I'd been hearing about the wonderful
writing of John Le Carre for quite some time, so I picked up The
Constant Gardener for a fun read . . . and it was anything but. And
while I don't know if this is typical of the LeCarre spy novels, I
certainly hope not.
The plot is basically a single man versus international conspiracy. It's a plot that would normally catch my attention early and have my sympathy from the start. Further, it's a commentary on the abuses of power wrought by corporations (in this case, Pharmaceutical) that are more powerful than governments. Again, a device that immediately evokes common interests with me, an unabashed liberal. Unfortunately that's where the book and I part ways.
Justin, the minor diplomat in Nairobi is thrown into an unfortunate series of discoveries when questioning the circumstances of his wife's rape and murder. Tessa differed from Justin in that she was engaged in pursuing change in the world as a human rights activist, while he was content to follow orders, but say and believe the right things sans effort. This, I believe is the theme of the work, that culpability lies mostly with inaction and that movements can overcome abuses of power. Good theme, but . . .
The execution was poor. Pages and pages devoted to characterization fell short when actions didn't meet the set-up. As well, Justin's investigation took him around the world to look at a paper trail, not the most interesting tools of the thriller game. But we, as well as the character, examined the words and trail meticulously to the point where it became a joke how quickly the volume would put me to sleep. Justin is such a luddite that we, as the reader, are forced to learn about computers, emails, and the myriad electronic communication pathways along with the protagonist . . . LeCarre would have been well-suited to find a heartless editor, because the plot that does exist is not much more substantial than what a novella would handle nicely. Bureaucracy can be handled in a paragraph where the author wants the reader as frustrated as his bureaucrat protagonist, an interesting irony done uninterestingly.
This isn't to say that LeCarre is a poor writer – his sentence construction is strong and his mastery of the craft evident. I'm going to try another of his novels just because I believe this was an aberration caused by an author with an axe to grind and no right way to do it.
Another problem was that he telegraphed the plot. The only one stupid enough not to see who was behind the murder and conspiracy was Justin himself. While this can work, showing the reader what the protagonist can't see (see Fight Club), in this case it's just painful to have to slough through the machinations of bumbling intrigue with a dull and plodding man.
In summary, I didn't care about characters and I lost interest in the plot and the theme seemed contrived. I can't recommend it.
- CV Rick


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