Karla's Choice: A John le Carré Novel

“Readers and fans of Smiley and Le Carré will find out that Harkaway can, indeed, use his father’s recipe to write an engaging, compelling spy novel . . .”

In his Author’s Note, Nick Harkaway (a pen name), son of Le Carré (a pen name), compares writing a novel featuring George Smiley—the iconic fictional spy character created by his father—to something his father’s wife once said to a startled maître dˊ: “It’s a very impressive menu, but the question is: can you cook?” Then Harkaway writes, “We’re about to find out.”

The proposition facing the author is a challenge, given that the character created by Le Carré, George Smiley, bears no resemblance to the handsome, debonair, violent heroes of other espionage literature, such as James Bond, Jason Bourne, or Jack Ryan. Rather, Smiley is described in Karla’s Choice as “a stout, hurried little man with pouchy cheeks and thick-framed spectacles . . . wearing a second-hand suit. It was well-made but not for him,” and as “a round-faced, round-bodied man in middle-age.”

Also absent from the novel, or nearly so, is the accustomed espionage fare of frequent gunfights, explosions, car chases, brawling, and other frenzied, intense violence. Smiley would have us believe such things are extraordinary and best avoided. “Most of spying is ordinary,” he says, “and the extraordinary is rarely good news.” There are a few instances of hand-to-hand fighting, a one-sided gun battle, and a mostly one-sided car chase, but violence is the exception. 

Set in the early 1960s, tucked between Le Carré’s The Spy Who Came in from the Cold and Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy, the novel finds Smiley retired from government service and seemingly enjoying the respite. “In his hibernation Smiley had avoided news, which revealed things he no longer wished to understand or think about. The weight of the globe was no longer his to carry, and he had gladly let it drop.” But he is called upon, temporarily it is promised, and he takes the bait. “I served you for twenty-five years and more, but all that creates is a greater obligation to keep going,” Smiley opines in a conversation with “Control,” leader of the spy organization. “The salamander lives in the fire because it has forgotten how to live any other way.”

It is Suzsanna, a Hungarian refugee working in an English literary agency and concerned about the fate of her missing employer, who sets the story in motion. It turns out her employer is actually a sleeper spy who disappears to escape assassination by his own spy organization when his activities threaten to expose the network and its operatives. Smiley involves Samantha in the pursuit of her boss through Europe and into the communist bloc. He is sent to gain access to the information the Eastern spy network pursues the man in order to protect.

Among Smiley’s challenges with his amateur helper is convincing her she is on the right side. “Our side is the one that takes care,” he tells her. “That gets people back and knows its own human limit, that some prices are simply too high. Better to lose than become the enemy. That’s why we deserve to win at all. Because we acknowledge limits.”

Complicating everything for Smiley is his tenuous relationship with his wife, who expects him to be at her side touring Europe rather than chasing around the continent in pursuit of and in company with all manner of unsavory characters.

Harkaway demonstrates his ability as a wordsmith in the book, as evidenced by this passage, which lyrically describes one of the few incidents of violence: “The nearest tough raised his fist, and Esterhase leaned in as if confiding something. With surprising slowness his head simply kept going, and the big man’s nose flattened.” Elsewhere, he writes, “Smiley nodded, catching the moment in his hand and holding it.”

However, there is some anachronistic language. “What do Americans call it? Silos. We must all stay in our particular silos. Only Control knows all,” reads one passage concerning compartmentalization. “Silos” was not used in that sense until the late 1980s, and not widely used until well into the 21st century, long past the times in which the book is set. He also writes of a person “. . . in Berlin sourcing fabrics and pelts from the East . . .” While “source” is a noun of long-standing, its use as a verb as written here is a modern locution and was not heard at the time the book is set.

Finally, the title character, Karla, seems to have little to do with the story, and is not a woman, as many readers might imagine. The name does not appear until nearly two-thirds of the way into the book, when first mentioned as a scrawled signature on a document. We later learn from Smiley, when speaking about an old and shadowy nemesis who leads the opposition, “Oh, he’s Karla. A nickname out of the past.”

Readers and fans of Smiley and Le Carré will find out that Harkaway can, indeed, use his father’s recipe to write an engaging, compelling spy novel—in a word, he can cook.