The Spy Who Came in from the Cold by John le Carré

I like spy films far more than I like spy novels (well-made spy films that it, besides being a full-time literature snob I am also a part-time film snob), but I felt compelled to read this because it's a spy novel written by an actual spy. Also, I feel like this is a genre associated primarily with American authors such as Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler, and I wanted the British version of it. I really enjoyed it; it's tense, sparse, exciting, and morally tangled. I was really happy that the plot wasn't too confusing, sometimes in these kinds of novels (and films) either the plot is annoyingly convoluted and I can't make my way through it, or there is too much jargon and mysterious abbreviations used. I didn't have any trouble following the plot (having read too many modernist novels, I pay little attention to the plot in general, so if it's there, I'm surprised and confused), and though I did not feel any particular sympathy for the main character, I got so caught up in the action that by the end, I felt like I was watching the world's most exciting thriller. I loved the way the dialogue is written, the way the political situation is evoked, the themes of patriotism, calculation, amorality, loyalty (or lack thereof) it brings up. What I didn't like is the way the one important female character is depicted. Mute, loyal, overpowered by emotion, easily (if not effortlessly) led, this is probably the least realistically portrayed woman I have ever read about. Only a dog is capable of being so dumbly adoring. But I suppose that it's just part of the time/genre.

(This novel works especially well if you imagine the main character as Mads Mikkelsen.)