Spycraft and spy writers

I recently found online this interesting essay on Len Deighton's spy craft, which reflects on Deighton's position within the canon of UK spy fiction. While he's often placed alongside John Le Carre and Ian Fleming as part of the 'big three' of UK spy fiction - perhaps soon to be joined in a big four by Mick Herron, of Slough House fame, but that's another story altogether - the author of this essay foregrounds the point that in his portrayal of spy craft in his fiction, the fact that of the three Deighton was the only one who was not a spy makes its presence felt in his storytelling, and so marks him out as something different.

As does, of course, the fact that unlike the other two authors in this triumvirate, he didn't attend public school and was assuredly working class in his upbringing. None of this is really new, but this essay I think encapsulates well how these social and career differences manifest themselves in Deighton's writing, particularly in his two most famous creations, the unnamed spy who became Harry Palmer, and Bernard Samson. Both, for example, are recognised as unreliable narrators for the reader, which creates tension and ambiguity when reading the books, given that everything being said my turn out not to be one hundred per cent accurate.

"Deighton’s hero is an unreliable narrator whose commentaries should be sifted, not readily accepted. It isn’t that he deliberately sets out to hoodwink or misdirect us, rather that his outlook is hampered by blind spots. His entirely subjective account prevents him from presenting the whole picture or conveying the exact truth. Anomalies and distortions arise. As Deighton once explained: ‘What happens in The IPCRESS File (and in all my other first-person stories) is found somewhere in the uncertainty of contradiction.’ This makes for stimulating reading."

Not a new insight, but this essay explores well how the author makes the most of this.

With Len Deighton rather having fallen out of public consciousness since the turn of the century - not surprising, perhaps, given his advanced age and non-release of any new fiction during this period - essays and evaluations of his writing are now seen sparingly in the UK media and online generally, so when something like this essay does crop up, it's interesting to see if the author has any new perspectives to offer on often familiar traits.