The Russia House by John LeCarre

 

John Le Carre perfected the spy novel, portraying moral ambiguity and psychological isolation with realism and profound humanity. He shunned cheap gimmicks. His work is defined by character-driven drama of the conversation -as -duel. 

No ticking time -bombs here.

Le Carre, born David Cornwall died in late 2020.  I felt obliged to revisit the master through his novel of  1989 ( a year after my birth), The Russia House.

It is a novel of distinct time and place: The Soviet Union of Gorbachev and perestroika, when the empire Reagan’s ‘evil empire’, deigned to draw down its drawbridge- just a crack- and began to welcome the world into an economically  accommodating and politically progressive Russia. Detente would reign as  a new, prosperous and confident Soviet Union entered the twenty first century. 

Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

Here’s a plot-sketch:

An English publisher is drawn into a complex web of espionage following a chance encounter with a Soviet scientist. Deceit follows deceit. Promise presages disillusionment. 

This is  typical territory for the genre. Yet two linked features make ‘The Russia House’  special:

— it’s setting at the conclusion of the Cold War. 

— the simple fact that no one, not the characters nor, crucially, the author, can possibly be aware that the Cold War is all but over. 

Consequently, the novel forms a unique historical record. 

That certainly makes it interesting, but is it good?

The sad answer is: not particularly.

The protagonist is deliberately unrelatable  while the romantic subplot is unengageing. Le Carre  relates the essential inhumanity of intelligence organisations but the message is better conveyed in his other work.  While it’s nice to see Le Carre ‘ do Russia’, the reader never gets the opportunity to envisage the scale of the ongoing changes within the country. We spend meaningful time with only one Russian. The sense of claustrophobia with the police state is captured yet the opportunity to communicate the full panorama of Soviet life is sadly lost.  The novel ends on an optimistic note that will engender either wistfulness or perplexity in modern readers.

While reading the novel,  I was reminded of an earlier and superior work: ‘ The Looking Glass War’  as it addresses similar themes of futility and isolation.

While on the subject of Le Carre’s  impressive bibliography, I can enthusiastically recommend:

— ‘ The Spy Who Came In From The Cold’ ( one of my all time favourite books).

— ‘The Smiley Trilogy’ ( which collectively forms his masterpiece)

These recommendations are particularly appropriate for those new to the author, or the genre in general.

I consider ‘The Russia House’ an intriguing example of a mediocre yet important novel which retains a unique position in the resume of espionage fiction’s greatest practitioner. It’s worth the effort for those wishing to take a deep dive into the author’s work and for those with a particular interest in that most strange time, when hope briefly flickered across the east/west relationship, the era of perestroika.