmosphere is different too. The Light of Day has a more leisurely feel, and both the setting and the pacing combine to create a sort of languid, sunset-by-the-Bosphorous tone. Greece and Turkey are realised beautifully; Ambler draws you in so that you really feel like you are there.
Ambler’s greatest success is in terms of character. Arthur is a pathetic character in every way, and yet he does not elicit sympathy: “I have often thought of killing myself, so that I wouldn’t have to think or feel or remember any more, so that I could rest; but then I have always started worrying in case this afterlife they preach about really exists. It might turn out to be even bloodier than the old one.” With a penchant for self-pity Arthur is rather difficult to like. Nonetheless, with wonderful little insights peppered throughout the novel Ambler builds this completely compelling and fascinating central character about whom you want to learn more, and by the end it becomes clear why Arthur has become so wayward. (Basically it has a lot to do with his childhood and the way the British Government treat him: Arthur is a bit like a stateless person).
When I mention that he is pretty dislikeable it is little thoughts like this which might inspire contempt: “Miss Lipp’s legs were particularly long, and, for some reason, that was irritating as well as exciting; exciting because I couldn’t help wondering what difference long legs would make in bed; irritating because I knew damn well that I wasn’t going to be given the chance to find out.” However, while this might inspire contempt it does make Arthur a recognisable character: he feels real as I am sure that we are all aware that there are plenty of decidedly un-heroic chaps about. Arthur is a complex little man, and he emerges from the text as one of Ambler’s best creations.
Part of Arthur’s pitiful existence is his tragic relationship with Nicki. Arthur lies when asked about his former wife: he says she died during Suez when in reality she left him because they could not have children. Masterfully Ambler does not reveal this as a lie until later as he shapes slowly a more pitiable man. Now Arthur is shacked up with Nicki with whom he shares a convenient association at best: “I did not mention Nicki. I don’t know why; perhaps because I did not want to think about her just then.” Later Arthur notes: “Anyway, there was no point in giving an address. I knew she wouldn’t write back to me.” He seems to do his own thing and she hers: she works as a dancer in an insalubrious establishment. How she spends her free time is apparently her business entirely.
Ambler has also created a great cast of other characters in The Light of Day. Harper and his girlfriend Lipp, as well as Miller and Fischer, all feel like the genuine participants in a criminal gang and are all with *very* few endearing features. Then there are the more-than-slightly mad cook and the servant couple all of whom add more colour and are memorable once the novel is finished. Major Tufan, for whom Arthur is spying, is a great invention as a slightly melodramatic chief who nevertheless demands results. One of Ambler’s strongest features as a writer, besides the atmosphere, suspense and intrigue, is in the fashioning of an array of vibrant characters to become involved in and, as ever, they read as incredibly authentic and accurate.
Ambler’s trademark twists are in there as well which continue the momentum forward, so much so that you may find yourself sitting up at three or four in the morning reading the novel. Often these end-of-chapter surprises have a great deal of dramatic impact: Harper’s discovery of Arthur rummaging through his room is unsettling stuff—while countless other thriller writers may have utilised a similar thing *no-one* I have read comes close to doing so with the unnerving effect of Ambler. And while the pacing may be a bit more leisurely this is not to suggest a lack of tension; there are a number of incredibly suspenseful scenes in which Arthur, not the most proficient of amateur spies, almost gets caught.
The Light of Day is an enormously engaging and entertaining novel which underscores once more why Eric Ambler was considered one of Great Britain’s best writers. Excellent stuff well worth reading.
also in recent weeks read The Simple Art of Murder, Pickup On Noon Street, Trouble Is My Business, The Big Sleep, Farewell My Lovely, and the High Window, and have The Little Sister and The Long Goodbye lined up in front of me
Im still trying to find a copy of Playback and Killer In the Rain
Good stuff, Mr potts. I've always enjoyed going down those mean streets, and have read all the books you mention more than once. Have you read "Poodle Springs", which Robert B. Parker completed from Chandler's unfinished few chapters? Or Parker's "Perchance To Dream", his rather less pleasing sequel to "The Big Sleep"?
I know I'll have no problem finding Poodle Springs, thats the one Chandler book every used book store is guaranteed to have
though his real books are for some reason much harder to find
(same with Hammett for that matter)
do you recommend Poodle Springs?
if I cant find Playback I know theres a graphic novel adaptation Ive seen around lately that may have to suffice
apparantly his script for The Blue Dahlia has also been published in bookform, but Ive found no trace of that except in Internet bibliographies, and the film is not available on DVD
I did once see "Blue Dahlia" in a bookshop but didn't buy it at the time. That was some time ago, though.
Well, if you've never been there before some of the tourist-y stuff is pretty cool. But apart from that...
(1) The Reichstag tour is excellent (and not very well publicised). This needs to be arranged in advance by phone- I can get you the number if you're interested- and thus saves waiting for hours in the queue to walk up the Kuppel (the glass dome; this is included in the tour). There's a lot of interesting stuff, and it's free.
(2) Babelsberg is the old film studio used by the DDR, and interesting tours are available. It's in Potsdam and easily reached by public transport.
(3) If the weather permits, take one of the sightseeing boat trips.
(4) Check the Berlin website ((www.berlin.de), which can be translated into English, for any special events upcoming.
(5) There are always loads of markets well worth visiting. These are in various locations- there's often a nice one in Spandau or the Alexanderplatz.
(6) Go to Charlottenburg and see where Bride Of Barbel and I got married! :x
(7) The botanic garden or zoo (either of the two) are worth a look. The zoo in the west has a panda, unless he's away visiting lady pandas around the world... (Hello. My name's Panda. Giant Panda. :007)) They have a night animal house, and the aquarium is excellent. The one in the east, the Tierpark, gives the animals really large enclosures, so there's a lot of walking.
(8) Try the night life. Berlin is open around the clock- it's pretty much a different city by night. B-) Alexanderplatz or the Ku'damm are the most popular, but there are many more.
(9) Buy day tickets for public transport- they are valid till 3am the next day- but if you have a day with lots of sightseeing buy a tourist ticket (they give you a discount on entrance to some places, and can be made valid for one to three days).
(10) Go shopping! Cheap CDs, cheap booze & cigs, etc. Computer stuff is often cheaper, too!
“I was taking a Martini across the room to my wife, who was still chatting with our host, Amos Darrel, the physicist, when the front door of the house opened and a man came in to join the party. He meant nothing to me—but with him was the girl we’d called Tina during the war.”
So opens the first of Donald Hamilton’s 27-strong Matt Helm series, dismissed commonly as an American Bond knock-off, which inspired the four Dean Martin pictures that *were* basically lacking Bond spoofs. It is perhaps on the basis of these pictures that the original novels acquired the reputation as a faux-007 series, and yet this reputation is completely undeserved. The novel’s first paragraph may capture the martini-swilling culture of Bond parody, however the world of Helm is considerably more dark, violent and gritty than anything associated with Fleming’s creation.
Donald Hamilton was already an established writer by the time he came to write Death of a Citizen, penning many Westerns which marked his entry into the thriller genre. It is, however, for Matt Helm that he is most famous and the character held up the long-running espionage-thriller series. Helm is not a spy, really, but an assassin. Death of a Citizen establishes the character throughout: a secret agent during the Second World War who has now retired and living a normal life in Santa Fe with a wife and family. The sinister career of the past has been replaced by penning adventure thrillers and taking photographs part-time. This is the world of the thriller, though, and therefore the sinister nature of Helm’s previous work will visit him here. At its heart, then, Death of a Citizen is just that: the death of a loving family man and the rebirth of the cold and ruthless agent of the past.
The reader is thrown straight into the action as Hamilton starts as he means to go on: at a breakneck pace. Helm is rudely interrupted as Tina, a passing conquest and partner in the cloak and dagger during the War, returns to bring him back into the fold. Tina has returned to get him to go back into his old line of work as the life of a scientist is threatened from the world of espionage. Helm is not much pleased to see her. We soon find out why.
Hamilton details his novel with such depth of character that Helm emerges as one of the most compelling espionage heroes of the 1960s; more compelling, for this reader, than Len Deighton’s nameless character or indeed Adam Hall’s Quiller. That this depth of character has been achieved by an American thriller writer demonstrates that this is American thriller writing at its very best, and in 142 pages Hamilton does something Clancy and his ilk cannot do in 500. Helm is cold and callous, his sheer brutality evident in the most haunting scene of the novel where his wife witnesses him kill and torture a woman in a disturbingly cruel manner. Nothing better reflects the divergence between the two Helms; nothing better reflects that the agent is probably the true Helm, the citizen just a mask to be taken off to reveal the terrifying face beneath.
There is a cynicism to Hamilton’s writing that some people argue is Chandleresque. For me, however, this comparison is mistaken. Where Chandler is mainly style Hamilton steeps his novel with substance, and the way in which each writer conveys cynicism is therefore very different. Comparisons with Fleming’s James Bond are unavoidable but equally off the mark. There is no exotic travelogue here; Helm drives around the dusty expanse of the American South in a beat-up truck. This adds to the appeal of Helm and Death of a Citizen, the smaller scale and the dirt and dust of the adventure add a great sense of realism. Fleming is a brilliant writer, and the Bond stories’ combination of high glamour and low grit makes for great reading. Hamilton is all grit and the low-key nature of Death of a Citizen is a refreshing change. Hamilton’s world *feels* real and genuine, the events being identifiable and shocking and, by the end, deeply involving.
The action in the novel is gripping and the twists and turns executed with the finesse of an accomplished thriller writer. Death of a Citizen is an assured introduction to the Helm series and it lingers in the mind due to the quality of the writing, the depth of character and the themes examined. It is a dark and melancholy thriller: one of the best of the genre.