The combined rôle of saviour, escaped murderer, convalescent house-guest, Sophie’s avenger and Burr’s spy is not an easy one to master with aplomb, yet Jonathan with his limitless adaptability assumed it with seeming ease. [p. 313]
Le Carré's first post-Cold War novel, published in 1993. (Adapted for TV by the BBC more recently: I haven't seen this version but it stars Tom Hiddleston, makes several changes to the plot, and is highly praised by Le Carré himself.) Jonathan Pine, the central character, is an orphan, an 'army wolfchild ... caterer, chef, itinerant hotelier, perpetual escapee from emotional entanglements, volunteer, collector of other people’s languages, self-exiled creature of the night and sailor without a destination'. More importantly, he's a man with a strong moral code, a thirst for adventure and an attitude towards women that is not entirely healthy. Part of his backstory involves a French-Arab woman, Sophie, who passed him some confidential documents from her arms-dealer boyfriend. She told him not to send copies to the British intelligence agencies, as the boyfriend had contacts there. Pine decided he knew best; sent the documents to a contact in British Intelligence: Sophie was brutally murdered. Pine blames himself for her death, and he's right about that. He also blames one of the boyfriend's arms-dealer pals, a fellow called Roper. When he's given the chance to infiltrate Roper's inner circle, destroy his business and avenge Sophie, he jumps at the opportunity.
This is an intricately-plotted novel with many digressions (Pine building his fake identity via sojourns in Cornwall and Canada) and almost as many factions. Pine, despite his solipsism, is an engaging character, a close observer of everything and everyone around him (which extends, of course, to Roper's girlfriend Jed, who he thinks is stupid but cannot help falling in love with anyway) and possessed of rather more courage than is good for him. Unfortunately, the aspect of The Night Manager that's stuck with me is an extended torture scene near the end of the novel: it's not explicit but the sheer inescapability, the unrecoverable damage, is distressing.
I like Le Carré's writing a great deal, and am trying to ration my consumption of his novels since there won't now be any more. I don't think this is one I'd return to, though at least I now know to skip forward at a particular point. And I am tempted to watch the TV adaptation, especially for its radical reworking of 'Leonard Burr', the dogged and stoical intelligence operative who single-handedly saves the day.
Minor gripe: what is this satellite company named 'Inmarisat'?
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