Yesterday, I mentioned that Mr. Math is on a spy movie binge. It started with the newer version of TINKER TAILOR SOLDIER SPY. This adaptation of the John leCarré novel stars Colin Firth. The one Mr. Math remembered starred Alec Guinness and is an older version. There is also (we learned) a BBC television series adaptations starring Alec Guinness.
This story is brilliantly constructed. The movie shows such excellent storytelling that I was intrigued. It turned out that Mr. Math had the book, so I read it. Actually, I gobbled it up. Not only was the storytelling brilliant, but the writing was brilliant as well.
I have a new hero.
What I also loved about this book was how it defied the so-called rules that we are always told about storytelling. In addition, it defied the current editorial trend toward insisting upon explaining every tiny detail to the reader. I’m a huge fan of inference and implication and subtlety, but there is very little room for that in this market in my genre of choice. Granted, this book was published a number of years ago, but I doubt that John leCarré has changed his style (and I’m reading more of his books to find out for sure.)
Let me explain what I mean. The story in TTSS is that there is a mole within British Intelligence. The protagonist – Smiley – is brought back from a forced retirement (it seems like a consulting position and an unofficial one) to identify the mole that is compromising the agency’s efforts. If you think about this in terms of storytelling, you will know that the mole must be named and apprehended by the end of the book, in order to resolve the core conflict of the book. If you think about it a little more, you will know that the mole must die in order for the reader to be confident that all the secrets he/she has harvested can no longer threaten the “good guys”.
Several interesting things fall out of JlC’s storytelling style. First of all, the protagonist Smiley is a spy. That means he is impassive and keeps his thoughts to himself. That means that even when we as readers are in his POV, we don’t really know what he’s thinking. We can’t follow his trail of reasoning overtly – however we see all the same clues that he does and he does both reminisce and pontificate on occasion, providing critical background detail to the reader (even if it is buried amidst a lot of other things). This is very clever because it compels the reader to become a detective as well – we are trying to solve the mystery along with Smiley, not really knowing why he’s doing what he’s doing or being certain of what he sees.
Accepted wisdom amongst writers is that there must be emotional engagement for the reader to find the story compelling. The protagonist must be sympathetic and his or her motivations must be clear. We must empathize with the protagonist and identify with him or her in order to travel the length of the book in his or her shoes. Smiley is not just impassive but apparently dispassionate, yet the book is an incredibly compelling read. This proves that “rules” don’t need to be followed slavishly. The rule about emotional engagement is really about creating a compelling book, but there are other ways to accomplish this end.
Here’s something else that flies in the face of conventional writing wisdom. As mentioned above, the villain does die in this book. I don’t think that’s really a spoiler, for the reasons explained above. There are two things interesting about the storytelling here. You would expect that the death would be the climactic scene of the book. In writers’ groups, we would debate what POV should be used for the scene. The victim? The murderer? The innocent bystander? Conventional wisdom would have the author choose the character with the most to gain or lose.
leCarré doesn’t do any of this. In fact, the death is not in the book. It doesn’t have a scene. It’s the climactic end of the story and the resolution of the conflict, yet it isn’t in the book. In one scene, Smiley visits the villain and expresses concern about his security – these concerns are dismissed for various reasons. In the subsequent scene, the characters are discussing the fact that the villain is dead and has been killed. The perpetrator of this crime is never named – one of the characters says that a certain party must have done it, and Smiley simply replies “No.”
Yet as readers, we not only know who did it, but how and why.
What is fascinating is that in the new movie version, the death of the spy IS a scene. It is explicitly presented to the viewer and leaves nothing to doubt or the imagination. Similarly in the BBC television series, there are scenes not in the book immediately before and immediately after the death, again ensuring that there is no doubt as to the perpetrator. Clearly there has been a notion for a long time that television and movie viewers need to see the events of the story – the difference between these two versions lies in the graphic depiction (or not) of violence. That has certainly changed over time.
I think the book is stronger than either film treatments. leCarré’s use of inference and implication is particularly effective, particularly given that the book is about spies. I find it very exciting to read an example of an author defying all the “rules” that have been pressed upon me as imperatives and doing it so very well.
So, I have become a fan. 🙂 I’m now reading THE LITTLE DRUMMER GIRL. It’s a more recent release of his, but constructed in a very similar way. Next up will be THE CONSTANT GARDENER, which was an utterly beautiful and troubling movie. I can’t wait to see how much better the book is. I found THE RUSSIA HOUSE less compelling as a movie – in fact, I got confused near the end – but the book will undoubtedly be better.
And now to you. Have you discovered any new authors lately whose work excited you, or made you see fiction (or storytelling) in new ways?
Deborah Cooke: Author 