A satisfying little puzzle box of a book (read in around three hours across two days) that I would consider more of a beach read than the kind of weighty, grim fare that I normally associate with le Carre. A Legacy of Spies certainly felt like more of a swan song for him, and this being a posthumous work certainly makes sense — it was fun to read but not necessarily something I'd place in his tight canon.

Reviewers, it appears, took some umbrage with how abrupt the final act of the book was. I actually thought that was kind of nice! It felt like a whirlwind of revelation, to a certain extent: the abruptness matching the protagonist's slow and then sudden realizations about his world.

Instead, my biggest nit to pick would be about the dialogue (both inner and outer), which reads more like a Sorkin screenplay than the subdued realism I associate with le Carre. Still worth reading, but it's a light diversion rather than a serious deconstruction of the spycraft novel.



I’m told there used to be a notice on the door, until somebody nicked it: the unthinkable is thought here.

Morning jogs are for the body, evening walks for the soul.

Lightning bolt
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