It Doesn't Have To Be Right…

… it just has to sound plausible

Tag Archives: mainstream


by Leave a comment

The Night Manager, John le Carré

I recently watched the second series of The Night Manager and was dissatisfied with it. It didn’t feel like something le Carré might have written, and I didn’t like the ending. So I decided to read The Night Manager (1993, UK), the actual novel by le Carré, on which the first series, broadcast in 2016, was based.

I was, it turned out, both right and wrong. For the right and wrong reasons.

The first series of the television adaptation follows the basic beats of the novel’s story. Ex-Army officer now hotelier Jonathan Pine is given reason to hate international arms dealer Richard Onslow Roper, and is recruited by a UK government agency to infiltrate Roper’s inner circle. For obvious budgetary reasons, the setting for the TV series was moved from the Caribbean and Central America to the Mediterranean. Likewise the change, but perhaps more due to the number of years since publication than budget, from South American cartel villains to Middle Eastern ones. Pine’s handler, Burr, was also gender-swapped from man to woman – which was a good call (especially as she was played by Olivia Coleman). Other changes were less understandable. Roper’s girlfriend Jed is, in the novel, a vacuous upper-class English deb, but in the TV series she was re-imagined as American, and with a secret kid. Some of the characters names were also changed.

Events from the plot of the novel are there in the TV series – the murder of Sophie in Cairo, the fake murder in Cornwall, the staged kidnapping of Roper’s young boy, the incident with lobster salad… Sections were also cut-out in order to streamline the story. Pine’s adventures in Canada. His time in Cornwall is also shortened, and its nature changed – in the book, he’s well-liked and the “murder” he commits comes as a shock; in the TV series, he’s a not very convincing villain from the day of his arrival.

And then there’s the ending. In the novel, Burr’s operation to bring down Roper is being derailed by corrupt officials in the UK and US intelligence communities. They out Pine to Roper, but Burr manages to stage a monumental bluff which saves both Pine and Jed. In the TV series, Roper is brought down by Burr and Pine. To be honest, I prefer the TV ending. It’s also telling that in the book Pine is tortured and beaten before being released, but in the TV series it’s Jed who is beaten.

But then I don’t think The Night Manager is an especially good le Carré novel. He was a bloody good writer and his chosen genre has likely obscured how important he was. He was always anti-establishment, much more so in later years, but the cast of The Night Manager are, well, establishment caricatures. They’re ineptly corrupt, they talk like Harry Enfield lampooning 1950s Whitehall mandarins, and le Carré layers on the contempt so heavily it’s hard to take them seriously. In real life, members of the British establishment are corrupt or paedophiles or both, and have always been seen as such by the working class. And they have always been untouchable.

Which is why Roper remains untouched at the end of the novel.

All of which, ironically, are reasons why I didn’t like the second series of The Night Manager and accused it of not feeling like le Carré… When it’s set in South America, much like part of the original novel, and Roper escapes unscathed as he did in the book. Which actually makes it closer to le Carré’s novel than the first series…

The ebook edition I read includes an essay by le Carré on the various adaptations of his novels. He thought his work better served by TV than film, and in general agreed with the changes made to The Night Manager. Having now read the novel, I suspect he would have been happy with series two, even though strictly speaking it’s not an adaptation.


by 2 Comments

Uncommon Danger, Eric Ambler

I first saw mention of Eric Ambler on Paul Kincaid’s blog. He praised him as a superior writer of thrillers. For some reason, I had the impression he was a 1960s and 1970s writer like, say, Hammond Innes. In fact, Ambler is from an earlier generation, published chiefly in the 1930s and 1940s. And the plots of his novels reflect that period. At least, Uncommon Danger (1937, UK), his second novel, certainly does so.

Kenton is a freelance journalist in Europe, based mainly in Germany. After losing money in a game of poker-dice, he catches the train to Vienna to borrow money from a friend. Enroute, he’s asked to carry suspicious documents across the Austrian border, which he does for money. But then the owner of the documents is murdered and Kenton is the chief suspect.

The documents are copies of a Soviet plan to invade Bessarabia (now part of Moldova) and take over its oil fields. (History fans will already know Stalin led the Soviet annexation of Azerbaijan, which was famous at the time for its oil fields.) The Soviet plan is actually speculative, rather than intended, but a UK oil company plans to use it to hoist a right-wing government into power in Romania, which will then give them majority rights to Romanian oil.

None of which helps Kenton, who is wanted for murder in Austria. He’s helped by Zamenhoff, a Soviet agent, and Zamenhoff’s sister, and the three team up to retrieve the stolen documents and scupper the oil company’s plan, as managed by “political saboteur” Colonel Robinson and his sadistic sidekick Captain Mailler.

The end result is a solid thriller, like early Graham Greene, and very much of its time. There are telephones, but they’re not ubiquitous (no mobiles, of course). Long distance travel is chiefly by train. Kenton eludes capture by the police simply by eluding individual police officers. There’s no way the plot could be transposed to the present day – Kenton wouldn’t last a minute.

Which is not a complaint. The book was published in 1937 and that’s what the 1930s were like. The politics may not have changed much, but technology and infrastructure certainly have. Ambler’s prose is good, with an interesting tendency to delve into detail. The story is surprisingly violent for its time – more so than Greene, from what I remember of his books. Perhaps the characters are a little broad brush-stroke, and the story a little predictable – although explaining the underlying plot in a prologue is unusual.

Nonetheless, a good read. And for what it is, a between-the-wars political thriller, a good example of its type. I’ve another Ambler on the TBR, which I’ll read – but I’m not sure I’d describe him as a must-read author.


by Leave a comment

The Public Image, Muriel Spark

I read Spark’s The Girls of Slender Means (1953, UK) back in 2010, and judging by the review I wrote on my blog at the time, I didn’t like it very much. I can now add The Public Image (1968, UK) to the list of novels by Muriel Spark I don’t like very much.

It was nominated for the first ever Booker Award in 1969, which is why I read it. The story is relatively straightforward: Annabel Christopher stars in a film by an Italian director and becomes an international star – or perhaps European, given she never makes it to Hollywood. Annabel moves to Rome, with her semi-successful screenwriter husband. She has a baby. Shortly afterwards, her husband commits suicide and in his suicide notes (he wrote several) he accuses Annabel of promiscuity and throwing orgiastic parties. None of which is true. Annabel tries to control the narrative around her husband’s death before the Italian press destroys her career.

And, er, that’s it.

I have watched many 1960s Italian films, not just giallo or poliziotteschi, but also movies by Antonioni, Fellini, Pasolini, de Sica, Rossellini and so on. I’m a fan of the first three directors. So Spark’s depiction of Annabel’s career in Italian cinema never really convinced me. Neither did her husband’s suicide – there was nothing in the narrative to suggest he might take his life. There were clues he resented his wife’s success – but it’s a leap from there to suicide.

Then there’s the writing. Spark was nominated twice for the Booker Prize, and was much lauded critically – she was made an OBE in 1967 and a dame in 1993, for services to literature, and ranked number eight in the fifty greatest British writers since 1945 by the Times in 2008. But The Public Image reads more like reportage than fiction, and over-uses one of my pet hates in writing – the construction “was to be”. There are several auxiliary verbs which can be used in English, there are even grammatical moods available. So many different ways to add nuance and meaning instead of “was to be”. It’s no different to using “get” as a catch-all verb.

So, a lack of authenticity and too much passive voice using weak constructions, especially “was to be”. Not impressed. Annabel may have been reasonably well characterised, but the rest of the cast were ciphers. The Public Image is not a book I can recommend.