A Private Spy: The Letters of John le Carré 1945-2020

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The erudition of many of these letters is what is so impressive. Just writing to a friend, he could not write a badly composed letter.

John le Carré The Lamp Magazine | The Double Life of John le Carré

No, you are not rotund or double chinned, though I think I have seen you in rôles where you have, almost as an act of will, acquired a sort of cherubic look! … One of his sons worked hard to compile letters he wrote to others, since he didn't keep a file copy of his own handwritten letters. Once he started faxing them, a copy would often be saved. Still, there's a lot here, and it is a window into a person's mindset over time (he died in 2020 at age 89). His views of British and American intelligence activities were muted but not silent. He had opinions that he expressed and believed that Britain was a failed nation (not his words, but my reading). His grandmother was born in Cork and Cornwell finally applied for and received Irish citizenship based on his grandmother's Irish birthright (although there are now restrictions, Ireland permits a descendant of any person born in Ireland not more than 3 generations away from the birth to become an Irish citizen upon application) about a year or so before he died. He was very candid about it: he despised Brexit and thought Boris Johnson was an oaf. When he was notified of having received Irish citizenship, he wrote a letter to the Irish official charged with processing immigrant applications for citizenship, thanking her and her staff for the "honour" of granting him citizenship. His expression of joy was simply that: no hard feelings toward Boris or Brexit, just joy at being Irish. Let me go straight to your points. 64 is the ideal age. Smiley can’t be less, arithmetically, and I fear that he may be more, though I have deliberately arrested the passage of time in the later books! So nobody is at all worried on that score, and you must not be either. Certainly, Larkin’s own copious letters have ensured that what survives of him is a picture of a resentful, emotionally constipated misanthrope with unpalatable opinions – and that’s after 30 volumes of his private papers were shredded at his instruction, so we can only imagine what was in those. And, of course, we do. There’s always a sense of outrage at the idea of a writer’s words being destroyed to keep them from the public, even (especially) when it’s the author’s own decision, as if we, the readers, had a God-given right to scrutinise their every utterance.

He is on your side, not mine. Now that you have honoured the qualities which created him, it is only a matter of time before you recruit him. Believe me, you have set the stage: the Russian Bond is on his way. Published: 27 Oct 2022 A Private Spy: The Letters of John le Carré 1945-2020 review – missives accomplished Cornwell would later proclaim himself, and his greatest creation, George Smiley, as keen supporters of the European Union, and all its works. In what must be by far Cornwell’s worst book, A Legacy of Spies, he somehow resurrects George Smiley (who must by then have been at least a hundred years old) in the pleasing German town of Freiburg-im-Breisgau. There, the ancient spy declares that his whole life has in fact been dedicated to “Europe.” “I’m a European. . . . If I had a mission . . . it was to Europe. If I was heartless, I was heartless for Europe.” In the light of this piety, it is amusing to find Cornwell writing in 1969 to a fellow spy, John Margetson, about how the sales of A Small Town in Germany to the “Frogs and Krauts” are “quite satisfactory.” Cornwell’s son, Tim, who so very sadly died just as he had finished editing these letters, is presumably the author of a prissy footnote which explains that such expressions “were very common in Britain in the 1960s” and that his father “often used slang terms to refer to various nationalities from time to time.” Of course he did. That is what Englishmen of his class and generation were like, before we all reformed ourselves to suit the new internationalist age. Alas for the footnote, Cornwell has a go at foreigners yet again, and twenty years later, far from the 1960s. He does so in a 1989 letter to Sir Alec Guinness—describing “the Frogs” as “extremely jumpy” over the collapse of the Soviet empire. When trying to fit a label onto himself he mulled and rejected 'Social Democrat' and 'liberal', and considered 'humanist' to be fairly accurate except for it sounded like a job title (“like 'I do humans'”). But that may be the closest term we have to what he was about. He was modest about his importance, though – when he followed Daniel Ellsberg as the next recipient of the Olof Palme award, he wrote to Ellsberg that “I am a totally unworthy successor...your contribution to the world is diamond-real, and mine is merely imaginative”.

A Private Spy: The Letters of John le Carré 1945-2020 review

There are some bits which are more of a personal nature (and they did not frankly interest me much), but generally one hears a big mind, thinking, progressing through to the life of an esteemed author and letting go of a world he sees somewhat as a failure of possibilities. The letters toward the end of his life—when he and Jane were battling cancer at Covid’s onset—proved more affecting than I expected.

So this letter is to express, and thank you, for all that & more, and to renew my vows to you without qualification & to point to greater happiness in the future, & a growing love, filling & defining the spirit, a growing spirituality too, &, I believe, an intensifying harmony & mutual appreciation. That is all I have to say, really. Your work has been a constant inspiration to me, and whatever our differences I wanted to thank you for it, and for your example. Forgive this ramble but there are good things in it, & I find I can’t think without a pen in my hand! What a wonderful prospect it all is! John le Carré – David Cornwell as he then was – grew up among the lies of his fraudster father Ronnie. He then entered a world of secrets, reporting on leftist students when he was at Oxford before working in intelligence for MI5 and MI6. Deception was his domain and as much as he hated Ronnie he worried about coming from the same “mad genes-bank”. Instead he became a novelist; a less damaging way to tell lies. A Russian mole has infiltrated the British establishment - and the spymaster Smiley must dig them out...